Page 12 of A Single Obsession

“He said he liked opera.”

“Everyone says that. It’s fashionable to like opera—but there are only a few of us who truly love it,” Anthony said.

“Humph.”

“You need not dance with him again,” said Georgiana in a soothing voice.

“There is no fear of that. I already told him so.”

Georgiana stared at their sister in horror. “What did you say to him?”

“That I would sooner dance with Don Alfonso.”

Anthony burst out laughing, drawing undue attention to them, but Eliza didn’t know why. Who was Don Alfonso anyway?

Georgiana saw her confusion and hastened to explain. “He’s a character from Così fan tutte—an old man. Not a flattering comparison.”

“How did he reply to that?” Anthony asked Charlotte, struggling to get his words out, because he was laughing so much.

“Nothing.”

“Was there anything else you wished to say to him but didn’t?”

“Plenty.”

“Then dance the next with me and let me hear your acerbic tongue at its best.”

Anthony cast a wicked look at Eliza and her elder sister. “This should be fun.”

Georgie glowered at him. “Don’t encourage her.”

But it was too late. Charlotte’s eyes sparkled dangerously as she accepted Anthony’s offer and allowed him to take her arm.

With a sigh of relief, Georgie turned her attention back to Eliza. “Now, who shall we choose this time…” she said, half to herself.

Another gentleman was introduced to Eliza, and once again, she was swept into the dance.

The routine was just the same. Her partner paid her compliments, and she blushed and sent him the occasional shy smile. Fortunately, that was all that was required of her.

By the time their dances were over, Eliza was struggling to keep her emotions in check. She was weary of smiling at gentlemen whose names she could not remember, and who made her feel so uncomfortable with their silly compliments. Why couldn’t they just dance?

But that wasn’t the real problem. The real problem was that Beau hadn’t come.

She had depended on dancing with him tonight, and if he wasn’t coming, she would have spent all this nervous energy for nothing.

Was he as unreliable as Georgie claimed? No. She refused to believe it. He must have a good reason for his non-appearance.

But even if he didn’t, could she blame him for choosing to spend the evening in a more convivial manner?

Beau had spent the day with his cousin, Charles Templecombe. After riding in Hyde Park, they had repaired to Tattersall’s, where he had dissuaded his relative from buying a showy animal he would have been embarrassed to have in his stables.

Over dinner at White’s, they commiserated with each other about being pushed into marriages they didn’t want, and then moved onto Beau’s favourite subject. Horses.

As he enlarged upon his hopes for Romeo, his fears about the future melted away. Even the threat his mother held over his head seemed distant. It was always that way when he got talking about horses. Nothing else mattered.

When they had exhausted the topic of Beau’s prize colt, his cousin plied him for tips for the upcoming races at Newmarket. Beau had plenty to say about the matter, and he was in the middle of a detailed account of the most likely winners when the clock struck eleven.

“Aren’t we supposed to be going somewhere tonight?” Templecombe asked.