Lottie snaked her way through an abundance of silks and velvets, cloying perfumes, and ungentlemanly stares to stand for a few moments outside the theatre, grateful for the cool air and for Gabriel not being outside. How many times before had they been to the theatre, knowing each other would be there and never seeing one another? Tonight, of all nights.
The four-note chime sounded, signaling the end of the intermission. Lottie joined the others returning to their seats. And, just as she did that day at the girls’ home, Lottie sensed Gabriel’s presence before she saw him.
She summoned a smile, demanded it to perform, and started her own play. “Gabriel, what a surprise to see you here.”
Dressed in his usual impeccable style, his coat outlining the spread of his shoulders, he broke his solemn expression with polite upturned lips. “And you,” he said, his words so tender that Lottie stared at the floor until they passed through her. “I would like you to meet Nathalie Chaigneau. Nathalie, this is Charlotte LeClerc.”
Again Lottie smiled, though this time it was made more difficult by the introduction to the captivating Mademoiselle Chaigneau of the patrician nose, the playful brown eyes, and the effortless grace. She wore an evening gown of the latest style in jacquard woven silk, deeply pointed at her small waist and with a neckline that grazed the better part of decency. No one would mistake the provocative swing of the skirt. Reserved, yet flirtatious.
Lottie forced the words, “Pleased to meet you.”
“A pleasure to be introduced to you,” Nathalie oozed and then glanced at Gabriel, who cleared his throat.
The chime saved them from the space of awkward silence.
“We must return to our seats,” said Gabriel. “Good to see you, Lottie.”
She felt her heart constrict, hearing her name wrapped in his voice, and all she could do was nod. Nathalie responded in kind, and Lottie watched them walk away. She saw Gabriel’s broad hand pressed against Nathalie’s bare back, his body leaned toward hers. Lottie imagined his touch and felt her skin ripple in response.
She watched until the crowd swallowed them.
* * * * *
Finally, I can go home.
Until the third act, Lottie related to Lucia, the young woman duped into marrying another man while thinking her marriage to the love of her life had ended. But after the experience with Nathalie and Gabriel, she found herself grieving with Edgardo, the husband who came home only to find the woman he loved exchanging vows with another man, not knowing that her brother had forged a letter. Edgardo believed the deception was her choice, but by the time the betrayal and pain expressed in rage diminished, it was too late. Lucia was dead.
The despair of watching someone lead the life you wanted. That, Lottie understood.
Bundled into the carriage once again, the group carried the quiet of not yet ridding themselves of the carnage of the drama. It was Isabelle who broke through and asked if the girls wanted to stop at Vincent’s before going home. She listed the options—“Brioche, pâtes, éclairs, meringue.…” And when the temptation of food didn’t lure them, Isabelle resorted to, “It is the place to be seen after performances.”
Justine’s eyes sparked with excitement, so Lottie spoke before she could. “Vincent’s sounds good, but if you don’t mind, I’m actually tired and would rather not be out any later.”
“It’s barely one o’clock,” Justine whined. “We wouldn’t have to stay very long.”
“There’s no point in going if we can’t relax and enjoy ourselves,” Isabelle said.
Lottie hated disappointing people. Some, like Grand-mère, proved nearly impossible to please. But she’d found she would rather keep the peace than start a war, so she preferred sacrificing what she wanted to make that happen. The problem tonight was she had been dishonest about the reason she didn’t want to be at Vincent’s. She feared Gabriel and Nathalie would be there, and she dreaded feeling trapped, as she had been during the intermission. If they were there, she would not only be trapped, but she’d be more miserable than she was even at this moment. But she didn’t want to admit that to Justine, much less Isabelle and François.
The carriage had not yet moved, and Lottie knew Vincent’s was too close for her to procrastinate making a decision. Her mind dashed back and forth between the going and the not going until each pulled so tightly it seemed her limbs ached. The notion that she and Justine might have fewer opportunities once she married weighed the heavier over her wanting to save herself from an encounter with Gabriel. Surely, with three friends surrounding her, she could survive his being there. Stop being so selfish. Why should you be the reason everyone else is not enjoying the evening?