had been a glowing jewel in the crown of London since the first majestic strains of Handel's Rinaldo had graced its stage over a century before. As a small boy clinging to his father's trouser leg, Justin had believed its elegance a taste of heaven itself, and the busty diva one of God's own angels.
A touch of the old magic brushed him as he ushered Lily and Millicent into the Winthrop box. They settled into the red plush seats behind him as the orchestra began to tune their instruments. Penfeld hovered in the narrow aisle beside them, holding Justin's perfectly draped opera cloak over his arm. Knowing how the valet loved fine music, Justin had invited him as a guest, but he was obviously more comfortable in his role as human cloak stand.
An expectant murmur raced through the audience, accompanied by the rustle of satin and broadcloth.
The private boxes and seats below started to fill. Justin's own awe was dampened by apprehension. Naturally, Emily had been too busy to attend with the family. Against his better judgment he had
allowed her to accompany Cecille, leaving only the delicate countess to chaperone them.
He leaned forward and scanned the rows of boxes with his opera glasses. The gaslight from the crystal chandeliers shimmered off diamond chokers and gold Albert watch chains. The women clustered like multicolored blooms planted in window boxes next to their black-garbed escorts. Their fans fluttered
like delicate petals in the wind.
Justin finally spotted Emily in a box on the tier below. She was on the same side as they were, but much farther from the stage. His worst fears were founded. The box was packed to overflowing with rowdy young swells and milling girls. He glimpsed the countess dozing in her ruffles in the back of the box.
"Sir," Penfeld said, tugging on his coat. "The performance is beginning."
Justin lowered the opera glasses and settled irritably back in his seat. There were two empty seats beside him, since his mother and Edith had begged off with throbbing megrims, refusing to admit they both detested the opera.
"Why don't you sit down, man?" he asked Penfeld, indicating the vacant chairs.
"Oh, no, sir." The valet stared stoically ahead as if even glancing at the stage might be considered a breach of duty. "It wouldn't be proper."
The first notes of the overture began, and the massive curtain rose. Lily tapped his shoulder. "May I borrow your opera glasses?"
"No," he snapped.
She leaned back in her seat with a wounded sniff.
The chandeliers dimmed and stage arcs flooded the brilliant backdrop with light. Justin was deaf to the musical charms of Bizet's La Jolie Fille de Perth. He was too obsessed by another jolie fille.
Using the opera glasses, he turned his gaze away from the stage and back to Emily. She was wearing
the soft shade of rose so complimentary to her coloring; her curls had been caught up in a loose topknot.
Justin adjusted the glasses. A furious breath escaped him as a blazing shock of red hair came into focus. Who else could that be but Richard "Dick" Claiborne slobbering all over her bared shoulder? Someone passed in front of them. He leaned over the balcony, craning his neck. A fat eyeball filled his vision.
He slowly lowered the glasses. The gentleman in the next box was glaring at him. "The stage is that
way," he said gruffly, pointing.
Nodding a curt apology, Justin ducked back into his seat. The door to the box opened, sweeping in the unmistakable scent of lavender.
Suzanne's husky whisper raked over him. "Do you mind if my husband and I share your box? It seems ours has been seized by my visiting cousin and his family."
Without waiting for an invitation, his ex-fiancée claimed the seat next to his while her husband settled in the back of the box. "Deplorable stuff, opera," he grumbled. "Don't know what the women see in it."
Justin grunted an agreement, too distracted to defend his fondest passion. Within minutes the dapper
little man was snoring. Justin cast Suzanne a wry glance, wondering if she was remembering their last disastrous night at the opera when she'd called him a foolish bastard for turning his back on his inheritance.
He shifted in his seat. Studied his program. Drummed his fingernails against the balcony railing. When
he could no longer resist, he jerked up the opera glasses and trained them on Emily's box. Suzanne
leaned curiously over his shoulder, enveloping him in her perfume. Justin found himself staring down
the twin barrels of another pair of opera glasses.
He started. Emily was watching him. As she realized she'd been caught, she dropped the glasses in her
lap and stared fixedly at the stage as if entranced by the trilling vibrato of the plump prima donna. Justin lowered his own glasses, feeling a slow smile spread across his face. He leaned back and dropped a
casual arm over the back of Suzanne's chair.
"I can't see," Millicent whined.
"It's opera, Millie," he said. "You don't have to see. Just listen."
He dared a glance from the corner of his eye. Emily was watching them again. He tilted his head toward Suzanne as if sharing the most intimate of confidences.
As act one approached its majestic climax, there was a stir in Emily's box. Justin snatched up the glasses. Several of the young people were sneaking past the drowsing countess, probably off to seek the more invigorating and forbidden entertainment of the music halls. Emily and Claiborne were left quite alone
in the front row.
Justin stood, ignoring his sisters' protests. The soprano's aria soared, rattling the crystal drops of the chandeliers. Justin's fingers bit into the pearl casing of the glasses as he watched Claiborne loom over Emily. She whacked him with her fan. Undaunted, he grabbed her around her slender waist and planted
a sloppy kiss on her neck.
The soprano drew in a breath, and in that perfect lull of silence between one note and the next, Justin slammed down the opera glasses and shouted, "Dammit to bloody hell! I've had enough!"
Chapter 26
But if these words to you should be my last, I dare
not soften them with platitudes
and half-truths. . . .
Every eye in the opera house turned to Justin, even the shocked prima donna's. Her plump chin
quivered. The tenor quickly cut in, his magnificent voice wavering as he sped through the music to
bring the rattled company to the haven of intermission. The audience was more fascinated by the scandalous performance of the Duke of Winthrop.
The curtain began to unfurl. Penfeld lunged for the tails of his master's coat too late as Justin vaulted
over the rail and swung into the box below. The audience gasped, then began to pour out of their own seats, not wanting to miss a moment of the delightful spectacle.
Justin sped down the wide marble steps that led to the lobby, ignoring the crowds streaming around him. Towering columns limited his vision, but his gaze found Emily as unerringly as if she'd been the only woman in the room.
His voice rang out, echoing back from the vaulted ceiling. "Emily!"