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‘You don’t look sad any more. Your friends are important to you, aren’t they?’
r /> ‘Oh, yes. Very.’ Eden tried to imagine feeling that desperate at falling out with one of the men he counted his friends. He could not. The only person that touched his emotions in that way was standing right in front of him. How did she manage it, that emotional connection to so many people? It seemed to give her such pleasure and yet, to bring her such pain as well. He thought of the network of Ravenhurst cousins, that big family, and pushed away the momentary yearning to be part of it. Childish weakness.
Maude straightened up, put her fists into the small of her back and stretched. ‘I had a note from Bel—Lady Dereham—she has taken your Miss Hunter under her wing, says she does not deserve to be a wallflower and she intends to promote her as an original. Bel also says I am to congratulate you upon your perspicacity.’
‘Miss Hunter?’ He stared blankly at her. ‘Oh, the gawky girl.’
‘Yes, the one you picked on as a stalking horse in order to follow me round the dance floor glaring at Sir Frederick,’ Maude said severely. ‘I shall not disillusion Bel and tell her you ruthlessly scooped up the nearest unfortunate young woman.’
She turned back to her plan, sucking the end of her pencil until he removed it from her. ‘You’ll make your tongue black. What are you doing?’
‘Planning out the tables and so on for the special event. We’ll have to think of a name for it. Which blocks of seating may I have removed?’
‘Let me see.’ He joined her, shoulder to shoulder, at the table. ‘I see you have drawn sight-lines in. We could take these and these, put the buffet tables here, the string band in this large box here…’
Somehow, working on such a practical task with Eden, the restraint between them eased. They sat on stage while the work of the theatre went on, sketching, thrashing out problems, occasionally getting up to measure something or go down into the stalls to check the view.
Maude felt warm, happily relaxed with him and he did not seem to try to avoid touching her, or appear awkward with her. Whether that meant that he simply discounted what had happened and could put it behind him, or whether he was a far better actor than he had let her suspect, she did not know. It was simply happiness to be with him like this, doing something practical, seeing his mind work, watching those big, sensitive hands as he sketched out ideas in the air or on paper.
‘We’ll need the stage in ten minutes or so, Guv’nor.’ It was one of the hands, standing looking up at them from the orchestra pit. ‘Got to get set up for this evening.’
‘Lord, is that the time?’ Eden was sitting on the edge of the table, legs swinging, hair loose on his shoulders, as relaxed as she had ever seen him. A pang of love and longing struck Maude with almost painful intensity. She must have made a sound, for he turned his head to look at her and their eyes locked. There was that look again in the dark depths, the look that made her breath hitch in her throat and her pulse stutter.
‘Eden—’
‘Late afternoon post, Guv’nor.’ It was Millie, balancing a pile of correspondence.
‘Put it in the office,’ Eden snapped. ‘I am working with Lady Maude.’ The moment, and whatever it had held, was gone.
‘It is all right,’ Maude said. ‘We have finished for today, after all. Please, make sure there isn’t anything important.’
Eden tossed the pile on to the table and sorted through it rapidly. At the bottom, a large letter on thick paper covered in seals crackled importantly. He ran his thumb under the wax, sending red fragments flying, and smoothed it out. Something about the quality of his stillness caught Maude’s attention as he scanned the letter again and then a third time.
‘Is something wrong?’ she asked, unable to bear the suspense any longer.
‘Wrong? No, far from it. It is the agents for the Unicorn. The owner has died and they ask if I wish them to approach the heir with an offer to purchase.’
‘Who is it?’ Maude came to his side and put her hand on his forearm. Under the fabric of the sleeve she could feel a vibration. It seemed to pulse up her arm, infecting her with his tension.
‘They do not yet know. The solicitor dealing with the will is to write—they expect to know in a week or so.’ He looked up, his eyes burning with a fierce excitement. ‘They will sell, surely? Why should they want a theatre? It is something you set out to acquire, not something you keep if it comes to you by accident.’
‘You are right, most people would want to realise the asset as soon as possible, especially if they have an inheritance to deal with. Oh, Eden, I’m so pleased for you—the Unicorn, yours, at last.’
‘I must not count on it, not until it is certain,’ he said soberly, then caught her eye and grinned. ‘Oh, to hell with caution! Maude, it is going to be mine, I know it.’ And the next thing she knew he caught her around the waist, lifted her in the air and was whirling around the stage in dizzying circles, laughing up at her. ‘Yes, yes, yes!’
Maude laughed back, safe with his hands spanning her waist, safe with his strong back holding her up, as dizzy as he was with joy.
‘What on earth are you about, darling?’ The trained voice from the wings brought Eden to a halt, the laughter dying out of his face. Slowly he lowered Maude to the floor, released her and stepped back. ‘Auditioning for the corps de ballet?’ Madame Marguerite enquired, strolling on to the stage. The feathers in her hat swept down to the shoulder of her deep plum-coloured gown, diamonds winked and flashed at ears and throat, her skirts swished across the boards. She looked, quite simply, magnificent and Maude, her hair in her eyes and her skirts in disarray, felt like a thirteen-year-old romp caught playing with the village boys.
‘Celebrating,’ Eden said flatly.
‘I hardly dare ask what, darling,’ Madame said, running a critical eye up and down Maude’s tousled figure. ‘But it is Lady Maude, is it not?’
‘Madame,’ Maude rejoined politely, resisting the urge to tug at her skirts and push back her hair. She was not going to react like a naughty schoolgirl, whatever the provocation.
‘Well now, and when were you going to tell me this happy news?’ Madame Marguerite enquired. ‘I do feel, Eden darling, that a quiet word would have been more appropriate—every stage-hand must know by now.’
Oh, my God! She thinks we have become betrothed, Maude thought, hardly knowing where to look. Of all the hideously embarrassing misunderstandings.
