Page 63 of The Duke's Bride in Disguise
Ava had then launched into a discussion about the book that Georgiana recommended to Emily that fateful day. And from there she had moved the conversation along to other topics, until Georgiana had seemed more composed.
"You're sure you'll wish to remain my friend?" Georgiana had asked, just before she had taken her leave.
"Always," Ava had promised, feeling so wracked with guilt that she was glad the charade was nearly at an end.
Afterwards, she and Mary had spent the day together, but despite all the extravagances they indulged in—Gunter's for ices, Locke's to buy Mary a bonnet, Rundell and Bridge for a pair of earrings—Ava had not managed to shake the feeling of guilt.
And now she knew why, she thought, as she scurried to keep up with Kilbride's long strides; the twins' plan had managed to hurt not one, but two people.
"I hope she's here," Ava said aloud, as they turned into the square where the entrance to the theatre was situated. It was quiet, unlike the last time they had visited, when carriages and grandly dressed people had loitered outside.
Ava and Kilbride hurried up the steps into the foyer, before barrelling through a set of doors which led to the stalls of the theatre.
Ava had expected to find a few figures huddled there, listening to the actors rehearse, but instead the whole theatre was empty.
"They must have finished for the day," she said sadly, as she took in the empty, mocking stage.
"Blazes," the duke cursed, before hastily apologising.
He looked, Ava thought, completely defeated. Fear gripped her, as she realised that she too had run out of ideas; who knew where Georgiana could be? London was a large city, filled with danger for a young, unsuspecting girl.
"Come," she said, touching Kilbride's elbow, "We'll go back to Mary, then set out for Kilbride House—perhaps she will have returned home by the time we get there."
Her optimism was entirely forced, but she need not let Kilbride know that, for he looked as though he needed all the positivity she could muster—false or otherwise. The pair headed quietly back through the doors which led to the foyer, both lost in their own thoughts.
Ava had expected the reception area to be empty, so she gave a start of surprise as she noticed a familiar figure leaning against the banisters.
"Mr McCasey," she called with a yelp, and the actor looked up from the pages in his hand at the sound of his name.
"Your Grace," McCasey said with surprise as he spotted the pair, "My lady. How unexpected—the performance doesn't begin until this evening."
"We're not here for the performance," Raff interrupted, "I'm looking for my niece. You didn't happen to see a well-dressed young lady with blonde hair about, did you?"
"As a matter of fact," McCasey said thoughtfully, "I did. She was watching us rehearse just now, perhaps she is waiting at the stage door. People sometimes do, if they have questions about the play."
"Lead the way," Raff said and McCasey beckoned them to follow him.
They passed down along the stalls and through a door by the stage, which led to the backstage area. If the situation hadn't been so dire, Ava would have taken a moment to appreciate the other-worldliness of it all. Heaps of scenery, props and costumes lay about the place, with no rhyme or reason to their order.
"You'll have to forgive the mess," McCasey said, as he caught her looking at it all, "You'll find that we artistic types are rather messy."
"Oh, no," Ava demurred politely, offering McCasey a shy smile.
He frowned at her thoughtfully and her smile faltered; what was it that he saw in her? The idea that McCasey was her father had, yesterday, seemed rather ludicrous, but now—up close—she could see a striking resemblance between them.
It wasn't just their colouring; it was the shape of their eyes, the bridge of their noses, even their Cupid's bows were similar in shape.
We could be related, Ava thought with alarm.
She had no time to process this thought any further, for they had reached the stage door. McCasey threw it open to reveal—nothing. The little laneway behind the theatre was empty, save for a stray cat huddled against the far wall.
"Dash it," Kilbride cursed, racing to the top of the laneway with Ava and McCasey on his heels. The laneway led back toward Covent Garden, which was occupied by what seemed like hundreds of people. Ava stared about her in dismay; finding a needle in a haystack would be easier, she thought, but then—
"That's her," she cried, pointing toward the Tavistock Road side of the square. In the distance, standing out rather distinctively from the crowd of market goers, was Lady Georgiana. The large silk flowers on her bonnet bobbed as she moved, making her rather easy to keep track of.
All three, Ava, Kilbride, and McCasey, rushed after her, as fast as their feet could carry them. Perhaps it was because Ava was smaller, that she ended up being the quickest of the three. She darted in and out, slipping easily past the farmer's stalls which cluttered the square, until she reached Tavistock Road.
"Lady Georgiana," she called, waving her hand to attract the attention of Kilbride's niece, who was now on the other side of the busy thoroughfare. Georgiana halted at the sound of her name, glancing fearfully across the road.
