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“To prevent mischief and impiety. Because, they say, theatrical performances glorify and encourage immorality.” However sober her words, even Helen smiled as she said them. “I suppose it sounds utterly ridiculous to you, but,” she continued in a small voice, “that was a view I was accustomed to hearing.”
“If looking at gowns and listening to singers belt out tragedies is mischief, then I proudly admit to being full of it! We shall be mischievous together!”
Helen looked grateful for Pen’s warm exclamation and responded in kind, but Nicholas wished he could sail to Boston and strangle whoever had been restraining her. Such a vibrant woman would have been a target of the priggish, and he couldn’t abide the thought.
He leaned forward and waited for her to meet his gaze across the carriage. Her smile faded as she took in his seriousness. “London society has its own restrictions, Helen; I won’t claim otherwise. But you’re not in Boston anymore. No one in this carriage would wish to suffocate you like that.”
“Suffocate,” she repeated slowly, her brow furrowing. “Yes, thatishow it felt.” She sat up straighter. “Never again. Never again shall I live that way.”
Before his eyes, Helen blossomed as she looked from him to Pen and back.
“Indeed!” Pen enthused, eventually going on to describe the opera patrons of notable social rank they would meet or at least glimpse.
Nicholas, however, remained wholly focused on Helen, who listened and responded even though he knew English society held little interest to her on its own merits.
Even so, her gaze strayed to him every so often.
“And you, Nicholas? I doubt you go to the opera to take note of the latest fashions. Do you enjoy the music?”
It irked him to admit sharing any of his father’s traits, so he didn’t draw the parallel. He simply admitted, “Opera holds no interest for me. But I have no doubt I will enjoy this evening a great deal.”
Having already told her he was here for her company, he held her gaze and let the full measure of the implications sink in. As it did, despite the chill in the wintry air, a blush moved up her neck.
Pen’s eyes widened and she fanned herself with her hand.
Hours later, Nicholas sat across from the women in the carriage once more, only Pen dozed on Helen’s shoulder. With care, Helen held a gentle hand against Pen’s head, ensuring she stayed safely in place.
“What did you think of the opera?” he asked quietly.
Her smile bore no hint of being demure. “It turns out, opera holds no interest for me. But I enjoyed this evening a great deal.”
