Page 22 of Holding Onto Love

It helped that the play was delightful. A well-acted comedy. It pleased her to discover that she and Jasper were laughing at the same lines and that when he leaned to whisper a comment in her ear, he echoed the thoughts in her head. However, the evening reinforced her impression of him as a man who thrived in public places. As the newness of their arrangement faded, he would certainly wish, more and more, to draw her out. To accommodate him, she would find herself on display.

He was going to learn things about her; perhaps more than he bargained for.

Midway through the play, the curtain came down and some houselights were lit, allowing Society to see and be seen. Vanessa tensed. Jasper had said they would let people come to them. She suspected she was such an object of curiosity that they would.

“The lad that plays the coachman is better than the lead, don’t you agree?” Jasper said.

“Yes, he’s very good. But he is too slight of build to carry off the role of the highwayman.”

“They could pad him up with layers.”

“I suppose they might. They obviously have done so with Lady Agatha.”

The flighty heroine was impossibly buxom.

Jasper cut a look at her and grinned. “How disillusioning.”

“Have I spoiled the play for you?”

A reverberating clamor sounded at the door to the box, and then two gentlemen tumbled in. The air grew redolent with gin fumes.

Jasper grimaced, then stood, offering a hand to her. She touched it as she rose.

“Mrs. Wardrip,” he said, “may I present to you Lord Carleton and Mr. Stevenson.”

She nodded. “Good evening. I trust you are enjoying the play.”

The Stevenson fellow merely goggled, but Lord Carleton stumbled forward, snatched her hand from Jasper’s, and planted a slobbery kiss upon the back of it.

“Delighted,” he said, though the word was garbled. “Why has Jasper kept you hidden?”

She retrieved her hand and iced her voice. “Has he?”

Jasper waved his hand before his nose. “God, Carleton. Did you leave any for the other patrons? Step back, if you would. You are making our eyes water.”

Carleton took an obliging step backward, nearly tumbling, while Stevenson guffawed.

“What lovely friends you have, my lord,” she murmured.

His face darkened. “They are not representative of the lot.”

“Oh, come now!” Carleton protested. “We’ve seen you slide under the table at Lionsmead—”

“That wasn’t because he was foxed,” Stevenson said, shaking his head. “He had an assignation.”

The two laughed uproariously. Vanessa felt a strong wave of longing for Lydia, who would clap the men’s heads together and shove them out the door. Oh, but so-called gentlemen were not to be shoved.

The door clicked open, and a third man entered. He appeared to be a few years older, though perhaps that was simply because he was sober. He was better dressed as well, with an elaborate twist in his neckcloth and a very high shine to his boots. He raised a quizzing glass to his eye and studied the two drunkards, then lowered it and sighed.

“I do beg your pardon, Lord Taverston. It was my turn to tend them tonight, but I turned my back and they escaped.”

He managed to sound very bored and very droll.

“Mrs. Wardrip,” Jasper said, and Vanessa was certain she did not imagine the relief in his voice, “this is Viscount Haslet.”

“I answer only to ‘Hazard,’” the man said. “Though I assure you there is no significance to the name.”

She nodded. “Good evening, my lord.”