Page 40 of Charity

Well, right for everyone except him.

As the house lights dimmed, Oscar spotted movement in the Earl of Daventry’s box. They had arrived just as the opera was to begin. Daventry settled his wife, dressed in a revealing claret gown, into her seat with such focus that he never noticed the crowd loudly acknowledge his tardy arrival.

Oscar leaned forward, closer to Lady Prewitt, so he might whisper into her ear and be heard clearly. “Forgive me, Lady Prewitt, but I must leave our party for a few minutes. I have an urgent matter to discuss with the Earl of Daventry who has only just arrived.”

Lady Prewitt nodded, her head turned fractionally, and then her lips moved lightly against his cheek. “I will inform my sister.”

Nonplussed by the intimate contact, Oscar snapped his head back an inch. “Thank you.”

Instead of embarrassment, triumph tugged Lady Prewitt’s lips into a pleased smile. Oscar rushed to leave the box, appalled that he might have unwittingly offered encouragement somewhere along the way. He could not and would not act so shamefully toward his future sister by marriage.

He hurried along the deserted corridor, dragging the purer air deep into his lungs. Here the noise of the crowd was muted, most patrons having found their seats already, and he reached his friend’s box without interruption.

“You wasted no time,” Daventry exclaimed as they shook hands.

“Of course, how could I miss paying my respects promptly the first time Lilly attends the theater?”

Smiling, as always, Lilly turned so Oscar could take her hand and squeeze. Marriage agreed with her. Or more precisely, marriage to the Earl of Daventry agreed with her. She looked radiant tonight. Lilly returned the pressure, but her eyes swerved back to the crowds after a bare moment.

“I see I’m not an interesting enough companion?” Oscar noted wryly to Daventry. He was hardly offended by Lilly’s preoccupation. He liked Lilly. Until recently, she’d had very little to do with the world, being confined to bed for much of her recent life. Her transparent fascination with the theater brought a smile to his lips. She was refreshingly natural and deeply in love with her husband. A fact that he’d long since grown used to, but he still couldn’t quite help being amazed that Daventry loved her so deeply in return.

Daventry laughed. “Go easy on her. She’s never been to the theater before. My butler mentioned you appeared quite disappointed we were unavailable this morning. What can I do for you?”

Daventry sat in silence while Oscar related his conversation with Leopold Randall, revealing his identity to the only man he trusted not to repeat it. His eyebrows quirked a few times, but other than that, he didn’t interrupt. Knowing his friend never rushed to offer advice, Oscar waited, keeping his eyes on the crowd and stage, ignoring how his friend’s hand moved restlessly on his wife’s leg. Clearly, marriage hadn’t muted with his fascination with the opposite sex. It had focused it on one woman.

Oscar envied Daventry his happiness.

Across the theater, Oscar’s future wife sat as remote as marble, staring at the stage and languidly fanning herself. He felt no pull to return so he considered remaining in Daventry’s boxed much longer than he’d originally intended and contemplated Penelope from a distance.

On the surface she sat with an elegant poise, a far greater degree of decorum for one so young. At nineteen, she outshone many of the debutants coming out in society, but she’d never rival Agatha’s pull on his senses, and he feared she’d never match Agatha’s claim on his heart.

Daventry tapped his knee. “I’d be inclined to believe the man if he thinks his life, and those of his siblings, are in danger,” he acknowledged. “The Romseys are a dark breed of men, despite the fair complexion. There’s years of unsubstantiated rumors floating about them. Randall is right to distrust everyone.”

“Hmm, I was convinced of his sincerity too, but I’ve not much idea of how to go about an investigation without alerting the entire House of Lords that a Romsey spare has been located. Randall was very adamant to keep his whereabouts secret. Luckily, he never mentioned where he’s staying so I’ve not the worry of lying to contend with.”

“Smart of him.” The earl rubbed his hand along his wife’s leg again and she turned, a smile pulling her lips into a delighted expression. Devotion, adoration, love. Daventry was a lucky man. The earl’s fingers slipped to his wife’s chin and stroked along her jaw. “Come and see me tomorrow. We can go over it all again and discuss where to begin your enquiries. Make it later in the day, around one.”

Oscar nodded. “One more thing. I’ve a mind to purchase an estate in the country.” He glanced at his betrothed and found her head bent to hear whatever witty repartee Lord Prewitt refused to share with his wife. Frustration welled in him again. “Something greater than a day’s carriage ride from Town. Would you be aware of anything suitable, by any chance?”

The earl glanced across the theater, where Penelope sat listening to every word her brother-in-law uttered. A frown turned Daventry’s mouth down as if he’d tasted something bitter. “That should annoy Lord Thorne nicely. Unfortunately, nothing springs to mind this very instant. But we can discuss what you want in a property tomorrow, too. Come for luncheon. I believe Lilly has invited Agatha Birkenstock for the afternoon too.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to refuse. Agatha would want him to keep away, but with the earl and countess as chaperones, they might be sociable without any scandal attaching to the event. He’d have to keep his hands, and other parts of his anatomy, to himself, but he would be able to hear Agatha speak.

“I’ll see you both at one o’clock. Lady Daventry, a pleasure to see you again.”

Lilly beamed, but her eyes soon turned back to her husband. Oscar slipped out of their box before things got too heated between the earl and his new wife. They made love at the drop of a hat, a handkerchief, or her pretty gray eyes. Daventry couldn’t have made a better choice in marrying Lilly.

The corridor was deserted. Oscar ambled back to his box, in no hurry to return to his guests. Outside, he paused, drawing a deep breath of scented air into his lungs before rejoining his party. What he wanted to do was turn around, return home, and climb in through the window of Agatha’s house and talk to her. He wanted her in his arms with a powerful ache.

Last night, her watchful presence, safely tucked inside her bedchamber, had soothed him. But he’d been moments away from leaping the railing. If she’d spoken up, offered him any encouragement whatsoever, he’d have done his best to climb into her bed again.

Oscar parted the curtain and let his gaze fall on Penelope. Her whole attention was focused on the stage, but then he noted her arm hanging awkwardly down beside her chair. Puzzled by the odd posture, he inched into the box. Thanks to Prewitt’s broad shoulders, he couldn’t see what she was doing. Prewitt was watching her though. He was sure of that.

Oscar took another step, letting the curtains close behind him, encasing him in the dark shadows of the box. But he must have made some sound, for Prewitt turned, a dark flush upon his skin. Penelope’s shoulders squared, and she lifted her hand to fan herself with the same languid ease of earlier.

Prewitt said nothing, but he shuffled in his chair as Oscar sat, his face fixed upon the stage once more. The feeling of intruding surfaced again, and he wondered just what he was getting himself into with this marriage. Although he did his best to quell the increasingly bitter taste in his mouth, he decided it might be in his best interests to keep an eye on his betrothed and her brother by marriage. There was an odd connection between them, one he’d never noticed between other siblings. It was almost as if…

Oscar shoved the thought aside and forced his eyes away. He was simply looking for excuses to get out of this marriage. Surely his mind was playing tricks on him.