Page 56 of Counting on a Countess
“I see how it is,” Hatfield answered glumly. “Get yourself a wife and full coffers, and suddenly you’re a stranger.”
“It’s a sad, old story, my friend,” Kit replied. “Who am I to change the narrative? Now, if you’ll excuse us, we’re heading toward our seats.”
Before Hatfield or any of the others could speak, Kit guided Tamsyn away.
“We didn’t linger,” she noted. “But they’re your friends.”
“Weremy friends,” he corrected. “Heirs and younger sons, the lot of them. They’ve little to do with themselves all day but run from one amusement to the next.” He led her toward a curved staircase, and together, they ascended.
“Sounds rather aimless,” she mused.
“It is. Dedicated to filling time with meaningless diversions.”
She eyed him as they continued to climb the stairs. “You miss it.”
He waited for a pang of longing for that life. Oddly, none came. If anything, he felt more wearily tolerant than envious of his former set. It felt far better to be at her side and watch the play of excited emotions across her face. “Lately, there are other matters vying for my attention. Far worthier matters.”
“You could continue to join them,” she offered, which puzzled him. He had little experience with marriage, but he would have thought a wife demanded the presence of her husband at home.
“Let’s not discuss those purposeless reprobates,” he said. They reached the top of the stairs and he took them down a corridor lined on one side with curtains. “Tonight, we have eyes only for the stage. Ah, here we are.”
He swept aside one of the curtains, revealing a theater box. Several seats were arranged near the railing, and there was also a bench. The box itself stood empty.
As he moved into the enclosure, Tamsyn stopped at the entrance. “Kit, this is a private box.”
He turned to face her. “What of it?”
“This is where the wealthy and important people sit.”
“Wearethe wealthy and important people,” he reminded her.
“Did your allowance cover it?” She had accompanied him to the bank that afternoon when he went to withdraw a goodly portion of his quarterly allotment of money.
“This is mostly on credit. It’s how everyone of fashion pays for everything.” He tried to smother the worry that churned in his gut. “I wanted to please you with a surprise. I hope I wasn’t wrong to do so.” He gave her a smile that had softened many women’s hearts.
After a long moment, she shook her head, murmuring, “Not wrong,” and he let out his breath.
He held out his hand.
Slowly, she took it. His body tightened at the slide of her gloved fingers as they glided over his palm. But other sensations threaded through him—elation and tranquility.
He brought her forward, leading her to the chair set up in front of the railing. Instead of sitting, she looked around, from the empty stage to the crowded pit, to the tiers of seats where the more well-to-do audience members sat. Finally, she gazed at the other boxes as they filled with London’s elite.
A few people called up to Kit, some from the pit and others from the boxes. He nodded a greeting but didn’t invite anyone to join them. He wanted this time alone with Tamsyn.
Glancing at his wife, he noticed her scowling.
“Would you like to change boxes?” he asked. “I know the management. We can have it done in a trice.”
“Do any have screens?” At his perplexed look, she explained with an irritated expression, “People keep staring at me.”
He scanned the crowd. Many pairs of eyes turned in Tamsyn’s direction, some bold, others more discreet in their attempt to study her.
“They want a look at the scandalous woman who consented to a one-week courtship,” she said grimly.
“Possibly,” Kit replied, gazing at her. “More likely, it’s because you’re one of the loveliest women here.”
Though her cheeks were already flushed from the heat of the theater, her blush deepened. “You’re lavish with compliments.”
