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“Perhaps now would be the time to remedy that neglect,” Sebastian said, in what his brother privately thought a pompous tone of voice. Sebastian didn’t used to be pompous.
“You’re trying to find things for me to do again. I’m perfectly happy with my life.”
And he was. Perfectly happy.
“There’s a woman, you see.” He heard the words falling from his mouth with a kind of horror.
Both Francesca and Sebastian turned to stare at him. “A woman?” his brother echoed uneasily, with a glance at his wife. “Not a…a…”
“A lady, I should have said,” Marcus replied, sounding as pompous as Sebastian. “So, I don’t want to leave London at this time.”
They exchanged another glance.
“Is that why you were asking me all those questions about the Ellerslies?” Francesca asked.
“I’d like to drop the subject now, if you don’t mind.”
He took up his spoon and began on his soup. He could sense them exchanging more looks but carried on with his meal and ignored them. Let them think what they liked, as long as they didn’t irritate him by trying to send him into far away Norfolk.
“I don’t suppose it’s Lady Ellerslie you’re interested in,” Francesca piped up, with a little laugh to show a woman like that was completely out of his reach.
Marcus raised his eyebrows.
“It is just that she and some of the family are sure to be attending the opera tomorrow night at Her Majesty’s Theater in the Haymarket. They have a private box. Lucia di Lammermoor is playing, Donizetti’s opera, with Jenny Lind in the role of Lucia. Anyone who is anyone will be there.”
“Opera.” Marcus shuddered. “Thank you, Fran, but no. I can go to a cat fight and hear better singing.”
“Philistine,” Sebastian said. “Have you ever heard the Swedish Nightingale sing?”
“No.”
“Well if you did, you might change your mind.”
The conversation returned to more mundane matters and he was finally able to relax. His thoughts drifted. Perhaps he would slip into the opera, just to take a peek at the famous and perfect Lady Ellerslie, and her poor relations. His mysterious lady may well be one of the hangers-on Francesca had spoken about. That would explain her fear of being found out—the perfect Lady Ellerslie would be appalled and disgusted and demand she go back to where she came from.
Was there a chance here for him to play the hero? He could save his goddess from her uncomfortable circumstances and…Well, maybe not marry her, he wasn’t the marrying kind, but he was a generous lover.
He lifted his head to tell Seb and Fran of his decision, and interrupted one of their long, sultry looks; the ones that meant they were planning an early night. With a sigh, Marcus returned to his soup. Even opera was preferable to playing gooseberry.
Chapter 6
Lucia di Lammermoor was renowned for testing the vocal cords of even the most accomplished sopranos. Mademoiselle Lind was singing her part perfectly. Portia, not a great lover of the opera, knew enough to know that. But who could not enjoy listening to Jenny Lind? The whole country was in love with her.
Portia was seated in the Ellerslies’ private box with Lara and Arnold Gillingham, and her aunt Jane, one of her late husband’s aged sisters. She was aware that she was under scrutiny; she always was. The other private boxes, the stalls, the pit…the constant curious gazes of those who came to the opera not to listen but to stare at the rich and famous. But Lord Ellerslie had taught her the art of polite indifference, something all public figures must learn, and she had been an apt pupil.
In the beginning she was a shy, young wife whom her elderly husband wanted to protect by keeping her out of the limelight. But in time Portia had come to realize that she could either rise above her own fears or remain a prisoner of them. Choosing to step out from her husband’s shadow, she gradually grew as a person in her own right. It was ironic that now that Lord Ellerslie was dead, she found herself taking on his mantel again.
It was frustrating, too. The public might love and admire her, but Portia was under no illusions. Their feelings for her were in great part due to her position as the Widow of the Nation’s Hero. Sometimes she herself could barely remember what she’d been like before she married. She was playing a role, just like Jenny Lind, but hers was not for an evening, it was for life.
Lara was whispering to Arnold. Portia ignored them, watching the stage with polite attention while her thoughts wandered where they willed. Lately, during her public appearances, she had found an immense satisfaction in replaying her feverish moments with Marcus Worthorne. It was amazing how the time seemed to fly when she was reliving the way he had carried her to the bed, or the expression in his eyes as he made love to her, or the exact timbre of his voice when he said, “I can’t wait.”
But remembering didn’t mean she wanted to see him again. Having rid herself of the troublesome Marcus Worthorne, she didn’t want him back. When she returned home from Aphrodite’s she had barely been able to stay awake long enough for Hettie to undress her before falling into a deep and dreamless sleep. In the morning, she awoke refreshed and calm, and as yet there had not been a ripple upon those tranquil waters.
When Hettie had asked her, “So that is the last of him, lieben?” she was able to answer honestly, “It is.”
By the time the curtain came down on the first act, Aunt Jane was growing restless. She was Lord Ellerslie’s younger sister, and though nearing eighty, far from an invalid. But she was a stickler for her routine and was ready for refreshments. “Where are they?” she demanded in the loud voice of the hard-of-hearing. “I cannot do without my cake and Madeira.”
“I’m sure they won’t be long,” Lara murmured, embarrassed. She glanced about to see if anyone had overheard and encountered a hard stare from a man in another box. “Do hush, Aunt Jane.”
