Somebody had clearly forgot to stop at the Earl of Westmont’s estate and inform his daughters of this British proclivity. As far as they were concerned, anything they put their hand to was bound to come off brilliantly.
What made for further hilarity was the idea that if Lady Rosalind’s playing andOde to Haywere their measuring stick to brilliancy, he could assure himself that Desdemona and any paintings produced were equally dreadful. He hardly dared think about it lest he roar with laughter.
“Shall we proceed in and see what Madame Tussaud has in store for us?” Balthazar asked.
The ladies all nodded with real enthusiasm.
And there was their charm.
Whatever their lack of modesty might be, there was nothing of artifice about them. They were comely enough and happily lacking the cold and hard sophistication that seemed so popular these days. Their unbridled and quite unconscious enthusiasm was hard to resist. He supposed that despite their eccentricities, they would all do very well with theton.
He was certain Lady Rosalind would—she was looking particularly charming this afternoon.
That idea did not sit as pleasantly as he would have thought. Once another gentleman began to seriously court her, she would likely have little time or inclination to entertain him. He was becoming very fond of being entertained by Lady Rosalind.
The ladies Juliet, Cordelia, and Viola, along with Miss Mayton, hurried ahead. Balthazar walked with Lady Rosalind and Lady Beatrice.
He noticed Lady Rosalind leaned rather heavy on his arm. He could not say he was entirely opposed to it.
“I pray married life suits you, Lady Beatrice?” he asked. “If it does not, I shall put all the fault of it at Van Doren’s doorstep.”
Lady Beatrice smiled and said, “It suits me very well, indeed, Duke. And, I must tell you that I know of your helpful intercession in that particular matter. Van Doren confessed it all.”
“I merely pointed out the truth to the viscount,” Balthazar said.
“I wonder if I might return the favor someday,” Lady Beatrice said. “Should you ever find yourself in love with a lady but hesitating to declare yourself.”
“That is kindly offered, but I doubt it would become necessary,” Balthazar said.
“I shouldn’t think so, Beatrice,” Lady Rosalind said. “The duke will declare his feelings at just the right time.”
“That is correct,” he said. “We will see where we are on that subject in a few years.”
“A few years!” Lady Rosalind cried.
Balthazar had not expected quite such a reaction.
“What Rosalind means to say,” Lady Beatrice said hurriedly, “is that one can never know precisely what the timing will be.”
Balthazar nodded. “That is true, of course. The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry, as Robert Burns put it so eloquently.”
They had come to the doors leading into the theater proper. Though Lady Rosalind’s younger sisters and Miss Mayton had been well ahead of them, they came upon them just inside.
All four of the ladies were pale and their eyes wide.
“It is not fairies and woodland sprites, as we’d thought it would be,” Lady Juliet whispered.
“It is people,” Lady Cordelia said. “Dead people.”
“Marie Antoinette, the King of France, Madame DuBarry…and others,” Lady Viola said.
“And they can all see the model of the guillotine right in front of them!” Lady Juliet said.
“Yes, because they all seem alive,” Lady Cordelia said. “But then somehow very dead too.”
“Queen Marie Antoinette looks so angry, and she stares right at you,” Juliet whispered.
“I thought Madame DuBarry looked very well, though,” Miss Mayton said helpfully. “Almost cheerful.”
