Page 23 of A Wallflower for the Disguised Earl

Julian, suddenly freed from Vivienne’s constant demands, found himself standing directly beside Arabella. The awkward silence stretched between them, thick and palpable. Edmund watched Julian open his mouth to speak, his posture entirely stripped of the booming confidence he used when playing the earl, but no words came out.

Beside Edmund, the faint rustle of silk pulled his attention back. Corinna had shifted in her seat, closing her program and resting it in her lap.

“The music seems to have left a heavy impression on everyone this evening,” Corinna murmured, her gaze resting lightly on Julian and Arabella before sliding over to Edmund.

“It was a very tragic act,” Edmund replied smoothly, keeping his face perfectly impassive.

Corinna tilted her head, her gray eyes catching the light. She did not press him with questions, nor did she make a grand accusation. She simply watched him with a quiet, knowing intelligence that made his pulse jump. She looked at his hands, resting tightly on his knees, and then back up to his eyes.

She is calculating my every move, Edmund thought, a thrill of genuine danger racing down his spine, and I am handing her the pieces without even speaking.

“I find,” Corinna said softly, an intriguing smile playing at the corner of her mouth, “that watching the audience is often far more entertaining than watching the stage.”

“A secretary must observe the room, Miss Ashwell,” Edmund offered, retreating behind his usual defense.

“Indeed, Mr. Marsh,” Corinna agreed smoothly. “You do play your part exceptionally well.”

Before Edmund could figure out exactly how to navigate the subtle trap she was laying, Vivienne’s loud voice rang out from the aisle.

“I have returned!” Vivienne announced happily, sweeping back into the row and looking completely refreshed. “My ribbon is perfectly secure. My lord, I hope you did not miss me too terribly.”

Julian instantly slipped back into his role, offering a dazzling smile. “The minutes felt like agonizing hours, Miss Ashwell.”

The quiet tension in the row vanished completely as Lady Sophronia returned to her seat, bringing a fresh wave of chaotic gossip with her. Phoebe took her place with a highly amused expression, and the orchestra began to tune their instruments for the second act, filling the theater with a discordant hum.

Edmund looked at Corinna. She was already looking straight ahead at the stage, her expression perfectly serene once again. She had not pushed him for answers, but as the gas lights dimmed and the heavy curtains rose, Edmund sat in the darkness, acutely aware of the warmth radiating from the brilliant girl beside him.

She was silently taking apart his carefully constructed lie piece by piece. As the music swelled around them, Edmund realized with a jolt of pure adrenaline that he was terrifyingly eager to see her next move.

Chapter 9

The heavy crimson velvet curtains fell with a muffled thud, signaling the brief interval before the second act. Almost immediately, the grand auditorium began to empty, pouring its glittering contents into the wide marble corridors of the opera house.

“I am entirely convinced that the playwright wrote this opera after being violently rejected by a soprano,” Aunt Phoebe announced, adjusting the stiff lace at her wrists.

“Is it the tragic poison scene that offends your artistic sensibilities, Aunt Phoebe, or merely the tenor’s persistent refusal to sing in key?” Corinna asked, smiling into the rim of her painted paper fan as she stepped out of the way of two hurried gentlemen in identical black evening tails.

“The tenor is a public nuisance, of course, but it is the heroine’s total lack of common sense that truly wounds me,” Phoebe replied briskly.

“She has surrendered her entire fortune, her quiet reputation, and a perfectly good carriage to a man who cannot even manage his own neckwear,” Corinna noted, agreeing completely with her aunt’s assessment.

“It is utterly absurd,” Phoebe declared. She steered Corinna toward a carpeted alcove near a sweeping arched window.

“It is a profound relief that Mother chose to remain at home this evening,” Corinna remarked, and they watched as a group of gossiping matrons blocked the main stairway with their massive silk skirts.

“Your mother has very little patience for grand rooms explicitly designed to be watched in,” Phoebe pointed out, claiming a spot against the cool stone wall.

“And I suppose you possess endless patience for it?” Corinna teased gently.

“I possess endless patience for nothing else,” Phoebe replied, a wicked gleam in her eye.

“Eleanor is much happier with her correspondence and her quiet needlework.” Corinna felt a pang of longing for the quiet library back at their country estate.

“Exactly,” Phoebe said, snapping her fan open. “The household keeps running exactly as it always has under her watchful eye, which leaves us perfectly free to observe the circus.”

“Speaking of the circus,” Corinna nodded toward the closed theater doors, “perhaps the heroine simply believed his promises. People in operas are notoriously susceptible to speeches delivered in a minor key.”

“People in operas are remarkably foolish,” Phoebe countered immediately.