Her Mystery Duke(47)
“Do you often attend the theatre?”
“No, goodness, no.”
“I want to take you to the Italian Opera House tonight. Would you come?”
“Yes.” The expensive gown made a great deal more sense. His desire to please her, to make up for the loss of a cherished experience put a curl of warmth into her chest. She noticed her cheeks were aching. She had not smiled so much, so often, since…well, since she could even remember. His statement about a servant who was always effervescently cheerful came to mind. She was not like this, like a giggling bird-wit. He did this to her and it made her uncomfortable for someone else to have that power over her. Power over her relative happiness. It made her feel a bit foolish and heat crept over her cheeks.
She’d learned a long time ago that one couldn’t depend on others for happiness, or shared shoring up of spirits, or any sort of positive emotional experience. This was so dangerous.
However, she couldn’t deny herself the pleasure. She hadn’t been able to resist the temptations of all the pleasures he’d shown her. She ran her fingers over the fine, soft velvet covering her lap.
“Will it please you?”
She couldn’t look up. Couldn’t face him. If she did, she feared she would laugh with the pure joy of anticipation. The Italian Opera House. Goodness, she had longed to simply see the interior. Now she would spend an entire evening there in the Duke of Hartley’s fine box. Wearing a gown fit for a princess. She had obviously wandered into one of her own fairy tales.
“I think it should please me very well, David.”
* * * *
As they walked down the front steps of Somerville House, Jeanne kept glancing down, sure that she was going to step on the lavish lace-trimmed hem. But the skirt rested just at her ankles.
Right before they left, he had given her a very expensive dark blue velvet pelisse that fastened with brass frogs. Emotion still pressed on her throat from the exchange. She had never imagined wearing such fine garments.
“Hartley, wait.”
She looked up. The woman from David’s box the night before, Isabella, was approaching, the plumes in her hat tossed by the wind. Her face was flushed and she was breathless.
Jeanne dropped her hand from David’s arm, an almost guilty gesture.
“Isabella,” David said.
“I was coming over. I thought you were ill again.”
He gave the thinnest smile. “I may cancel an evening without being ill.”
“You never cancel.”
David turned to Jeanne. “Isabella, this is my friend, Miss Darling. Miss Darling, may I present my sister-in-law, Lady Isabella Somerville.”
Isabella turned and somehow without making any acknowledging eye contact, her gaze raked Jeanne from head to foot. Her brows drew together. “Is she from the Society? I do not remember seeing her before nor have I heard of her name.”
“Lady Somerville is speaking of the Society for the Better Treatment for Insane Persons,” David explained. “No, Isabella, Miss Darling is a personal friend.”
Isabella’s mouth dropped open softly and her eyes went a little wide. “Oh.”
She pulled her hands close to her body, flickered a glance in Jeanne’s direction, and then looked quickly away. “Oh, I see. Well, I must be going.”
“Of course. I shall see you on Saturday evening.”
“Yes, Saturday evening.” Isabella turned and hurried back down the street.
David turned to Jeanne and offered his arm again. He was silent until they were seated inside the carriage. “I apologize; that was very awkward. My brother lives two houses down but I didn’t expect her to come here this evening.”
Jeanne was all too aware of his leg resting so close to hers. “She was worried about you.”
“She is annoyed that I won’t be escorting her tonight. I cannot blame her. However, it is just one more of so many endless balls, concerts, routs of the Season. Perhaps it will do her good to stay home and keep my brother company.”
“She was shocked.”
“She was inexcusably rude. How often have I shaken hands with and smiled into the faces of her various cicisbei and pretended nothing was amiss? In any case, perhaps she learned a lesson. Isabella should not come to my home unannounced and uninvited.”
“She assumed I am your mistress.”
His gaze turned heated as he reached her hand. “Aren’t you?”
“No, I am simply your friend.”
* * * *
Moonlight peeked between layers of clouds, making the little house glow bluish-white. Its neat, green-painted shutters looked black, as did the winter-dormant flower boxes beneath each window. She turned to David.