Page 20 of Beneath the Devil's Mask
“I came to join you. You invited me to.”
“Did I? I must have been in a singularly mellow mood or else I believed you would be too busy to accept.”
“Ah, well, the debates finished earlier than usual tonight,” Nick said cheerfully, taking little trouble to keep his voice down. This earned him a few giggles and some shushes from the neighboring boxes.
Nick peered down at the stage, complaining. “Damn, they are still on the main bill. I had hoped they would have reached the farce by now.”
“You are providing the farce, coz,” Mandell drawled. “Do sit down.”
“What? Oh!” Nick sank down onto his seat, only slightly abashed by another chorus of titters. He leaned forward, attempting to concentrate on the play, allowing Mandell the leisure to study his unexpected guest.
His memory might be faulty, but Mandell doubted he had invited Nick to join him tonight. There could be no worse theatrecompanion than his cousin. Nick fidgeted, drummed his fingers along the box rail and voiced loud asides. Mandell supposed it was the politician in Nick, unable to bear listening to anyone else declaim while he was forced to remain silent.
Nick did not chatter, but he seemed more restless than usual tonight, an aura of suppressed excitement about him. He clearly had no more interest in the play than he ever did. His cousin must want something of him, Mandell decided. With a sigh of resignation, he wondered what servant’s marriage Nick might be arranging now or what widows’ and orphans’ fund he was advocating.
The first act finished and Kean stepped forward to take his bow to an enthusiastic applause. Mandell’s attention was drawn back to the Countess Sumner’s party. Lily was sweeping a reluctant Anne and the two gentlemen from her box to flit about greeting acquaintances.
Mandell remained where he was. He had no desire to address Anne in the company of a crowded theatre foyer. When next he spoke to the lady, he meant to be alone with her.
Besides, he might as well find out what the blazes Nick wanted now. Then perhaps he would be left in peace. He turned to his cousin, who stretched.
“Entertaining fellow, Shakespeare,” Nick said with a mighty yawn. “But why couldn’t he have written his plays in plain English?”
“It’s called Elizabethan poetry, cousin.” For the first time, Mandell took full note of Nick’s appearance. The coat, alas, was indeed purple, and rather disheveled for the dapper Nicholas. His ash-blond hair was disarranged as well, swept to one side in a clumsy effort to conceal the bruise darkening on his temple.
“What the devil happened to you?” Mandell demanded.
“Oh, the debates became a little heated tonight. Someone shied a book at my head.”
“Tories can be so impetuous.”
“Actually, it was one of my fellow Whigs. I seem to be getting too radical for everyone’s tastes.” Nick touched his fingers gingerly to the bruise and winced. “Does it look very dreadful?”
“No, it matches your coat beautifully. What sedition have you been espousing now to rouse such passions?”
Nick’s mouth set into a bitter line. “I have not been doing anything but trying to convince those blockheads that this city is crying out for an organized police force. Instead of supporting the notion, everyone treats me as though I were a second Cromwell attempting to organize a military state.”
“Take heart, coz. Perhaps the Hook will oblige you with another murder. That should stir things up in your favor.”
To Mandell’s surprise, this offhand bit of raillery caused Nick to go white.
“That’s not amusing, Mandell,” Nick said tersely. “There is nothing laughable about murder.”
“Isn’t there?” Mandell murmured. “I have often wondered whether death might not prove the greatest diversion of all.”
Nick regarded him for a moment with troubled eyes, then said, “I have had enough of debates for one night. Let us talk of something else. We are going to have to leave the theatre early. I for one do not care to face our grandfather’s temper if we are late.”
“I have no plans for calling upon His Grace tonight.”
“Mandell, you cannot have forgotten. We have all been bidden to attend a late supper. Even Mama and my sisters will be there.”
“Give them my regards.”
“But the supper is to honor your birthday.”
“It is not my birthday. It is the anniversary of the day my grandfather brought me to England to acknowledge me as his heir.” Mandell’s tone was one of indifference, but it masked thebleak feeling that stole over him at the memory of that day. The day he had been re-created as the marquis of Mandell, the day that he had utterly lost all sense of another identity.
He added, “I don’t even know when my real birthday is.”
