Page 44 of Not Just Any Earl
Emmeline clutched at the arms of her chair with numb fingers. “What do you mean, my lady?”
“Lady Christine Dingley and Lord Cudworth are betrothed.” Lady Fosberry nodded toward a box one level above theirs, and to their right. Lady Christine was seated in the first row, wearing an ice blue gown, sapphires flashing at her ears and throat, and beside her sat Lord Cudworth, elegant in his black evening dress, a proprietary hand on Lady Christine’s arm.
“That’s not all. It’s, ah…well, it’s very bad, dearests.” Lady Fosberry’s voice was faint. “It seems Lord Cudworth has once again changed his mind about the Lady in Lavender.”
“What now?” Juliet threw up her hands. “Was she wearing indigo this time? Or lilac, perhaps?”
“Violet.” Lady Fosberry’s voice shook. “Violet silk, and he claims she has chestnut-colored hair.”
Emmeline stared at her, her stomach clenching with dread.
But no, it couldn’t be. Even Lady Christine couldn’t be so cruel as to—
“Chestnut hair? But he said before it was too dark to see the lady! How can he know what color her hair—” Juliet broke off as she glanced up at the Dingley’s box and saw Lady Dingley, Lady Christine, and Lord Cudworth all smirking down at them with spiteful triumph.
The becoming pink color drained from Juliet’s cheeks. “Why, that wicked, devious, sneaking thing! I suppose they’ve run to every drawing room in London with my name on their lips, haven’t they?”
Lady Fosberry opened her mouth, then closed it again, but her despairing expression told them everything, without her having to say a word.
“But how can anyone take anything Lord Cudworth says as the truth? He’s told a half-dozen different stories already. Now he’s decided Juliet is the Lady in Lavender? Why, anyone can see the Dingley’s have put him up to this!”
But even as the words left her lips, Emmeline knew it was hopeless. The ton didn’t care for the truth, only for scandal. Surely, she should have learned that lesson by now?
She followed Juliet’s stricken gaze as it moved over the rows of boxes flanking either side of the stage, the bright lights in each illuminating the company seated inside. More people had streamed in and taken their places in their boxes, and every one of them seemed to be staring at them, some craning their necks to get a better look, all of them whispering and snickering.
Emmeline raised a shaking hand to her mouth. This was her worst nightmare come to life, and it was unfolding right here in Lady Fosberry’s box, with the entire ton looking on.
Only this time, it was worse. This time, they’d caught Juliet in their sights.
What have I done?
“Quickly, girls.” Lady Fosberry snatched up her wrap, her voice barely above a whisper. “Gather your things. We’ll return home at once, and await Lord Melrose.”
Johnathan. Dear God, what must he be thinking?
Covent Garden Theatre was filled to the rafters by now, each of the boxes bursting at its seams with grinning ton, and their breathless attention seemed to be fixed, almost to a one, on Juliet.
Walking out of that theater with every eye upon them was one of the most difficult things Emmeline had ever done, but Juliet held her head high, defiance flashing in her blue eyes, and a pride so fierce surged through Emmeline she was able to keep her own chin up, and her eyes clear.
“Lady Quigley is gawking at you through her quizzing glass.” Cross nodded at a box several rows away. “Look at her. She’s nearly falling off her chair, trying to get a better look. It would serve her right if she toppled over the edge.”
“If she did, at least it would give the ton something else to talk about.” The gossips hadn’t yet wearied of Johnathan and the Lady in Lavender. If anything, they were more frenzied than ever, their gazes picking over him, buzzards searching for a bit of raw flesh.
He turned and glanced toward Lady Fosberry’s box, a frown rising to his lips when he saw it was empty. He’d seen her ladyship there just moments before, with Emmeline and Juliet beside her, Emmeline more lovely than he’d ever seen her in a rose-colored gown that flattered her delicate complexion.
There was no time to dwell on it, however, because a few moments later, the curtain rose, and the performance began. Cross turned his attention to the stage, and Johnathan, determined not to give the ton anything more to gossip about, did his best to focus on the quarrel between the Montagues and Capulets.
Romeo and Juliet, of all morbid things. Ill-fated lovers, poison, and death. He didn’t believe in such things as ill omens, or he might have imagined his own love affair was doomed.
As it was, he had more pleasant things to think about, and he fell into a vivid reverie of a petite lady with chestnut hair, her skin scented with roses, wrapped in delicate layers of lavender silk like a gift created for him alone.
If he’d been less preoccupied with waking dreams of Emmeline’s soft lips and silky skin, or if Cross had been the sort of gentleman to notice anything at all, they might have realized the chatter in the theater was growing louder with every passing moment, but finally, it reached such a fever pitch at the end of the first act even Cross couldn’t fail to notice it. “For God’s sake, what the devil is everyone nattering on about this time? I can’t hear a bloody word Mercutio is say—”
By this point, the gossip had spread like wildfire, and Cross broke off, mouth agape. “Hell, and damnation. Something’s amiss, Melrose.”
Given his delicious musings, Johnathan might not have troubled himself much with Cross’s grumbling. But there was an odd, choked note in his friend’s voice that forced his eyes open, and he found the entire theater, from the deepest depths of the pit to the loftiest aristocrats in their private boxes, were buzzing about the Lady in Lavender.
Except this time, the lady had a name.
