Penelope’s head bobbed in agreement. “Yes, ’twill be quite fun, after not allowing him or Michael to invest in my bakery either.”
“Oh? Hewantedto invest in your business?” Althea felt her lips twist in bitterness despite her efforts to remain calm.
Penelope wrung her hands. “I’ve put my foot in it again, haven’t I? Michael and Evan and Ford consider themselves family. Once Michael and I were betrothed, I was part of that family, and universal support comes with that. I am sorry, Althea.”
“I never mix business and pleasure.” Charlotte chimed in. “Nor does Evan. He could not tell me enough wonderful things about you and your business, though, Althea. I was ready to invest before I even met you or saw your projections, based on his recommendation.”
“Oh. I got the impression that he didn’t trust people asking for money.”
Charlotte laughed. “Apologies, my dear. But that is not universally true in my experience, and I’ve known him longer than any of you, I believe.” At Althea’s continued dubious stare, she continued. “He needn’t invest in any small ventures, which are riskier than shipments and real estate. But he does—for women only. His network rivals that of Miss Jenkins here”—she tilted her head at Beth—“and he finds those who are struggling and gives them what they need to thrive. ’Tis only the lazy, avaricious lords and ladies of the Ton he despises.”
“Hmph.” Althea’s response was non-committal.
Penelope had watched the exchange silently and now changed the subject. “Beth and Althea, what are you doing tomorrow evening? Michael has theatre tickets that we cannot use, and Charlotte has a prior commitment.”
Beth lifted an apathetic shoulder, and Althea suspected she’d been reminded of her lack of evening plans.
“Come now,” Althea coaxed her. “It will do you good to see people for something other than charity work. I’m accepting, and you’re accompanying me.”
The next night, they dressed for the theatre, both choosing gowns that were almost ballroom-worthy in their favorite colors of garnet and peach. But overdressing for the theatre provided a boost to their spirits. Every woman wanted to look pretty in public and never more so when recently spurned by her gentleman.
****
After almost a month at the estate, longer than his usual trip, Evan desperately needed to return to London to meet with his solicitor regarding several investments. Expecting to have to drag Ford back, given his grumblings about a disagreement with Beth, Evan had been shocked when Ford was packed within hours and ready to return.
Settled at his desk in his London home, Evan struggled to focus on correspondence needed for current investments and the unending appeals for new funding. Charlotte had sent a note thanking him for directing Althea to her and informing him she had funded the expansion. He alternated wondering where Althea was and replaying her explanation of the miscommunication. He refused to whine about it to Ford like a silly girl stewing.
Althea would kill me for that remark. Come to think of it, any of the women I know would.
He sighed. He could not even talk to himself without censure.
He pulled out the letter Nancy had given him, seal still unbroken. Why had she given it to him? Uncertain why she thought it would help, he remained frustrated and angry. At Althea. At his mother, as unfair as that might be. At his cousin’s lack of soul, and therefore, at his own need to marry. At life.
Standing, he wandered away from the desk, then back, still stewing. He sorted through the mail left on the small table by the door, his movements desultory as he wondered what Althea’s silence meant. Guilt? Righteous anger because he’d snapped at her? Mayhap interest in expanding her sexual knowledge with someone else?
Stationery crinkled in his tightened fist, and he looked down. The usual cluster of invitations included a note from Michael. Scraping it open, he read the offer to use the owner’s box the following evening at Michael’s theatre. Deciding a distraction was just what he needed, Evan dispatched a servant to Ford’s to tell him they were accepting—he knew better than to ask—and then to Michael’s and Penelope’s homes to ensure the couple received their reply.
His carriage pulled up in front of Ford’s house early the following evening, just in case he’d ignored Evan’s message or become engrossed in leather. Sure enough, he had to pull the work from his friend’s hands and push him to get dressed. He popped into the pub next door for a meat pie wrapped in linen for Ford to eat on the way to the theatre.
They walked in just as the house lamps were being lowered, but they knew their way to Michael’s seats, and with him absent, they needn’t worry about disturbing him with a late entrance.
Entering the box as the stage curtain opened, Evan saw two forms already seated, one taller than the other. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light from the stage and the hall behind him, the ladies turned.
He might yet murder Michael, friend or no. ’Twas Althea and Beth, and they appeared as surprised as he and Ford. He scowled at the women even as he sketched the shortest, shallowest bow in history. He owed Althea an apology, but he had been procrastinating. He hadn’t yet determined the right words to use when he saw her again.
Althea, remarkably, did not return his scowl. Why was that?
After making a quick bow, Ford continued toward Beth, leaning down to whisper in her ear.
Althea stood, offering Ford her seat and retreating two rows to give the couple a modicum of privacy to talk.
Evan remained standing at the end of the row Althea entered. When she sat in the second seat of the row, he was forced to either sit next to her or choose another row in a blatant snub. A snub would be magnified by the busybodies in the neighboring boxes, which could affect Althea’s sales. He would not do that to her, nor did he want to. Apparently, he would need to find words of apology quickly.
He sighed and sat, then reconsidered and stood to pull the curtains on either side of the box, isolating their foursome while still affording a view of the stage.
Settling again in his chair, he inhaled the mixed scent of flowers and citrus that was unique to Althea. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the subtle movements of her hands on her lap, her sidelong glances.
He had not seen this particular production before yet was unable to follow the story line. Nor could he put together words of regret for his actions at the soirée. His lack of concentration was not helped by his cock, which refused to ignore Althea’s presence and interfered with his thought process.
