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Lavinia had forgotten just how much she enjoyed the theatre.
Losing herself in a world that was completely made-up, forgetting her own troubles in laughter and sometimes tears, was just what she needed. During the past year her life had been so quiet, sequestered away in the country, coming to terms with her widowhood and motherhood, and trying to forget the man she had loved so passionately.
Her recent re-entry into Society—at her mother’s insistence—had been a little overwhelming at first. It helped that she had a new friend to accompany her. Miss Margaret Willoughby was from the north of England and was staying with her cousin Olivia Maclean, although there were rumours that she would be returning home soon to the vicarage where she was born.
Margaret was kind and generous, and she had a surprisingly wicked sense of humour. She was the ideal companion, not least because she made Lavinia smile, and Lavinia needed all the smiles she could get at the moment. She had pushed Sebastian Longhurst from her mind during daylight hours, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t there at night. Sharing her head and her bed. She could only hope that, with time, he would fade away for good.
A vain hope, she knew, when her son looked at her with his father’s eyes.
She and Margaret settled into their seats in the box her brother had hired. Martin didn’t like the theatre nearly as much as his sister did, but he liked to be ‘seen’. Lavinia’s family had once been wealthy and important, and if her brother was to be believed, they would be again. Martin had been coming with them tonight but then sent a last minute note to say he couldn’t make it. Lavinia had felt a guilty sense of relief. He would only have asked her questions about Sebastian, and remind her that she had acted entirely appropriately in removing herself from his orbit. That she had her son to think of and his inheritance.
Since Patrick’s death, her brother had been most attentive. Martin seemed to think her incapable of attending to her late husband’s affairs by herself, and it was true that in the beginning she had found it difficult. Now she was beginning to think she would like to be more involved in those financial dealings, but Martin was not eager to hand them over to her. He always had some excuse or other as to why it wasn’t necessary or even sensible to alter their arrangement.
She had hoped, after the theatre tonight, they might finally come to some agreement. She would pin him down to a time when he could sit down with her and they could talk. Only now he wasn’t coming. It crossed her mind to wonder if maybe that was why, because he didn’t want her interfering in what he saw as a perfectly satisfactory arrangement, but dismissed it. Martin had been nothing but helpful since Patrick’s death, and even when he had come to the hospital, and told her what Sebastian had done, and she had been so upset . . . She could not blame him for that.
Martin had acted honourably and in her best interests, and Lavinia trusted him.
The play was about to begin.
Lavinia smiled as Margaret commented on how much she was looking forward to the evening. “I am saving up all of my good memories so that I can take them out and mull over them when I am home again.”
“That sounds very bleak,” Lavinia replied with a frown. “Are you really going home soon?”
“Yes, I am, and it is bleak,” Margaret sighed. “My father’s requests for me to return have turned into demands and although Olivia insists she will hide me in a cupboard somewhere, I can’t hide forever. My parents want me home. And then there is the curate . . .”
“You don’t have to marry him! Just because your parents think you should, does not mean you must.” Even as she spoke the words, Lavinia wondered at herself. Hadn’t she married a man chosen by her parents? And yet here she was advocating rebellion.
Margaret looked away and her sadness was palpable. “My father is a bully but he is my father, and I know from experience he will get his way in the end. I cannot expect Olivia to support me for much longer and I have no money of my own.” She grimaced, her pretty face downcast. “Eventually I will marry the curate and live the sort of life they want for me.”
“Oh Margaret, there must be something I can do.”
Margaret straightened her shoulders as if about to go into battle. “I fear there is not but thank you just the same.”
Lavinia bit her lip on further protests. Margaret was right; marriage to please family was a woman’s lot. Being a widow had given her a great deal more freedom, or it would do once she had put her mourning completely behind her. She had a niggling suspicion that soon Martin would be coming to her with the names of possible husbands. She would resist, of course she would. It was time she took control of her own life and her own future, whatever Martin might think.
Poor Margaret did not have her advantages however. Her friend would marry a man she did not love, just as Lavinia had married Patrick. She wanted to say that there was comfort in such a marriage, even if the passion was missing. Perhaps Margaret did not know what passion was? And perhaps that was a good thing, because Lavinia often wondered whether she could have married Patrick Richmond at all if she had met Sebastian first.
Just at that moment Lavinia’s gaze slipped past her friend to the adjacent box. And she froze.
Broad shoulders filling out a dark evening jacket, dark hair above a white neckcloth, and a ruggedly handsome profile. She would recognise him anywhere. Sebastian Longhurst. The part of her brain that had not gone into shock told her that he must have just arrived, because he was standing, waiting for his companion to be seated first.
It was only then that her gaze moved to the woman at his side. Fair haired and beautiful, her mouth tilted up as Sebastian said something to her. “How clever of you!” she overheard the blonde woman say. She received a soft chuckle in response.
“Lady Richmond?” Margaret’s voice finally penetrated the fog that had gathered around her. “Lavinia?” Her friend was also looking over at the other box. “Isn’t that Captain Longhurst?” she whispered. “Should we acknowledge him?”
Lavinia found a smile from somewhere, turning her full attention back to Margaret. “I don’t think so. He seems rather busy.”
Margaret’s own smile was uncertain, and Lavinia noticed her eyes lingering on the other couple. She was relieved when a moment later the curtain rose and she was able to try to focus her attention on the stage.
She had been so looking forward to this outing, but now she found herself struggling to maintain her interest. Her heart was beating fast and her throat was dry. Her thoughts were spinning like a whirlpool. When Margaret offered a comment in a hushed voice, Lavinia didn’t hear what she said or know what she was talking about, and she was too distracted to do more than nod.
Sebastian, her Sebastian, was seated opposite her with another woman and Lavinia’s pleasure in this long anticipated evening was completely ruined.
Mrs Chandler dimpled at Sebastian, waving her fan languidly back and forth. Her fingers were heavy with rings, and the ruby pendant resting between her breasts looked as if it had cost as much as a small country. If Mark was right, then it probably did.
This evening was part of a strategy he and Mark had discussed long into the night. At first Sebastian hadn’t wanted his brother involved but Mark had insisted and in the end he had been grateful for that. He’d been too much alone recently, shouldering all of his burdens, and he was tired of his solitary life. The meeting with Lavinia might have proved to him that she no longer wanted anything to do with him, but despite that he felt he had a duty.
He and Patrick had been close friends. And then there was Oliver. Sebastian had an obligation to both Patrick and the child that the world believed was the Richmond heir.
