Page 9 of Sir Andrew and the Authoress

Simon leaned to the side, muttering to Andrew, “Lord Hartwell also told me they are seeing the same unrest in York. The laws forcing our people to buy British grain are hurting more than helping, in his opinion.”

Andrew gave a nod of understanding. “Have they had any demonstrations yet? Now that the law against public gathering has expired, I am surprised we are not seeing mass gatherings again. But perhaps it is only because we are in London?”

“He did not mention such a thing.” Simon poked at his dinner, his expression darkening. “I don’t like what happened today. If you hadn’t been there—”

“Sterling had your sister’s safety well in hand,” Andrew said easily. “No one came to harm.”

Simon nodded once, then exhaled sharply. “I hope the play tonight is less taxing than the last time we went to the theater.”

“What happened the last time?” Andrew asked, feigning innocence and eliciting a glare from his best friend. “Oh, you mean that little matter with Lady Marchbank?” Simon’s frown darkened, and it took some effort for Andrew to not laugh aloud.

On Andrew’s other side, Josephine leaned closer. She had obviously overheard them. “If that woman flirts with Simon during the whole play a second time, I will throw my opera glasses at her.”

Andrew snorted, drawing a few eyes his way before they drifted back to the duke and duchess discussing the merits of their younger daughter’s idea. “Why stop at the glasses?” he asked, looking at her from the corner of his eye. “Let us hurl a chair in her direction and see if she understands the message.”

Simon looked heavenward as though for rescue from their ridiculousness. Josephine covered a laugh. And Andrew sat comfortably between them, as he always had, quite at home with the family and his place in their lives.

* * *

The rest of dinner passed uneventfully. Josephine didn’t want to speak another minute about the incident. Though plays were not her favorite form of entertainment, she did not mind spending the evening watching as actors and actresses danced across a stage in clever costumes if it meant they could simply move on and talk of something else.

Emma loved theatricals, which gave Josephine good reason to pay attention during this one. She intended to write her friend a letter all about the evening and direct it to the embassy. Every day brought Emma and the count closer to returning to London, and then Josephine would finally have someone to tell about her publishing disappointment.

Perhaps Emma could read the manuscript and offer a helpful critique. What if the problem with her story had to do with the romantic plot? Perhaps she hadn’t written the heroine’s love for the hero in believable enough terms.

“She really ought to throw him over, don’t you think?” Andrew whispered from behind Josephine.

She startled from her thoughts and turned around, glaring at him in the semi-darkness. “I beg your pardon?”

Andrew’s laughing eyes flashed at her in the darkness. “The lady in the play. I cannot even remember her name. It seems all the characters are named John or Mary.”

Josephine looked to the stage again and at last paid attention to the actress lamenting her lover’s lack of care for her heart. “Throw him over?”

“Jilt him,” Andrew whispered, closer now. Josephine looked behind her to see that the dratted man had moved his chair closer to hers. He was practically breathing down her neck, causing bumps to rise along her arms. Thankfully, her gloves covered any evidence of such a silly thing.

“A brief neglect is no reason to end a promising romance,” Josephine said from behind her fan, barely turning her head so he might hear.

Simon sat next to Andrew. The duchess and duke occupied the other two chairs at the front of the private box, but they were huddled together, the duke’s arm around the back of the duchess’s chair, likely whispering to one another.

The deep chuckle behind her almost made Josephine shiver. “You cannot tell me you would suffer a man who proclaimed love one moment, only to ignore you completely the next.”

“Is that what’s going on?” Simon’s voice asked. “I hoped they’d killed the fellow off.”

Josephine turned fully in her seat to subdue them both with her frown. “Hush. You are both terrible distractions.” She turned around again, making a greater effort to pay attention to the mournful heroine, now joined by a matron in the costume of a nun. Apparently, the heroine had been promised to the Catholic church and would be forced to give up her true love if he did not come for her in time.

A rather awful fate, perhaps, but not any worse than sitting through the overly melancholy play itself.

Andrew spoke in her ear again. “I think the convent is a better option for her at this point.”

“Nonsense.” Josie gritted her teeth. The hero had appeared on stage again, swaggering and boasting about coming into his inheritance. “See, he can afford to marry her now.”

“They could both afford it before,” he pointed out. “He didn’t like that she outranked him. Ridiculous.”

Though she privately agreed, Josephine shook her head and kept speaking over her shoulder. “They are going to wed and live happily henceforth.”

“Until he neglects her again in favor of some other wild scheme.” Andrew lightly poked her arm above her glove, the soft material of his glove warm against her skin. “You would not put up with it, Josie. Admit it.”

She curled her hands into fists. She had told Andrew more times than she could count that he could not call her that anymore. Since her presentation at court, even her family rarely used their pet name for her. “Lady Josephine,” she reminded him.