Both gentlemen raised their glasses to Beatrice, and she pretended at modesty and looked away.
Had her tortured gentleman seen it?
“Dunston seems as foppish as Cahill invariably does,” Van Doren said.
Beatrice ignored the comment, as naturally Van Doren did not have the first idea of the game that was actually afoot. True love might very well be at her doorstep and whether Mr. Cahill or Lord Dunston were foppish was quite beside the point.
“That young lady is staring in this direction,” Miss Mayton said. “Just across the way.”
Beatrice followed Miss Mayton’s gaze and noted Lady Clara, the same who had been determined to introduce Van Doren around at Almack’s.
Lady Clara inclined her head at seeing that she’d been noted. Beatrice did the same, though she did not give a toss for Lady Clara.
The earl chuckled and said, “I believe the lady is making eyes at Van Doren.”
“Certainly not,” Van Doren said.
Certainly notwas just what Beatrice thought. Why should Lady Clara make eyes at Van Doren at the theater?
“Well, never mind,” the earl said, “I suppose you will have more than one lady attempting to catch your eye this season, eh, Van Doren?”
“I hardly think—”
“Now, do not protest the idea,” the earl went on. “It has occurred to me that we are all so used to seeing you that we have failed to notice the effect you have on other ladies outside of our sphere. I believe you are found to be devilishly handsome.”
Beatrice looked at her father in some amazement. Then she looked back at Lady Clara, who was just now prettily fanning herself.
“I suppose if she is not particularly romantic, she would make a very fine viscountess,” Miss Mayton said.
A very fine viscountess? As in, Van Doren’s viscountess? Why did everybody seem to wish to marry him off so quick?
Why was everybody thinking of who Van Doren ought to marry, rather than who she ought to marry? There was a man out there somewhere who loved her!
The acrobats had been flinging themselves round the stage for a good quarter hour. Now, the orchestra began to tune. The melodrama mystery was set to begin.
There was a soft knock on the door. Van Doren rose and opened it to a footman holding two small bunches of violets.
“This is not at all appropriate,” Van Doren said, giving the footman a coin and taking the flowers.
The earl shrugged. “Violets. A message of modesty. And look there, Mr. Cahill and his friend have surely sent them. They bow to me as if to excuse their boldness. Ah, what it is to be a young man.”
Beatrice grabbed the bunches from Van Doren’s hands and held them high enough to be seen over the balustrade, in case her tortured gentleman was watching.
Mr. Cahill and Lord Dunston were acting their part terrifically by bowing and smiling in her direction.
“You’d better give them over to me,” the earl said, “lest they cause talk, as innocent as they are.”
“What are those two thinking?” Van Doren said.
“They are thinking with their hearts, Lord Van Doren,” Miss Mayton said. “A thing you might try out some day.”
Beatrice suppressed the urge to laugh. It was just the sort of comment that would make steam come out of Van Doren’s ears.
She could not think of him for long, though. The play was starting and Darden’s plan had come off terrifically. If her tormented gentleman were in the theater, he could not have failed to perceive that there were two gentlemen in the pit who were fascinated by Beatrice Bennington.
Be brave, good sir, and make yourself known.
*
