Page 17 of From Unwanted to Duchess
CHAPTER 6
James
The arrival at the theatre was tedious, as always. His godmother, a devoted patron of the arts, was greeted left and right by gentlemen and ladies who were pleased to see her. Or at least pretended to be.
James nodded in acknowledgment to a group of well-wishers, though the young lady beside him, who had seemed unwilling to so much as concede a single point in their earlier debate, had grown surprisingly quiet. She looked around, her eyes wide as she took in the grand foyer with its glittering chandeliers and elegant crowd.
It has to be impressive for one who has never been in such an establishment.
The exterior of the theatre had been magnificent enough, with its imposing Ionic columns and classical facade, but the interiorwas truly spectacular. The entrance hall soared above them, all gilded plasterwork and rich crimson drapery.
James settled beside her and smiled. “A little grander than the theatre in Bedford, isn’t it?”
“Perhaps,” she replied hesitantly, as if she didn’t want to give in. “It remains to be seen if the players are as skilled.”
He had to laugh. “I can assure you that the play will be of far better quality. We have the best actors, stage productions, and musicians in the whole world.”
“The whole world?” she said dryly, turning to look at him. “So you have visited the whole world? You visited the theatres in France? And India?”
“I am uncertain if they even have theatres in India,” he admitted. “As for the ones in France, I’m sure they were magnificent before the war. Now? I cannot vouch for them, as I have not been to France of late.”
She pressed her lips together, then tilted her head to the side. “Didn’t you serve in the military?”
“I served in the Somerset militia,” he said, feeling an unexpected prick of discomfort. “I considered enlisting in His Majesty’s Royal Army before…”
“Before you became a duke?” she prompted.
He nodded. “Indeed, but I remained with the militia in the end. It was more to my taste.”
“Fortunate for you,” she said. “Serving in the militia is far less detrimental to one’s health, after all.”
He wanted to make a sharp remark, a biting comeback, but he didn’t, because the truth was, she wasn’t wrong.
He hadn’t wanted to serve in the army and had chosen the militia specifically to vex his father, who had wanted him to serve under the great Lord Wellington, bringing glory to England. It was in part because his father desired it that he had chosen not to serve, but he didn’t tell Miss Langley that.
He wasn’t keen to share too much about himself with her. There was something about her he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Something almost alarming.
She was so genuine. She wasn’t affected or vapid or driven by a desire to make the best impression, the way so many young ladies were. She spoke her mind.
She was, in a way, uncorrupted by Society. There was an appeal to that. And he wondered if maybe, just maybe?—
“Come now, the bell has already rung!” his godmother called, and they turned.
Frances walked directly toward the main entrance leading to the pit, but Aunt Eugenia took her by the arm, chuckling. “Not there, silly! We have a box.”
“Oh,” Frances said, her cheeks coloring slightly. “Of course.”
Back home, James thought, she probably always sat with the common folks in the pit, where it was hot and crammed and undoubtedly uncomfortable. Yet she looked almost dismayed when she saw the large, elegantly appointed box they entered. That expression only lasted for a moment, though, before they were greeted by his godmother’s nieces.
The three young ladies—the Duchess of Sinclair, the Marchioness of Ravenscar, and the Countess of Wexford—surrounded Frances like a gaggle of excited geese.
For a moment, James caught a glimpse of her face. She was looking back at him, almost as if pleading for help. If he had been more of a gentleman, he would’ve helped her, but as things were, he decided to keep to himself. He took a seat next to his godmother at the front of the box.
The three young ladies took the three seats behind, and Frances was eventually guided to the front seat next to him.
This was a new arrangement, of course. Usually, one of them would have sat at the front beside him and his godmother, but he supposed they were all trying to be kind to the new arrival.
“Your Grace,” the Marchioness said, and he looked back at her.
