Page 47 of The Rise of a Forsaken Lady
Her anxiousness was soon forgotten as she was immersed into the play, laughing at the hilarious moments and her hand clenching on her skirt in moments of suspense.
By Act Four, when the merchant was mistaken to be the husband of the wife of his missing twin, had his own slave guard the house, effectively keeping the real husband barred from his own home, had Penelope was laughing to the point of tears. She found herself leaning onto Lord Hillbrook’s arm while mirth wracked her body.
Lord Hillbrook was chuckling beside her, either being humored by the play itself or giving into her infectious laughter. His fingers threaded with hers and at the touch, she twisted her head to see him smiling at her warmly. It was dark, but she managed to see his eyes glimmer like sapphires.
Suddenly, she felt the tightness in her throat as anxiousness flooded her once again, erasing the majority of her mirth. She cleared her throat, offered him a weak smile and tried to immerse herself back into the play.
Finally, when the abbess resolved her mistake and it all ended happily; Penelope sagged back into her seat and breathed out deeply in satisfaction and relief for a happy ending.
“That was more enjoyable than I had thought it would be,” Lord Hillbrook said contentedly.
“Really?” she spoke while shooting a look over at him. “It was all I expected it to be, more actually.”
The patrons below slowly streamed out of the auditorium below, and Penelope was content to let them go. “That was delightful…thank you, My Lord.”
A strangled noise came from Mr. Moore—who she had forgotten had accompanied them—and she looked over at him. She saw his black clothes had merged into the darkness in the box as he held up a hand to his mouth and cleared his throat.
“My apologies,” he said quietly.
She turned back to Stephen whose eyes were a tad hard before they flickered to her and went softer. She frowned a little, why was Hillbrook getting irritated at Mr. Moore for a cough?
Stephen checked his watch fob and replied, “I think we should get you back home. It is getting late and I would hate for you to have dark circles under your beautiful eyes on the morrow.”
“That’s very…sweet of you,” Penelope cringed. She was not all that comfortable with Hillbrook’s flirtation…was that it? Was the man flirting with her? She did not know how to identify flirtation if it held a blaring red sign in front of her face, but she still felt uneasy. Thankfully, Lord Hillbrook had not seen her grimace, and she breathed out her relief silently.
“Mr. Moore,” she said over her shoulder, trying to get a respite from Hillbrook’s gaze. “Please send for the carriage.”
Baron Hillbrook stood and extended his hand to help her up and then his arm after she had gotten to her feet. His gloved hand folded over hers and she tried to smile. They left the box with Martha trailing behind. When they reached the foyer, they paused to put on their coats.
The approaching winter season lobbed chilly air to their faces as they left the opera house, and she could taste the bite of frost. They did not wait long for the carriage and Mr. Moore alighted nimbly. The door was opened, and Stephen helped Martha in first so she could sit in the back.
“My Lady,” he smiled and with a gentle touch helped her inside before following.
Slipping her glasses and program into the reticule, Penelope settled her bag on her lap and smiled. “Have you been to the theatre much, Stephen?”
He shook his head, “I would not say much, but I have been a few times in the last six months or so. I saw an amateur production ofOthelloand a reproduction ofThe Beggar’s Operaand a German one whose name I cannot pronounce or remember. However, I realized that it was a bit paltry and pathetic that I was there alone and decided that the next time I would come with someone dear to me.”
This means that I’m dear to him…? Does it?
“I am…flattered?”
Again, his demeanor—this flirtation—was disturbing her and she squirmed in her seat. His laugh was soft. “Your perplexity is entirely too enchanting, Lady Penelope.”
Feeling a bit uncomfortable, she began to speak about the play and relive the best moments that resounded with her. Her chatter was interrupted by Stephen’s interjection and comments. His slight critique of some of the character’s portrayals egged her into a debate about how misconceptions could force people to form skewed opinions of those around them.
“Like I did with you,” Penelope added lastly, a bit tenderly being forced to be truthful. They had this conversation before but somehow, she felt it needed repetition. Her answer was his smile and a kiss to the back of her hand.
It was then she realized that the carriage was slowing and a quick glance out the window told her that they were approaching her home. The wheels came to a stop, and she was itching to leave the carriage. His flirting—something that should have made her heart flutter—something that would make any lady’s heart flutter—was beginning to feel like slime oozing down her skin.
The door opened, and she could have sworn she was looking at an aberration. Mr. Moore was holding the door. “My Lady?”
Reaching for Mr. Moore’s gloved hand, she alighted the carriage while Stephen was just behind her, assisting Martha out. When the doorman opened the door, Martha said her curtsied thanks and goodbyes to Lord Hillbrook. Mr. Moore seemed to merge into the background when she turned to the Baron.
“Thank you, My Lord,” she smiled as best as she could. “I had a wonderful time.”
He bowed. “The pleasure was all mine. I think there is a menagerie passing by this month. Would you like to see it?”
Could she blatantly refuse him? Was that too rude considering how nice he had been?
