Page 52 of Miss Delancey’s Tragicomedy

She lowered her chin and her gaze. Pink blotches appeared on her cheeks. He’d thought he’d embarrassed her, but before he could apologize again, she set her jaw and looked him in the eye. So not embarrassment. Rather, perhaps, she’d been summoning up nerve. “Is that also your excuse for the Barringtons’ ball?”

He exhaled. Hard. As if someone had punched him in the chest. What had he said? He recalled their ghastly encounter. He’d justified himself for not asking her for a dance. Then he’d complimented her ballgown. Which was the exact shade of her delicious lips. He hadn’t told her so, but he’d implied it and…leered.

“There is no excuse for how I behaved at the ball.” Honesty was often the best remedy, and even if that was not likely to be so in this case, he could not come up with another approach. “Well, except for this: I’ve decided to court Lady Elizabeth.”

“I’m aware of that. Is this some strange British rule? That when you are wooing one lady you must insult all others?”

Not all. He dug his hole deeper. “It’s not a rule. It’s…”

“Optional?”

Feeling battered, he shook his head and said, “Here is the truth. I enjoyed flirting with you. But it would not be respectful of Lady Elizabeth to continue.”

“So you insulted me to put an end to our flirtation.”

“Yes. No. You see, it’s that…” Gad. What was wrong with him? He was never tongue-tied. Why was he spewing monosyllables? “I—”

“No, that makes sense.” A wry smile appeared, then disappeared. “It effectively put paid to my regard for you.”

His heart cracked in two, echoed poetically by the thwap of the curtain being thrown back. Eli stomped in. “He doesn’t have it.” He flopped into his seat. “Never loan money to a musician.”

Trentham thought it best to make no comment. He’d never loaned or given Eli money. Nor had he ever taken lessons from his friend, though the man had often been free with stinging advice.

“The orchestra is quite fine tonight, don’t you think?” Eli clearly addressed the question to Miss Delancey.

“Oh! It’s wonderful. It’s all wonderful. The music, the costumes, the staging. And Pamina is exceptional! I saw this in New York, and it wasn’t half so lovely.” She slipped a glance Trentham’s way. “I can’t understand how anyone could sleep through it.”

Trentham’s repeat protest was rendered moot when Eli said, “Ha! He wasn’t sleeping. He was concentrating on the music. The poor fellow is unable to appreciate two lovely works of art at the same time.”

Miss Delancey laughed more heartily than the taunt warranted. Trentham had the distinct impression she was mocking not his unconventional reaction to opera, but his drastic approach to women.

To his relief, their companions returned, and Lynch began passing out glasses and sharing out food and wine. By the time they were all settled in for a good munch, the orchestra started playing again. He tried to watch and listen for several minutes, then gave up, shut his eyes, and let himself be transported away from it all.

*

Trentham offered, and Eli accepted a ride back to the house. He didn’t remain to fraternize with friends in the orchestra. He confessed he was avoiding one of the singers, who had slipped him a note via Honore, inviting him backstage.

The coach rocked gently. The night was dark, and quiet had descended as they’d gained distance from the theater.

“What? Not interested?” Trentham teased.

“It was from a man,” Eli said, long-faced.

“Ah.” It was not the first time such a thing had happened. Apparently, Eli’s appeal was universal.

“Tell me,” Eli said, looking down at his hands, “did you think…I mean, do you suppose there is something bothering your sister?”

“Felicity?”

Eli grunted. “Do you have another sister?” He quickly amended his sarcastic tone. “Excuse me. Lady Townes’ troubles are none of my business.”

“Well, no. And she has told me they are not my business either. But why do you ask?”

“Only because I thought she looked disturbed when she returned after speaking with Lady Arbuthnot. And she still seemed subdued as we were all parting.”

For God’s sake. Eli was a better man than he was. He’d been too busy stewing in his own juices. “I didn’t notice.” The memory of Felicity’s bruised cheek rose before him. “But I should have. Still, I suspect it has to do with her husband.” His indiscretions were all too well known. “And I’m not permitted to interfere.”

“No!” Eli looked alarmed. “Of course not.”