Page 84 of House of Thorns
He led her to his waiting carriage, but she was too excited to remember much of the drive. Everywhere she looked, gaily dressed men and women were making their way to the Theatre Royale. Before she knew it, Nicholas’s carriage joined the line of those dropping patrons at the opera house’s front entrance.
The Theatre Royale looked magnificent, living up to its name and more besides. Laughter and excitement filled the air. Women in their velvet, silk and satin evening gowns, with diamonds and other jewels glittering about their necks, milled about on the arms of elegantly clad men.
Olivia held her breath as Nicholas handed her down and escorted her to the top of the stairs. At the theatre door, she paused and looked behind her. Everywhere she turned, an array of color and lights met her eyes.
It was an enchanted evening, indeed.
“Ah, Deborah,” Nicholas murmured at her side.
Olivia turned to see the Duke’s carriage arrive at the bottom of the steps. The footman opened the door and Lord Deveraux emerged first to lift his hand and assist Deborah.
She was beautiful, dressed in blue with sapphires glittering about her neck. The dark blue only served to accentuate her pale face, but as the future Duchess of Lennox, sapphires were a tradition she could not ignore.
Olivia held up her hand in greeting, and then stopped in shock.
Another man exited the carriage. The lamplight caught on the silver-streaked hair. Her grandfather. She watched him, unable to move.
“Do my eyes betray me?” Nicholas chuckled at her side. “Is that truly the duke?”
His humorous words released her from her spell. “No doubt, he has come to judge me lacking,” she said.
Nicholas merely laughed and patted her hand.
Then, Deborah arrived, once again looking like a nervous bird. “You look beautiful, Olivia,” she said, taking in the dress.
“Thanks to you.” Olivia squeezed her cousin’s hands and added in a low voice, “Don’t fret.”
“I’m trying,” Deborah confessed with a nervous laugh. She lifted her reticule. “I’ve got the package.”
The package she was to leave in the opera box during intermission.
“It will all be over soon,” Olivia promised.
The sounds of the musicians tuning their instruments rolled over the crowd.
“Come, my dear,” Lord Deveraux held out his arm. “We must away to our seats.”
“It is time,” Nicholas said.
It was time. At so very long last. Strangely misty-eyed, Olivia allowed him to guide her forward, toward the stairs leading to their seats. From the corner of her eye, she spied Lord Randall approaching the stairs with Lady Kendrick on his arm.
They were a strange couple, but she was glad to spare the man no further thought. She had far more pressing matters to attend.
It was slow going to their seats. It seemed as if every man and woman in Glasgow wished to speak with her in person, from offers of congratulations to inquires after her father’s health. Over the heads of the crowd and on the stairs ahead of her, she spied the banker that had refused her funding. Catching her eye upon him, he paused and offered the deepest bow of respect.
Then, finally, Nicholas led her into the box. Deborah and Lord Deveraux had already taken their seats. Olivia had barely seated herself than the red velvet stage curtains began to open.
A wave of applause circled the audience as Florinda stepped onto the stage to stand in a snow-white gown with three magnificent candelabras behind her.
She lifted one finger.
Silence fell. Utter. Complete.
Then, the first notes began to play.
Tears flooded Olivia’s eyes. At last, her father’s music played. She bowed her head and for a time, lost herself in her father’s world.
The minutes passed, but Olivia scarcely noticed. The music flowed through her, pulling her back to her younger years, when her father worked the press and her mother tended their home. Laughter and love abounded. She could hear it all, in every note. She listened, caught up in a dream.
