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The ‘duke’ strode to her and held her shoulders. “You are tearing me apart with your refusal.” Flynn’s expression conveyed drama and arrogance. “I can’t accept you pass on bathing in my power and the luxury I bestow on you.”
“Your distress saddens me, Your Grace.” She walked away from him to the other end of the stage. “If I yielded to you on your terms, what would be of me? Of my wishes and dreams?” She turned to the duke, eyeing him decisively. “I regret that our lives will not be joined forever!” As the duke walked back to her, she lifted a hand to halt him. “No, Your Grace, I must choose my independence and my dignity!”
“Sarah.” The duke called.
She sinks in a deep curtsy. “Farewell, Your Grace. I wish you happiness.” Sarah walked out of the stage.
The curtains closed, and Hester waited for the loud applause that had been coming after each presentation.
Silence.
Utter, complete silence.
No voices murmured. No intake of breaths. No bodies moving in the chairs.
Nothing.
Just sepulchral silence.
As though there were no people in the audience. As though this had been a rehearsal with no one watching.
The stagehands did their usual. The curtains parted as she and Flynn stood in the middle of the wooden boards.
Her eyes swept through the audience. Everyone still sat there, looking at her fixedly as if she were an exotic object in an eccentric lord’s private collection.
“Lady Worcester,” came a male voice in the cheapest row. “We don’t know if we curtsy or applaud.”
“Neither, for certain.” A male older voice from a box. “She’s supposed to stay at home waiting for her husband. Waiting on her husband!”
“Like all the other ladies!” Said a woman in another box.
“We all know she’s no lady.” A man from the rows below.
“With no breed and no pedigree.” Another woman from the boxes.
“Lord Worcester made a mistake that affects all of us.” A second man from the boxes.
“Taints all of us!” The same woman who spoke last.
Being watched and criticised by the whole of the attendance made Hester’s heart sink in shame and disappointment. She was the same person, acting in the same play, in the same theatre. Yet, the audience changed their perception just because she dared marry someone not of her rank. Because she dared not follow the rules set a thousand years ago. Her throat constricted, and she wasn’t sure she’d restrain her tears.
“Not me.” A voice entering the stage. Hester turned to see Otilia, Lady Thornton, stop beside her.
“Nor me.” Philippa, the duchess of Brunswick, posted herself on the other side of Hester.
“Nor me.” Edwina, Mrs Darroch also flanked Hester.
“Even less me.” Charlotte, the Marchioness of Mandeville and Philippa’s and Edwina’s grandmother, posted herself on the stage.
“Lady Worcester’s place is wherever she wishes to be.” Amelia Bolton said, coming onto the stage. Many people recognised her from the soirees and her talks together with her brother, Sir Joseph.
Now Hester saw herself surrounded by supporters. If tears came, they would be for the joy of having real friends.
In one box, someone stood and applauded. Edmund, the Earl of Thornton.
Another man stood and clapped his hands. Harris Darroch.
A third one did the same. Titus, the Duke of Brunswick.
