One thing was becoming very clear to him. She was not going to allow him to settle into any comfortable sort of married life that might somehow resemble his bachelor existence.
She was going to force him to be happy, damn it all.
And joyful.
Whatever the devil difference there might be between the two.
Heaven help him. "Elliott," she said as the carriage drew up before the house. She set one gloved hand on his sleeve. "Thank you so very much for this morning - for the museum, for the ice. I have enjoyed myself more than I can say." He lifted her hand to his lips. "Thank /you,/" he said, "for coming." Her eyes twinkled with merriment. "This afternoon you may be free to do whatever you wish," she said. "I am going shopping with Meg and Kate. Cecily is coming too. I will /not /suggest that you accompany us. I will see you at dinner?" "You will," he said. He spoke impulsively. "Perhaps you would arrange to have it served early. You may like to go to the theater this evening.
Shakespeare's /Twelfth Night /is being performed at the Drury Lane.
Perhaps Merton and your sisters would care to join us in my private box there." "Oh, Elliott!" Her face lit up with such pleasure that he was dazzled for a moment. "I really cannot think of anything I would like more. And how /good /of you to invite my brother and sisters too." He was still holding her hand, he realized. And his coachman was standing beside the carriage door, holding it open. He had already put down the steps. He was staring straight ahead down the street, the suggestion of a smirk on his lips. "I shall be home in time for an early dinner, then," Elliott said after he had climbed down and held out a hand to help Vanessa descend.
Her smile was warm and happy.
And she did indeed look rather pretty in pink.
Just a couple of months ago an assembly at Throckbridge had seemed the pinnacle of excitement. Yet now, Vanessa thought as they all took their seats in Elliott's box, here they were, she and her brother and sisters, attending the performance of a Shakespeare play in the Theater Royal, Drury Lane, in London. And tomorrow there was to be her presentation to the queen and then a grand /ton /ball in the evening.
And this was all just the beginning.
Sometimes she /still /expected to wake up in her bed at Rundle Park.
The theater was filling with ladies and gentlemen who were dazzling in the splendor of their muslins and silks and satins and jewels. And she and her siblings actually belonged in such company. Vanessa was even sparkling along with everyone else. She was wearing the white gold chain with a multifaceted and indecently large diamond pendant that Elliott had brought home with him during the afternoon and clasped about her neck just before they left the house. The diamond was catching the light whichever way she turned. "Even without the play," Katherine said to Cecily, though her voice carried to all of them, "this would be a memorable evening of entertainment." "It would indeed," Cecily agreed fervently, fanning her face and gazing down into the pit.
The pit was where unattached single gentlemen usually sat to ogle the ladies - the dowager had told Vanessa that. She had been perfectly right.
And /they/ - or Meg, Kate, and Cecily anyway - were the subject of much of that attention. Some of the gentlemen were even using opera glasses to magnify the view. Meg and Kate were wearing new gowns, both blue, Kate's pale, Meg's darker. Both looked outstandingly lovely. So did Cecily in white.
Vanessa turned her head to smile happily at Elliott, who was seated beside her. "I knew they would all attract attention," she said. "Kate and Meg and Cecily, I mean. They are so lovely." She was holding a fan in one hand. He took her free hand and set it on his sleeve. He kept one hand over it. "And you are not?" he asked her.
She laughed. "Of course I am not," she said. "Besides, I am a married lady and of no interest to anyone." His eyebrows rose. "Not even to your husband?" he asked her.
She laughed again. "I was not fishing for a compliment," she said. "Of course, if you wish to pay me one anyway…" "With a smile on your lips and in your eyes," he said, "and clothed in that particular shade of green, you look like a piece of the springtime, Vanessa." "Oh, well done," she said. "Are you about to add that so does every other lady present?" "Not at all," he said. "No one else does. Only you. And springtime is everyone's favorite season, you know." Her smile faded slightly and for a moment she felt a desperate yearning for she knew not what. "Is it?" she said softly. "Why?" "The renewal of life and energy, I suppose," he said. "The renewal of hope. The promise of a bright future." "Oh." She was not sure she made any sound. Was it a compliment? But of course it was. Had he meant by it all she dreamed he meant? Or had he merely found a deft way of avoiding telling her quite bluntly that no, indeed, she was not as lovely as her three companions?
Their eyes locked and he opened his mouth to speak again. "Oh, I say," Stephen said suddenly, sounding as exuberant as he had looked since the moment of their arrival at the theater, "there is Cousin Constantine." /"Where?" /Katherine and Cecily asked together.
Stephen indicated a box almost directly across from theirs, and Vanessa looked and saw that sure enough, there was Constantine Huxtable with a party of ladies and gentlemen. He had seen them too and was smiling and raising a hand in greeting as he tipped his head side-ways to listen to something the lady next to him was saying. She too was looking across to their box.
Vanessa waved back with her fan hand, smiling brightly. "It is to London he came, then," she said to Elliott. "He is accepted here?" "Although he is illegitimate?" he said. "But of course. He is the son of a former Earl and Countess of Merton and was raised as such. There is no real stigma on his name. It was just that legally he could not enjoy the privileges of the eldest son." "Does he have any money?" she asked. "I mean did he inherit anything?" "His father provided for him," he said. "Not lavishly, but adequately." "That is a relief to know," she said. "I did wonder, especially after we arrived at Warren Hall and effectively turned him out of his home." "Con will always find a way of looking after himself," he said, both his eyes and his voice hardening. "You must not worry about him, Vanessa. Or pay him too much attention." "He /is /our cousin," she said. "A relationship that is best forgotten," he assured her. "And /he /is best ignored." She frowned at him. "But unless you give me a good reason," she said, "you cannot expect me to ignore him just because you hate him. I do not believe there /is /a good reason." He raised his eyebrows, his eyes still cold. But at that very moment a sudden hush descended on the theater. The play was about to begin.
Vanessa's mood had taken a downward turn. She was very much afraid that the evening had been at least partially ruined. Her hand was still on Elliott's arm, and his hand still covered it, but there was no real warmth in either and she wondered if it had been a move designed for the benefit of the audience rather than a spontaneous gesture of affection.
She glanced at Margaret, who was smiling, her attention already fixed upon the stage. She had scarcely stopped smiling since her arrival in London. The expression was like a mask. Vanessa could only imagine what lay behind it. Meg was studiously avoiding all personal conversation.
And then the play began.
And all else was forgotten.
There were only the actors and the action and the play.
Vanessa leaned forward in her seat, unaware of either her surroundings or her companions, unaware of the arm she gripped a little more tightly, unaware that her husband beside her watched her almost as much as he did the performance.