Chapter Five #3
When, finally, the carriage came to a stop, Willard withdrew. The footman opened the door, and Millie closed her eyes, smiling into the rush of cold air.
Thank heavens. She took a decent breath.
Lord Willard, of course, helped his mother down first. Then, he held out his hand for Millie. He tucked her close against one side, leaving his mother to his other side.
How elegant she felt. How lovely and how fine. And how very different from usual, always overshadowed by her elder sisters or other relations. Her expansive feeling only grew as she glanced up at the looming portico’s ceiling.
“Oh, my,” she breathed. “I don’t remember the entrance being this large!”
“Exactly why I like to come late,” he replied in an indulgent tone. “One has a better chance to take in the architectural details without having to worry about rubbing shoulders with the masses. Too many of the wrong kind of people attend the theater.”
Though she wasn’t sure she wanted to know who he might be referring to when he’d said the wrong kind. However, she certainly appreciated the chance to admire the building’s details. Four Doric columns held up the Portico.
“I wonder,” she marveled, “if one would have this same feeling when walking through the Acropolis!”
At her side, he briefly stiffened. She turned to look, but he was smiling yet again.
“The Acropolis’s magic cannot be put into words, only experienced, Sweet. Preferably with a treasured traveling companion.”
She blushed and looked away.
“Come, child.” His mother broke away and ahead toward the grand stairs.
Wasn’t a chaperone supposed to walk behind a courting couple?
Still, there were only a few people lurking about. It wasn’t as if they were alone…
Alone in a yew maze with an interfering raven. Or alone in a library, passing heated, swoon-worthy glances.
Lord Willard tightened his grip on her arm, drawing her attention to the Grecian lamps elevated on porphyry columns as they passed the ticket takers, who obviously knew the viscount by sight. Then, at the top of the stairs, he paused to gesture toward the likeness of Shakespeare.
“The very poet,” he murmured, “whose quote brought us together.”
Quote? She frowned. Could he possibly be referring to his mention of the quote from Hamlet? Smile and smile and still be a villain. Not the most auspicious beginning to a courtship, even a pretend one.
She smiled vaguely and took in the statue, the ornate stoves that warmed the air, the hanging lamps that lit the corridor. “Everything takes my breath away.”
“Though your excitement warms even my jaded heart—”
Jaded? Lord Willard hadn’t appeared jaded to at all, but now that he said so, she wondered.
“—didn’t you say you’d been to this theater on a prior occasion?”
“Only once.” She lifted her brows. “In a party of fourteen of my closest relations, friends, and relations-of-relations.”
He whistled in disbelief. “I’m glad they are all otherwise engaged tonight, and deeply happy to be able to provide a more intimate experience.”
At the word intimate, his mother—now more than ten steps ahead—stopped and turned.
“Just so, mother,” he politely replied. “I, too, hear the rise of the opening bars. We should be getting to our seats.” He turned back to Millie. “Our box, I’m afraid, is on the opposite side.”
“No matter,” Millie replied. “I am enjoying our stroll.”
Together, they made their way down the long gallery. As they passed through the rear salon, Millie exclaimed over the plush red velvet seats.
“Is there anything you remember from your last time here?” he asked.
She considered. “I remember my party consisted of myself and Lenora, Cassie, Eliza, their husbands, Lady Asquith, her brother, Lords Asquith, Neville, and Blackwell, Mr. and Mrs. Vane—I understand you were acquainted with her when she was the dowager Lady Redver—and, finally, Lady Sarah, the duke’s sister. ”
He chuckled. “No wonder you’d hardly the chance to properly observe the environs.”
“I was so busy trying to follow the multiple conversations that I had no time to take note of the architecture.”
Lady Sarah, in particular, had been eager to point out to Millie and Lenora all the people she deemed Important to Know. Out of respect for Harbury’s sister, she’d attempted to commit to memory who was related to whom, although she hadn’t really cared a whit.
“But I definitely remember the pantomime.” Feeling daring, Millie related to Willard the details of the slightly risqué performance that had followed the main production.
“A comedy, then,” he commented.
“With a gratuitous amount of tripping and hitting”—she slanted him a glance—“and ladies who ‘protested too much’ against stolen kisses.”
He opened the door, allowing his mother to enter the box first.
“Would you protest against a stolen kiss, I wonder?” he asked.
The heat of his breath fanning her ear made her turn quickly away.
Would she? Why, yes! Yes, of course.
She meant to flirt, but she certainly had no intention of allowing a kiss.
She followed his mother into the box. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw to her surprise that the box was nearly full. And—her gaze roamed the small space—as far as she could tell, all the other people present were gentlemen.
Young gentlemen.
Some even younger than herself.
“Your seat, my sweet.” Lord Willard offered her the chair to his side, placing her not next to Lady Eltenham, but between himself and a young man.
He hadn’t spoken loudly, but they were very close to the stage, and theaters were built to carry sound. Several people in the pit below stirred, glancing up in her direction.