Page 48 of To Marry and to Meddle
“Did I say that?” Laverre asked thoughtfully, tapping his chin. “I don’t believe I did.” He shrugged. “In any case, normally Lord Chouchou—”
“You really areveryFrench, aren’t you?” Emily asked, diverted.
“He’s putting it on for you,” Julian said. “Normally, he sounds as English as I do.”
“Do you see, my lady, the baseless accusations to which I am subjected every day?” Laverre asked mournfully, his accent becoming more pronounced. “In any case, those gentlemen do not normally have much to do with the day-to-day running of the establishment. But your husband and I have always operated as something of a team; the theater was in piss—I mean, in terrible shape when your husband bought it, young fool that he was, and he had to invest a fair amount of capital to get it operational.”
“It was operational,” Julian protested.
“All right,” Laverre agreed. “But no one in their right mind would have wanted to spend more than ten minutes inside, unless they were foxed out of their minds.”
“Which many of them were,” Julian admitted. “We did extensive renovations, and then more a couple of years ago—when I was one-and-twenty, the fact that it vaguely resembled a brothel seemed charming and entertaining, but at some point I realized it was a bit…”
“Unseemly,” Emily suggested.
“Precisely,” Laverre said, nodding. “In any case, he was wise enough to know that he didn’t know what he was doing pretty early on, which is when he hired me, and we’ve rubbed along together ever since. He’ssupposedlyleaving more of the daily operations of the theater to me—”
“I am!” Julian objected.
“Theoretically,” Laverre said, pressing his lips together. “But if you are so obsessed with making your society friends come to the Belfry—buy boxes, even—then perhaps you would do well to spend more time courting their favor, and less time actually here, when you know perfectly well that I have matters under control.”
“I don’t need to court their favor anymore,” Julian said in the smug tones of a man who thought that he had worked things out perfectly to his satisfaction. “I have a wife to do that.”
Emily’s heart sank a bit at the reminder of where her value in their marriage lay. She could not linger on this feeling, however, because she was distracted by something Laverre had mentioned a moment before, an idea beginning to form in her mind.
“And yet your wife is here,” Laverre was saying speculatively. “Instead of… doing whatever it is rich ladies like to do. Drinking tea?”
“They like to discuss whether so-and-so’s ball was a terrible crush,” Emily said conspiratorially.
“And that is… a bad thing?” Laverre asked.
“Oh, no,” Emily said solemnly. “A terrible crush is all that any society hostess dreams of.”
Laverre frowned. “It doesn’t sound very comfortable.”
“It’s not,” said Emily and Julian in unison, and Julian grinned at her, the flash of it warming her more thoroughly than an entire pot of tea on a winter day.
Emily then added, “And I’m here becausehereis vastly more interesting than any of those drawing rooms, having any of those conversations. I’ve sat in drawing rooms my entire life—I’ve never been backstage at a theater before.”
“For good reason,” Julian said darkly. “It’s hardly appropriate.”
Emily looked around the room. “Yes, I do see what you mean—all these… papers? And a desk? It does seem frightfully scandalous.”
“Emily,” Julian said with exasperation.
Emily knew she was pushing her luck, and quickly added, “Don’t worry, I’ll be in one of those drawing rooms making conversation tomorrow afternoon.”
Julian’s face softened a bit as he regarded her—she did not think of him as having a harsh face, precisely, but it was not a terribly warm one. He had a way of placing himself at something of a remove from whatever the situation was at hand—of playing the slightly bored observer, amused by his surroundings but not whollyofthem. It was, in truth, part of what had first drawn her to him—she was used to men looking at her with great interest; Emily didn’t like to think herself vain, but one could only hear one’s beauty extolled a certain number of times before one started to believe it, at least a little bit. This interest had never lasted terribly long, of course—the circumstances of her father’s debts and her pitiful dowry were sufficient to drive away many of her potential suitors (and whatever murmured explanations her father had offered alone with the gentlemen at the club or over a game of cards had been enough to scare off the rest). But Julian had been unusual—while he certainly gazed at her with frank appreciation, he’d never given the appearance of being awestruck.
Now, though, there was something softer, more concerned in his expression, though she thought he’d absolutely hate to be told that. So she tucked away the memory of that softening, even as the moment passed.
“I don’t wish you to be miserable,” he said, his voice low; out of the corner of her eye, Emily saw Laverre suddenly dedicating a great deal of attention to the ink blotter on the desk.
“I won’t be,” she said lightly, looking up at that unsettling blue gaze. “We had an arrangement, after all—and I can hardly convince anyone that I’m deliriously happy in my new marriage if the ladies of thetonnever see me at all.”
“Still,” he said, sounding a bit doubtful, “I don’t want you to associate with any ladies whom you truly dislike—any who may have been unkind to you, in the past.”
“No one is ever unkind to me,” Emily said entirely truthfully. “At least, not to my face.”
