Arcana (17 page)

His clarification melts some of the tension from my shoulders, and I give him a more sincere smile. “Thank you for inviting me, because it’s true, I’m enjoying myself very much.”

“Excellent,” he says. “But come, you must sit. I can’t have you standing the entire opera.” He gestures toward the chairs behind us. As he does, a ring on his right hand catches my eye. The design is similar to a cross but with a loop at the top. I tilt my head to the side. The symbol is unfamiliar to me. A smattering of diamonds gives it a subtle sparkle, but the band is wide enough to still remain masculine.

He catches me staring, and I smile. “I just noticed your ring. It’s unusual. Is it a family heirloom?”

He glances down at his finger as if just remembering he wore a ring. “Oh, indeed. It was my father’s, and I’ve always had a penchant for simplistic designs.”

“Well, it’s lovely,” I say slowly. Despite his casual response, there is something about the ring that causes the fine hairs on the nape of my neck to rise.

The lights in the theatre dim, and I am once again distracted by the splendor of the opera. I take my seat but sit on the very edge, afraid to miss anything. Robert sits to my right, a drink in hand and a tired expression on his face. Grandmama, for once, is quiet. She has donned opera glasses, though, so she is no doubt busy in her scan of the crowd.

Lord Blackburn sits to my left, and as he takes his seat, the dramatic music calms and the curtains open on a haggard servant sitting alone.

As soon as he begins to sing, his voice a deep bass, I am sucked into the story. Though I know my grandmother wanted me to talk to Lord Blackburn and not pay the show any attention, I can’t tear my eyes away from the stage. And when the female lead takes the stage, her voice a clear, powerful soprano, goosebumps erupt over my skin.

I envy her. I would love to use my voice to provide for myself, answering to no one but me and my talent. What would that be like? How freeing it must be, how self-reliant.

Lord Blackburn sits quietly beside me as I all but ignore him. A few side glances reveal him to be just as interested as me. Too soon, the curtain falls and the lights go up for the intermission.

He looks at me with a wide grin. “I don’t think I need to ask you if you’re enjoying it.”

“I love it,” I gush. “The music, the costumes, the singing. All of it. Thank you so much for inviting us.”

He stands and offers me his hand. “It was nothing, truly. Shall we go have some refreshments?”

I take his hand and join him. “Only if we can return in time. I wouldn’t want to miss anything.”

I turn to Robert and Grandmama to see if they want to join us and find Robert asleep, his arms crossed over his chest. If Grandmama cares, she shows no sign of it.

“Bring your brother with you,” she says, when she sees me looking in her direction. “I’m off to find Lady Hasting.”

I poke him not too gently in the arm, and he wakes with a snort. “How could you sleep through that?” I demand.

“I wasn’t asleep,” he says, his voice groggy.

“Very well,” I say, “then what’s it about?”

He shrugs. "It’s in Italian."

I let out a huff. “Well, Lord Blackburn and I are going to the lobby for refreshments. You’re welcome to join—if you can manage to wake up.”

He stands and stretches—probably just to annoy me. “I’m awake.”

“This way to the lobby,” Lord Blackburn says, his voice betraying a hint of a laugh. He holds the curtain aside for us.

“You can go fetch me some tea,” I tell Robert. “It’ll help you wake up.” A teasing grin slips out, and Robert returns it.

“Very well.”

Lord Blackburn offers me his arm as we stroll down to the lobby. His arm seems much thinner than the earl’s, and I blush when I realize I’m comparing how muscular they are. He smiles down at me, his eyes focused on my face for just a shade too long, and a wave of awkwardness washes over me. Inwardly, I admonish myself for the feeling. We’ve been getting along so well it doesn’t seem fair to be uncomfortable.

But as my eyes search the lobby for a crop of dark hair, I know why I feel this way. Because of
him.

Instead of the earl, I see Penelope standing against the wall, her dress a bright peacock blue. When she sees me, her eyes brighten, and she gives a little wave.

“There’s Penelope,” I say. “I should go say hello.”

“Indeed, and I should do the same with Lady Hasting.” He nods his head in the direction of the lady in question, for once not wearing a hat.

“Oh yes,” I say with a grin. “I almost didn’t recognize her.”

He chuckles as he walks away.

“Penelope,” I say when I reach her side, “it’s so good to see you here. Are you enjoying the opera?”

She gives a sigh in appreciation. “It’s wonderful. I absolutely adore Donna Anna. Her voice is gorgeous.”

I’d forgotten Penelope is a music enthusiast as well, and I probably surprise her with my own enthusiasm. “It’s divine! I couldn’t tear my eyes from the stage, and it took everything in me not to beg the director to let me join.” I laugh a little to let her know I’m joking; though, it’s partly true.

“I know what you mean,” she says. “It would be such a dream to be able to sing and play music all day every day.”

“What? And miss out on the balls? The husband hunts? Never,” I say teasingly and she laughs.

Abruptly her smile disappears, and I turn to see what has caught her eye.

“Miss Sinclair,” Lord Thornewood says gruffly, “might I have a word with you?” He is dressed, as usual, all in black. I’m bewildered by his tone, and even more bewildered by his presence here, though perhaps I shouldn’t be. Nearly everyone in society is present here tonight.

I raise my eyebrows at Penelope slightly—to cover up the way my heart is now beating furiously in my chest. “Certainly,” I say. “Penelope, will you excuse us for a moment?”

She nods, and I follow the earl as he walks away, his back stiff. He leads us to an alcove just off the lobby, and the sudden quiet is unnerving after the loud din of so many people.

He turns on me, his brows drawn low over his eyes. “Was that Lord Blackburn’s box I saw you in earlier?”

I’m sure my expression is the picture of confusion. With effort, I smooth out the wrinkles in my forehead. “You know it was.”

“And your grandmother approves of this?”

His tone is so condescending I instantly prickle. “Of course she approves. It was her idea—not that it’s any of your concern.”

“Then your grandmother is misinformed about Lord Blackburn’s character,” he says with a sneer on the last word. “I have it on good authority that not only is he a gambling rake, but he is so indebted he must find a nice fat dowry if he ever hopes to settle his accounts.”

My eyes go round, and I take a step back. Surely my grandmother would have found out as much as she could about Lord Blackburn. She was friends with his aunt for one thing. And Lord Blackburn has been nothing but kind to me. I think of the way Eliza whispered in Lord Thornewood’s ear while they were dancing, and of his answering smile. If this is his source, I have nothing to fear. And yet . . . the whisper of caution within me is difficult to ignore.

Lord Thornewood’s expression turns smug, and anger burns inside me. What right has he to warn me when he keeps company with Eliza? “I wouldn’t trust gossipmongers if I were you, my lord. It just so happens I was also told
you
were an infamous rake.”

The expression melts from his face. He leans in closer to me, and my breath catches in my throat. We are safe from prying eyes here in this alcove, but it doesn’t make me feel any less exposed. Perhaps he does have the gift of arcana after all. “This is your response then?” he says.

I think about him flirting with Eliza on the dance floor and straighten my spine. “It is.”

His eyebrows crease the skin between his eyes, darkening his nearly-black eyes. “Very well. Forgive me for intruding. Believe me, it was kindly meant.”

Before I can respond, he turns on his heel and disappears into the crowd.

I wish I can say my little tête à tête with Lord Thornewood doesn’t prevent me from enjoying the opera. And to an extent, it doesn’t. But I have to fight to stay immersed in the beautiful music and the costumes and the drama of it all where before it was effortless.

Hateful man. Just because he heard a rumor at his club—no doubt in the midst of gambling himself—he has to burden me with it. Lord Blackburn has been a gentleman since the moment we met.

We give a standing ovation at the end of the opera, and Lord Blackburn grins down at me, his face softened by the dim lighting. I smile back, all the while searching his face for some indication he has bad intentions. Guilt twists through my stomach. Do I truly feel apprehension toward Lord Blackburn? Or are Lord Thornewood’s words clouding my opinion of him?

“I know we didn’t get to speak much,” he says, “but I truly enjoyed watching this with you.”

His words are so sweet the knife of guilt causes another stab of pain. “You were a superb opera-watching partner.”

“Wasn’t this your first opera?” he asks teasingly.

I smile wryly. “Yes, but anyone who enjoys it as much as I do and who can sit in companionable silence with me must be the best.”

“Perhaps I sat in silence because I have nothing of interest to say.”

“For shame, Lord Blackburn. That is not true at all.”

“You are too kind,” he says, his expression more serious—except for his eyes, which still maintain that sparkle of good humor.

“I must thank you again for inviting us,” I say as Robert joins my side, looking very much ready to go. He barely stifles a yawn, and I shoot him a look.

“Believe me, it was my pleasure.”

My grandmother repeats my thanks as profusely as she did when we first arrived, as if mine wasn’t good enough. I turn away from her and roll my eyes at Robert. He chuckles softly.

“I hope that invitation to your stables still stands,” Robert interrupts my grandmother, and Lord Blackburn turns. “I’ll be returning to Oxford on Saturday.”

“Ah,” Lord Blackburn says with a nod. “Of course. You are both welcome to come tomorrow if it suits you. Though I must add Lady Hasting has invited a few others there—mostly family, but also Miss Uppington and Miss Gray, I believe.”

I have to stifle a groan. Can I not do
anything
without Eliza showing up, too? I’m surprised I haven’t run into her here.

“Such a large party,” Grandmama says, her tone almost gleeful. “You honor us with an invitation.”

“No, I’m thankful you expressed interest. I only hope I don’t bore you with my endless talk of the horses.”

“Not as long as we can ride,” Robert says wryly. “That should negate any time wasted on conversation.”

Before Grandmama can admonish Robert for speaking so candidly, Lord Blackburn lets out a loud laugh. “Not one for idle conversation, I see. That’s good. I will certainly make riding the priority then.”

Robert claps him on the back. “Good man.”

Grandmama looks as though she may strangle my brother, so for his own good, I say, “Shall we return to the lobby?”

“Forgive me,” Lord Blackburn says. “I hadn’t noticed how late it is. You must be exhausted.” He offers me his arm, and I take it, soothing my grandmother’s wrath.

As we stroll through the lobby, my skirts swishing pleasantly against my legs, I feel a tingle of awareness on the back of my neck. I turn my head, and my eyes instantly land on Lord Thornewood. He leans casually against one of the lobby’s columns, one hand in the pocket of his black trousers. His expression is at once dark and unreadable. My stomach flutters, and I turn away.

Lord Blackburn helps us into our carriage when it’s pulled ’round, and when it’s my turn, he meets my gaze and kisses the back of my hand. My eyes lock on his, and I am acutely aware of one thing: my skin has erupted in goosebumps.

I stare up at the lace canopy of my bed. Lord Thornewood’s warnings resound in my mind despite my best efforts to ignore them. My body’s reaction to Lord Blackburn suggests there is something about him that encourages caution, though he has been nothing but kind.

A soft glow catches my eye, and I turn toward my mother’s journal. I clutch the little book to my chest briefly and whisper a thank-you to my mother. Surely her words will bring me comfort. The book falls open and words scrawl across the page as if my mother wrote them in great anxiety.

I close the little book. My hand shakes as I place it gently back on the side table. Tingles of unease race up and down my spine. Two warnings in one night cannot be coincidence.

I shake my head as a deep disappointment fills me. Lord Blackburn has been so charismatic and kind, even appearing frail at times. Is it a charade on his part? But no, surely he does not know the truth about me. I have done nothing to draw attention to myself. Then again, to ignore both my own apprehension and Mama’s warning would be folly.

I must waste no more time in uncovering Lord Blackburn’s intentions.

TWELVE