Page 22 of A Wallflower for the Disguised Earl

“Do you see the woman in the third box on the left?” Lady Sophronia whispered urgently during a quiet violin solo. “She is wearing last Season’s color. A tragic shade of peach. It washes her out completely.”

Phoebe did not turn her head, keeping her eyes fixed firmly on the stage. “Perhaps she simply enjoys the color, Lady Sophronia. Not every gown is a political statement.”

Lady Sophronia scoffed quietly. “Everything in London is a political statement, Mrs. Cavendish. Look over there. Lord Abernathy arrived with his cousin instead of his wife. That means they are definitely fighting over his gambling debts again.”

Phoebe slowly turned a page of her opera program. “Or perhaps his wife simply had a headache and chose to remain at home with a quiet cup of tea.”

Momentarily derailed, Lady Sophronia spun in an entirely new direction. “Well, what about Miss Bingley? She has been staring at the stage for ten minutes without blinking. I suspect she is actually sleepwalking.”

“I suspect she is merely listening to the music,” Phoebe replied dryly. “A novel concept for this establishment, I know.”

Edmund caught the deadpan delivery of Phoebe’s redirection and fought a sudden, powerful urge to laugh. Pressing his lips together firmly, he glanced slightly to his left.

Corinna was sitting perfectly rigid in her seat. She had pressed her gloved hand tightly over her mouth, and her shoulders were shaking slightly with suppressed laughter. She had clearly heard every single word of the exchange.

Edmund felt a bright bubble of shared amusement rise in his own chest. Neither of them looked directly at the other, well aware that if they made eye contact, they would both burst into highly inappropriate laughter during a tragic aria. Both remained very still, united in the intense effort of holding it in.

“She is an absolute menace,” Corinna whispered out of the corner of her mouth, her voice barely audible over the cellos.

“An incredibly well-informed menace,” Edmund whispered back, leaning just a fraction of an inch closer to her.

“I am entirely convinced she knows what the King had for breakfast.”

“And she will gladly tell us the moment the tenor hits his high note,” Edmund agreed.

Corinna let out a tiny, muffled squeak of laughter, quickly disguising it as a polite cough behind her program. Edmund smiled in the dark, feeling the stifling weight of the evening temporarily lift. Sitting here in the shadows with her, sharing a quiet joke while the rest of the world performed, felt remarkably natural.

On the far side of the row, the situation was entirely different.

Vivienne talked to Julian throughout the entire performance, refusing to whisper as she demanded his constant attention over the orchestra. However, from his vantage point, Edmund could see that Julian’s attention was actively drifting. He kept his face turned politely toward Vivienne, but his dark eyes kept sliding past her.

He was watching Arabella.

Seated just beyond Vivienne, Arabella was listening to the music with complete and total absorption. Her gentle face was illuminated by the soft glow of the stage lights, making her look completely at peace.

A cello began to play a slow, descending scale, the melody dripping with a haunting melancholy. Edmund watched Julian lean slightly to his left, inching away from Vivienne’s endless chatter.

Arabella tilted her head. Her eyes shifted from the stage, meeting Julian’s gaze in the dim light.

Edmund watched Julian’s shoulders drop. The rigid, practiced posture of the wealthy earl melted away, leaving only a soft, genuine smile that reached his dark eyes. For a fleeting second, the loud theater faded, leaving only the quiet space between them.

Then, Julian blinked.

He sat up rapidly, his spine snapping straight against the velvet chair. He swallowed hard, breaking the gaze instantly, and stared fixedly at the stage with a locked jaw.

Arabella’s hands tightened around her program. Edmund heard the quiet crinkle of the thick paper as her knuckles turned white. She lowered her chin, her expression closing off completely, and did not look his way again.

Edmund watched the silent exchange, a cold knot forming in his stomach. He is forgetting himself, he realized with a spike of dread. He is falling for her, and she is paying the price for our lie.

When the curtain finally fell for the interval, the audience erupted into polite applause. The bright gas lights in the theater were brought up, instantly shattering the intimacy of the dark.

“Oh, thank goodness that act is over,” Vivienne announced loudly, standing up and smoothing her skirts. “The soprano was simply shrieking by the end. My lord, I believe my ribbon has come loose. I must find a mirror immediately. Please wait right here.”

“I shall eagerly await your return, Miss Ashwell,” Julian said, offering a polite bow.

Vivienne swept out of the row, dragging a reluctant Eleanor with her to locate the ladies’ retiring room. Lady Sophronia also departed, loudly declaring her intention to discover exactly what Lord Fife was drinking in the lobby, and Phoebe accompanied her, likely to ensure Sophronia did not start a riot.

The row suddenly emptied, leaving only Edmund, Corinna, Julian, and Arabella behind.