Page 17 of Stick to the Deal
It had struck me as odd. In the nearly two decades I’ve danced to my grandmother’s tune, I’ve never heard her apologize for her friends. Not when they cast aspersions on my father’s background. Or when they told her to ship me off to boarding school while calling her a saint for taking responsibility for my mother’s mistakes.
No, I’m much more used to being humiliated by her circle and then lectured for not apologizing for existing.
A warmth spread in my chest as I noted true concern in the lines of her face. “It was quite alright, Grandmama,” I’d said. “Only a couple of uncomfortable moments. Nothing I couldn’t handle.” I smiled, and she gave a start. Shaking her head, Grandmama made her way gingerly up the stairs.
Was it too slowly? Maybe it’s time she slowed down, did less of these events. God help whoever tells Vivienne Atherton that!
Before I can worry too much, the car stops and I alight outside the Royal Opera House. A crowd still mills in the lobby, so I mustn’t be overly late. Thank god.
I was only ten when I came to live with my grandmother. In a moment, my entire life changed. I was suddenly thrown into a strange new world of expectations and rules. Grandmama threw me into different activities to mold me into a young lady of her design. The dance lessons were the only ones I didn’t hate. I was much too tall and started much too late to have a serious chance at professional ballet, but I still love the art form.
A hard impact hits my shoulder, knocking me off balance. I pitch forward and my heel slips. Why did I have to insist on wearing these toothpicks? Just as I’m convinced I’m about to eat it on the Royal Opera House floor, strong fingers grip my elbow and pull me back upright. Sandalwood tickles my nose and my heart rate, which had slowed, kicks up again.
“Careful there. Someone might think you’re stalking me.” Gray eyes twinkle in an otherwise placid face.
“Three times in one week? Seriously, how had we never met before?”
Reginald leans in and lowers his voice conspiratorially. “Probably because we both avoid these things.”
“Speak for yourself. I never avoid the ballet.”
He briefly scans the surrounding area. “Flying solo, today? Or is someone going to smack me for monopolizing your time?”
“No, you are safe from smacking. Grandmama stood me up.” A pang of worry twists my stomach.
“You should come sit in my family’s box, then.”
“Truly, it’s alright.” I go to step away, but my arm is still firmly in his grasp.
“You just told me you are all by yourself. What kind of gentleman would I be if I abandoned you as well?” His hand releases my elbow and I feel cold. The warmth of his hand returns to my back as he herds me towards the stairs.
The idea of sitting with him is preferable to sitting alone, but the whispers around me are rising. I so do not need a scandal right now. “Bancroft, thank you, but I don’t need rescuing.”
“Then you can rescue me from a boring evening with my family.” His hand caresses my back and I realize I’ve tensed. “They don’t bite, but they’re certainly not as amusing as you.” His breath tickles my ear as he leans in. “You were going to have to meet them, eventually.”
Despite the murmurs that follow us, I relax in Reginald’s company. He’s looking especially handsome in a black tux. It must be the confidence. Head held high, he navigates the crowds without a care.
In the box, a stately blond woman I can only assume is his mother, already sits. “Reginald, it’s about time. What kept you?”
His hand presses more firmly into my back and I lean into it. “Mother, may I introduce Nicolette Kato-Atherton?” She turns with a gasp as she eyes me from head to toe. “Nic, my mother, Penelope Bancroft, the Countess of Silverbrook.” There is something familiar about her, but I can’t quite put my finger on what. I’ve probably seen her before at one of the countless events I’ve attended with Grandmama over the years.
A younger man stands from the seat next to her. His blue eyes perform a similar perusal of my body. “Well, she’s certainly not your usual type.”
“Monty. People are watching.” Countess Silverbrook’s tone is lacking any real censure, and Monty’s smile grows.
Reginald’s hand turns to steel at my back. “Please excuse my brother.”
Brother?
I study the man again. He’s slightly taller than Reginald, but narrower in the shoulders. Sandy hair sweeps in a perfect wave from his face. There is something similar about the clean-shaven jaw, but where Reginald is sharp lines, his brother is soft edges.
I much prefer the Bancroft brother I got.
The house lights dim, saving me from any further discussion. Reginald guides me to the chair by his mother and sits on my other side. The curtain rises and I am immediately transfixed as the dancers weave their tale. Meddling guardians forcing a marriage. Maidens compelled to transform themselves at the whim of a man. The prince throws down his crossbow and the lovers embrace before the swan princess is drawn away by her curse.
I am still applauding when Reginald leans into me. “You truly do love this, don’t you?”
I glance around to realize his mother and brother have slipped out already for intermission. “Yes. There was a lot I hated when I moved here, but the ballet was something new I loved.”
