Chapter Eighteen #2
“The orchestra is quite fine tonight, don’t you think?” Eli clearly addressed the question to Miss Delancey.
“Oh! It’s wonderful. It’s all wonderful. The music, the costumes, the staging. And Pamina is exceptional! I saw this in New York, and it wasn’t half so lovely.” She slipped a glance Trentham’s way. “I can’t understand how anyone could sleep through it.”
Trentham’s repeat protest was rendered moot when Eli said, “Ha! He wasn’t sleeping. He was concentrating on the music. The poor fellow is unable to appreciate two lovely works of art at the same time.”
Miss Delancey laughed more heartily than the taunt warranted. Trentham had the distinct impression she was mocking not his unconventional reaction to opera, but his drastic approach to women.
To his relief, their companions returned, and Lynch began passing out glasses and sharing out food and wine.
By the time they were all settled in for a good munch, the orchestra started playing again.
He tried to watch and listen for several minutes, then gave up, shut his eyes, and let himself be transported away from it all.
*
Trentham offered, and Eli accepted a ride back to the house. He didn’t remain to fraternize with friends in the orchestra. He confessed he was avoiding one of the singers, who had slipped him a note via Honore, inviting him backstage.
The coach rocked gently. The night was dark, and quiet had descended as they’d gained distance from the theater.
“What? Not interested?” Trentham teased.
“It was from a man,” Eli said, long-faced.
“Ah.” It was not the first time such a thing had happened. Apparently, Eli’s appeal was universal.
“Tell me,” Eli said, looking down at his hands, “did you think…I mean, do you suppose there is something bothering your sister?”
“Felicity?”
Eli grunted. “Do you have another sister?” He quickly amended his sarcastic tone. “Excuse me. Lady Townes’ troubles are none of my business.”
“Well, no. And she has told me they are not my business either. But why do you ask?”
“Only because I thought she looked disturbed when she returned after speaking with Lady Arbuthnot. And she still seemed subdued as we were all parting.”
For God’s sake. Eli was a better man than he was.
He’d been too busy stewing in his own juices.
“I didn’t notice.” The memory of Felicity’s bruised cheek rose before him.
“But I should have. Still, I suspect it has to do with her husband.” His indiscretions were all too well known. “And I’m not permitted to interfere.”
“No!” Eli looked alarmed. “Of course not.”
“Psssht.” Now he felt annoyed at Eli for his alarm. “I’ll speak with her.” Grudgingly, he added, “Thank you for bringing it to my attention.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing.”
Unfortunately, it was certainly something.
*
The following day, Trentham discovered that he and Lady Elizabeth had common cause after all. They brought to their walk in the park a mutual determination to get the thing over with. They were so ill-suited to any romantic endeavor, the maid trailing behind was superfluous.
It was springtime. The trees were as green as one could want, with buds on those that flowered, and fresh-cut grass scented the air. The sun was shining and the temperature held mild. According to Tennyson, his fancy should lightly be turning to thoughts of love. It was not.
Tea earlier had included both Lady Barrington and the marquess, who kept looking at his watch, as if timing how long it would take Trentham to come up to the mark.
He hadn’t yet asked for Lady Elizabeth’s hand, but as it was now a foregone conclusion that he would, Lord Barrington must be wondering why he was wasting everyone’s time.
This stroll was another waste of time. And effort. Effort on his part. Lady Elizabeth wasn’t even trying. A marriage under these conditions would be deadly.
“You don’t like playing the piano?” he asked. This would be his last attempt at conversation. So far, he’d felt as though he were engaged in the Badminton game with a toddler, and he was running out of shuttlecocks.
“I do not,” she said. After a long moment of silence, she added, “I play poorly. Mother said it doesn’t matter.
Gentlemen must listen and applaud. It’s farcical.
” She turned her face to him for the first time in a solid ten minutes.
“You play very well, Your Grace.” She clarified, “I am being sincere.”
“Thank you.” It amused him that she’d felt she had to add the assurance. “But if I played longer, you’d find I would run through my repertoire very quickly.”
She nodded, then looked straight ahead.
“Should we turn back?” he asked.
“If you’d like.”
That put him in a tricky position. Perhaps he should insist upon deferring to her wishes. But that could turn into a drawn-out war of politeness. He was willing to concede defeat.
“Yes, I think it best.”
They turned about. Now they were obliged to exchange greetings with fellow strollers who’d been parading behind them, and who would notice their abrupt about-face. He kept his expression blandly pleasant.
They were but a few steps away from his coach before she finally spoke to him.
“I had tea last week with Lady Lynchford and Miss Delancey.”
“Yes, Lynch told me. He said they were taken with you.” That much was true. He turned to smile at her, but found her peering at him as if hunting for something. Her shoulders were drawn up, and her mouth was taut with frustration.
“He said nothing else?”
How bizarre. “What else should he have said?”
She huffed. “Nothing.”
The footman let down the step, and Trentham handed her up, then the maid, before climbing in beside them, dooming them all to a ride in an uncomfortable silence. A foretaste, he imagined, of the rest of their lives.