The butler appeared in the doorway.
“Delivery.” Randall held up a silver tray. “For Miss Chloe from the Duke of Faircliffe.”
“He Who Shall Never Be Mentioned, Except by Our Butler,” Graham amended.
“I’ll take it.” Chloe accepted the folded parchment with unsteady fingers. “Is his footman awaiting a response?”
Randall shook his head. “No, miss. The letter arrived some hours ago while you were out.”
Her siblings exchanged glances, then stood up from the table as one.
“We’ll give you privacy,” Elizabeth murmured.
Tommy’s eyes met Chloe’s. “I’m right upstairs if you need me.”
Chloe nodded gratefully. She waited until her siblings’ voices faded, then slid a shaking finger beneath the fold of parchment to break its seal. Was this a rebuke for having upended Lawrence’s life for a deuced painting? After their last encounter, what was left to say?
Something strange was inside the folded letter. An oddly shaped flat disc, rather like a piece to a jigsaw. She tilted it into her hand.
It was an ivory ticket for the Duke of Faircliffe’s private box at the theatre.
My dearest Miss Chloe Wynchester,
Tonight at eight, the King’s Theatre will present “Don Giovanni.” It is one of my favorite Italian operas, and I would love to share the experience with you.
If you are free this evening, it would be my great honor for you to join me in my private box.
I would be delighted to escort you personally, and would also be happy to send round my coach if you prefer.
If you have other plans, or are uninterested in continuing our association, I shall understand.
Your servant,
Faircliffe
Chloe’s fingers trembled so much, she had to read the message in its entirety three times before making sense of it.
He was inviting her to sit with him in the most public private theatre box in all of London. Every unmarried young lady on the hunt for a husband dreamed of preening in that box, to the envy of all.
Welcoming Chloe into those hallowed seats was not a small apology but the biggest way to tell those who had dared laugh at her to go to the devil. He was staking an unapologetic claim to the caricaturist, the patronesses, the lads on the street, hundreds of witnesses, and thousands of gossips.
She pressed the letter to her chest and tried to breathe.
This wasn’t just an opera. This was Lawrence sayingI see youandI’ll make certain everyone else does, too.
He was choosing her over everything else. A symbolic statement this blatant meant marriage—in name, in deed, and in public—if she wished to accept it. Her pulse raced beneath her trembling hands.
The next step was up to her.
She stood and looked about the empty dining room that had been so full of siblings moments before. Accepting this invitation meant choosing Lawrence above all else, too. It would mean leaving her safe, happy-go-lucky, loving family and stepping into a world that undoubtedly would contain all new caricatures mocking her and the man she loved on the morrow.
Could she do it?Dareshe do it?
She glanced at the clock. Scarcely an hour remained before the opera was set to begin. If Chloe meant to have a future built on love, the time to act was now.
And a Wynchester never said no to adventure.
She hurried to her wardrobes. If she was going to go through with this, she would do it right. A duchess would be memorable; she would speak her mind, she would stick out, and she would stand up for herself and everyone else who could not advocate for themselves.
