Page 9 of The Last Warrior

“You do not. And, sir?”

He raised an eyebrow.

“You are no gentleman!” She said it arrogantly, lifted her chin and swung around to stomp off in the opposite direction of his destination. He might have watched her for a moment. She was certainly pretty enough he would have liked to memorize her every feature. But he had wasted enough time.

Picking up Ranckles’s reins, he hurried in the direction of the arena.

“Well, Irena,” said Suzette. “I hope you’re proud of yourself.”

“I am.” Irena smiled, the action transforming her demeanor so much she looked forty instead of her fifty-seven years of age. “After all, I did loan you the use of my carriage so you could rush home and change your dress. And because I bid my driver to hurry, it was all done easily, with little time lost.”

Suzette frowned. “I am not talking about your carriage or your help, and well you know it. I’m speaking of what you did earlier. You embarrassed me, and you did it intentionally. You embarrassed William too, though he is such a sweet man that he laughed. Really, is it too much to ask you to act like a real grandmother?”

“Oh?” Irena’s expression was sweet innocence. “Pray tell me, how is a real grandmother supposed to act?”

“I am not sure, since you rarely present me with an example of this image which is the one most commonly held. But this I know, a real grandmother does not act as you have today.”

“Hmm. Let me see. Is it that you want me to be at home cooking, sewing, cleaning? Perhaps you think I should be teaching your children, when you have them, to sing?”

“Never to sing.”

Irena set her head to the side. “Is the opera really so bad?”

“Of course it isn’t. It’s been my life, it has been…it’s been the making of me. But I want something more from this life. Certainly the aesthetics of the music are well worth attaining. And if this were all there was to it…”

“But this is all there is to it, isn’t it, dear?”

“Pray, do not pretend you don’t know of what I speak.”

“Oh?”

“There’s the jealousy that goes along with the trade, for one. There’s also the backbiting, the hypocrisy, the gossiping.”

“Oh, I suppose you have a minor point there.”

“Alas, it is a major point, Irena. And it’s one I can do without in my life. What I desire is a family and a man who is not only worthy of me, but who loves me. William is such a man. You will see. William is kind. He is gentle.”

“He is ruled by his mother.”

“Perhaps. Is that so bad?” Suzette shrugged.

Irena frowned. “It could be…if the woman decides she does not care for you.”

“She likes me.”

“She likes you now. But what is she going to do if you take one false step?”

“Come now. You know this is almost impossible. Think of the many operettas I have performed in. Have I ever missed a cue? Have I ever sung an off-key note? Flubbed the music?”

“But don’t you see? This is all part of the problem, child. You are from the stage, from the opera. His mother will never forget it, and she will be looking for a chance to take you to task…any misstep. And you know as well as I do that when someone is antagonistic toward you, you are more inclined to make mistakes.”

“It’s going to be all right. I love William. He loves me. Even if his mother raises questions about me, he will defend me.” Suzette raised her chin. “I know he will.”

She looked around. They were talking in the entryway of Buffalo Bill’s tent. Across a narrow pathway from this main tent stood the Indian encampment. Suzette knew it was there, but she stood with her back to it, as though by ignoring it, it would go away.

“Irena, could we please be on our way? I feel we do not belong here. Besides, William is waiting for us.”

“He will keep for a little while. The show is entertaining enough to hold his attention.”