Page 59 of Burning Secrets of a Lady's Pen
Romeo blinked. Then he laughed.
Corin looked over at him with a frown.
“Why do you say it like you wanted to? Is she married to this man? No? Then there is no reason for you not to still try to anyways.” Romeo shrugged. “I know that look in your eye, Corin. It is likely the same look I wore the first night I realized that Sybille had stolen my heart. Only you are a better man than I am. And this Imelda would be lucky to have you.”
Corin snorted. “Assuming she would accept.”
Romeo pulled the set of pistols they had been searching for out of one of the boxes in front of him and met Corin’s gaze frankly.
“Assuming nothing. Either she will or she won’t. What do you have to lose by asking?”
Chapter 21
Imelda felt like her skin was six sizes too small. Like her dress had been laced too tightly and unevenly all at the same time. Every step was a hardship; the smile on her face pasted there despite all the genuine laughter and gaiety around her.
If it had been anything other than the party for the opening night of her uncle’s play the following evening, she would have begged off from attending the social event.
Bodies crowded the theatre, the theatre troupe the center of attention right next to her uncle himself. Gales of laughter broke over the crowd, the clinking of champagne glasses, music, and conversation filling the space. Silk and velvet rustled, and group after group switched conversational partners like some sort of intricate dance.
And Imelda made the rounds through it all, her lips moving and her teeth flashing into grins without ever really hearing a word said to her.
She felt like she was in a daze. She’d been so worried, before attending, that Theodore would see right through her and her attempt at acting, but staring at him across the room, it was clear she needn’t have worried at all.
He was in his element amid all his admirers and fans. He flitted from one group to the other with an easy, beatific grin, charming one after another. He was all joy and pride. And, although she tried not to, Imelda couldn’t help but remember Corin’s theory about his interest in her.
It should have burned. It should have, at the very least, stung.
But it didn’t.
More than anything she wished that Corin was there. She knew that he would see through her frozen smile and perfunctory responses. And she knew she wouldn’t have to explain her despondency over Mr. Batten’s response.
Corin knew and understood her in a way that no one else ever seemed able to approach.
God, why did knowing that hurt so badly?
“Imelda? Did you hear Lady Coltrane’s question?”
Imelda winced, looking up just in time to see Mrs. Tipple peering at her in question. All of the ladies of the group that she had been tuning out had turned to face her, their faces expectant. And Imelda could feel her own face heat rapidly in response.
“My apologies,” she murmured, mortified at having lost even her pretense of being present. “I’m afraid I’m feeling a little faint. I was just thinking that maybe I needed a bit of air. If you ladies will excuse me?”
“Oh, of course!”
“It’s all the bodies in this place!”
“Do hurry back.”
“Are you sure you don’t need anyone to go with you?”
The ladies were more than polite about it, Imelda’s smile a little less forced for it as she dipped her head and backed away from them. “Oh, no,” she assured them quickly. “I’ll only be a moment.”
And she wasn’t sure she could keep up her act of being involved in another conversation, even one that was only one-on-one.
She eyed the entrance warily, seeing her uncle jovially entertaining a large crowd just near the doors there and swiftly veered off to the wall instead. If she moved quickly enough she could very likely sneak off backstage before anyone else caught sight of her. There was an exit off of the dressing rooms that she could step outside for a moment and take a breath.
If she was careful enough no one would even be able to tell how long, exactly, she slipped away for which would be ideal.
All she needed was—
