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Lucy had not seen such a crowd before. She was glad at that moment that most of her evenings had been spent in smaller gatherings. Nearly all of London must be there. Except Captain Clare. Her heart ached for him. His grief would be the harder to bear than hers had been for the bitterness between the brothers.

Margaret, on Lucy’s right, smiled at her. The return of Lady Eliza’s son and granddaughter had given her a rare evening away from her duties as companion. “You look lovely, Lucy. I had not guessed when our friends showed me the fabric that pewter would favor you.”

“Yes, and how fortunate for me to look well in it. I imagine that if Miss Throckmorton is here in her usual gold, she’s in danger of being mistaken for one of the pelmets.”

“Ladies,” said Cassandra, lifting her glasses to her face to survey the crowd, “do pay attention. I see several gentlemen already eying Lucy.”

Lucy was still laughing when she caught a gentleman in a neighboring box staring at her. The gentleman seemed unable to leave off the stare, pronounced and puzzled. He was older than Lucy or her suitors by many years, and she was sure she had not met him at any of the dinner parties she’d attended. Her appearance or her laugh or her very existence seemed to offend him.

The musicians began to play, and the crowd settled into a low murmur as people took seats and turned from each other to the stage in anticipation. Lucy ventured one last glance at the staring man. He looked away when she caught him at it. Margaret noted him as well.

“Who is that gentleman?” she asked. “Do you know?”

“I believe its young Lydford. How odd of him, and I dare say, rude, to stare so. Do you know him?”

Lucy shook her head. “Should I? Is he the disapproving father of some young gentleman of my acquaintance?”

Margaret shook her head. “His only son is betrothed.”

The first part of the program passed quickly. It was a light piece with a pair of sopranos who were favorites with the lively crowd. Lucy endeavored simply to let the music transport her, joining in the laughter and applause. It was easier to forget the scowling gentleman in the neighboring box than to stop looking for Captain Clare.

At the interval, the audience, as if weary of being contained on benches for an hour, took to its feet. Lucy’s friends became quite businesslike.

“Now, we shall see,” said Cassandra.

A servant was dispatched for refreshments, and the ladies arranged themselves to greet callers to their box. And they came. Not Lucy’s baron, or the brilliant inventor, but several dashing men of fashion, in their black evening clothes and their easy charming ways, and yet there was no seriousness in any of them. They were playing at courtship.

Lucy relaxed at once. Her secret happiness would not wound another. No one would make an awkward proposal she was compelled to reject. She smiled at the man in front of her and sipped the lemon water he’d procured and waited for the interval to end.

Before it did, however, there was an interruption. The disapproving gentleman entered their box. He greeted Cassandra and Cordelia with a curt bow and demanded, “Who is your protégé?”

Margaret stepped into the shocked silence, making the presentation. “Mr. John Lydford, Miss Lucy Holbrook.”

Lucy made her curtsy. The gentleman seemed to be experiencing a strong emotion.

“You are not with your parents?” he asked.

“They are not alive,” she said. “I’m here with my good friends, as you see.”

“But who were your parents?” he insisted.

“See here, sir,” said Lucy’s lemon water–procuring companion. “You’ve no call to badger Miss Holbrook about her connections. She’s a woman of property, and I dare say, as well born as any of us.”

Mr. Lydford quelled him with a fierce glare, and Lucy put a hand on her companion’s sleeve. It was clear that Mr. Lydford was laboring under some misapprehension.

“My father was Thomas Holbrook of St. Botolph’s. You would not know him, Mr. Lydford, unless you were, many years ago, a follower of the fancy and knew him as Iron Tom.”

Mr. Lydford’s brow contracted in a frown of puzzlement. “But how did you come by that laugh?”

“Oh dear. I couldn’t say. We laughed often in our house. I am sorry my parentage disappoints you, sir.”

* * * *

The party gathered around the tea tray after the opera was not a lively one. Harry Clare had left no message at the house. Lucy rallied herself to show a cheerful spirit in spite of the uneasiness she felt in not hearing from him. After all a delay in embarking on an outing of pleasure was as common as clouds in an English sky. She could wait a few days or weeks before she set out for a lifetime of happiness.

Margaret was enjoying the last few minutes among them before she returned to her duties as a companion. Lucy and Margaret sat together while Cordelia served the tea and Cassandra managed the conversation, turning it to Captain Clare.

“So now he is the Earl of Mountjoy. It will be a terrible burden for him,” Cassandra predicted.