"Never mind how I got the damned tickets! Will you come?"
"Speaking for myself, of course I'll come! As for the others, you can ask them yourself." Alathea waved ahead to where the group were gathered about the Morwellan barouche.
Gabriel was glad to see that his sisters had already said their good-byes and were heading for his mother's landau, drawn in to the verge a little way along. Celia saw him and waved but did not beckon him to attend her. Nor did she evince any surprise at seeing him again strolling with Alathea. Those facts declared that Celia, at least, understood his intention and approved; Gabriel knew he could rely on her for support should the need arise.
Joining the others before the Morwellan carriage, he smoothly issued his invitation, specifically including both Esher and Carstairs. Alathea looked at him curiously but said nothing. She didn't have to-everyone was eager to attend the gala performance of The Barber of Seville.
When she arrived with the others at the Opera House on Friday night, Alathea discovered Gabriel had not just secured tickets, but one of the two most sought-after private boxes overlooking the stage. He met them in the foyer, then with her on one arm and Serena on the other, led the way up the stairs and down the plushly carpeted first floor corridor to the gilded door giving onto the box overhanging the left of the stage.
Eyes swivelled as they took their seats, the tonnish occupants of the less-favored boxes craning to see who had commanded prime place on this, the most celebrated evening of the season. Whispers abounded as, head high, her expression serene, Alathea regally sat in one of the chairs at the front of the box. Serena sat beside her, turning to murmur her thanks to Gabriel as he settled in the chair behind and to the side of Alathea's.
Alathea would gladly have boxed his ears, but not in public. As it was, all she could do was smile and return the gracious nods of the ton's matrons. Mary and Alice, wide-eyed, took the other front-row seats beyond Serena. Esher and Carstairs sat behind them. His lordship leaned forward and engaged Serena in some discussion. Alathea turned to Gabriel, intending to inform him she would box his ears later, only to find him leaning closer, a frown in his eyes.
"My apologies. I didn't realize we'd attract this much attention."
Alathea grimaced, absolving him of intent. She refrained from acidly informing him that this was the degree of attention he, a Cynster, should expect in declaring his hand. "I take it," she whispered, glancing briefly at Serena to make sure she was occupied, "that you haven't heard anything of the captain."
"No." His gaze lifted to her forehead. The frown in his eyes intensified. "Stop worrying. One way or another, we'll see this through."
Willing away all external evidence of her state, Alathea sighed. "I've done all I can to be beforehand, just in case…" She gestured helplessly. "I've paid all the accounts from the ball-the caterers, the milliners, the modistes-even the musicians. They all thought I'd run mad, demanding they submit their accounts immediately."
"I dare say. If you've paid them all outright, the Morwellans will be the only family in the ton to finish the Season with a clear slate."
"I thought it would be better-more ethical, in a way. I'd rather our honest creditors were paid before Crowley and his schemes lay claim to all we have."
Gabriel's fingers closed on her hand. She only just had time to brace herself against the sensation of his lips caressing the backs of her fingers.
"Relax. Forget the Central East Africa Gold Company. Forget Crowley, at least for tonight." With a nod, he indicated the stage; the curtain was rising to building applause. "I've brought you here tonight, and the only thanks I want is for you to enjoy yourself. So stop worrying, and do."
Turning her hand, he brushed her inner wrist with his lips, then released her. Alathea faced the stage as the house lamps were doused, and did as he asked.
It wasn't difficult-the production was a tour de force, the singers superb, the sets and orchestra unsurpassed. She had fallen in love with musical performances in those few short weeks when she'd first come to London. She'd felt starved ever since; the efforts of provincial theatres could not compare with the extravagantly superior London events.
Because of the additional scenes and special arias to be presented as part of the gala, there was to be only one interval, occurring after the second act. When the curtain swished down and the lamps flared to life, Alathea sighed contentedly and glanced back at Gabriel.
He raised a brow, then stirred his long frame. "Time to stretch our legs."
Alathea allowed him to draw her to her feet. She turned to Serena.
Her stepmother flicked open her fan and waved it before her face. "I'm going to rest here-you may all stroll the corridors, but do be back in good time for the next act." She smiled on them all, Esher with Mary on his arm and Carstairs beside Alice. Gabriel waved the others on ahead, then he and Alathea stepped from the box into a sea of parading humanity. There was nothing they could do but parade along with everyone else.
"Forget about watching the others," Gabriel advised. "But tell me, have they spoken yet?"
"Both have asked leave to call on Papa next Wednesday." Alathea smiled. "I understand they're very seriously preparing a joint presentation to win his consent. No one's had the heart to tell them there's no need. They're both dears, each in their own way."
"Just leave them to it. Marriage is, after all, a serious business, not something a gentleman should embark on without due consideration."
"Indeed? Then might I suggest-
"No. You may not. Twenty-nine years of knowing you is consideration enough."
A footman in full Beefeater costume appeared before them, flourishing a tray of glasses; they each took one and sipped. Countess Lieven hailed them through the crush; by the time they gained her side and suffered through her observations, the bell summoning the audience back to their seats was pealing.
Ten minutes later, they regained their box and sank into their seats as the curtain rose. An expectant hush fell over the audience. Gabriel angled his chair so he could see Alathea's face, illuminated by the light from the stage. Then he settled to watch-not the performance but the expressions animating her features, the signs of joy, of sorrow, of delight evoked by the unfolding story. The performers held the ton in thrall, but for him there was only Alathea.
The second half of the program exceeded the expectations raised by the first; at the end the audience was on their feet, applauding wildly, flowers raining down as the soloists took their bows. Finally, it was over, and the curtain fell for the last time. Gabriel watched as Alathea heaved a deep sigh and turned to him, a smile in her eyes, her lips curved, all worries temporarily banished.
Reward enough.
The others were exclaiming, discussing various highlights. Tilting her head, Alathea studied him. Her smile deepened. "You needn't pretend you paid attention."
"One of the numerous benefits of knowing each other so well-there's no need to prevaricate."
She searched his face. "Why did you do this-go to all this trouble, indulge in what I'm sure will prove a shockingly hideous expense?"
He returned her gaze steadily. "You like music."
It was that simple-he let her read the truth in his eyes. Then she shivered. He reached for the shawl she'd left over her chair and held it up. She hesitated, then turned so he could drape it over her shoulders. Releasing the fine silk, he closed his hands about her shoulders; leaning closer, he murmured, "As with other pleasures, my reward is your delight."
The glance she threw him was arrested, her expression not one he could place. But he had no chance to probe in the short time it took to escort her down the private stairway to where their carriages waited.