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“Oh, it is no trouble, my lady,” John replied, although he was still floundering. Internally he was busy calculating the best approach to take with the dowager and the rest of the family. The lot of them unbalanced him, but a touch of genuine awkwardness seemed to go quite a long way with the Keening family.
“Tell me, Sir John, how are you enjoying the opera thus far?” Jane asked, kindly changing the subject.
“Ah, well,” Sir John hesitated, caught between having already confessed his true opinion to Lord Keegain and knowing that Lady Charlotte would disapprove of his opinion. He could still see delicate traces of tears on her fair skin, and understood that her feminine, romantic sensibilities would be appalled if he dismissed opera as foolish nonsense. “The tenor is not quite to my liking, if I am to be honest. I feel that his performance is overdone and distracts from the overall telling of what is certainly a splendid and moving story.”
“Well done, sir. Well done indeed,” murmured Lord Keegain with a sympathetic chuckle.
“What an insightful opinion,” Lady Charlotte said, looking pensive. “Do you believe, then, that the story of the opera is the most important element? Not the staging or the musical composition or other things like that? Or do you most appreciate the talent of the performers?”
“Talent is significant and the other elements are important enough, I suppose,” Sir John said contemplatively. “But only as far as they add to or detract from the story. Without thatwe are merely viewing some mindless spectacle. Such entertainments have their place, but I confess that I most enjoy an opera if there is some element of the plot that I may relate to personally, otherwise I feel that I have quite wasted an evening.”
“I must agree,” Jane said. “One must lose oneself in the emotion of the characters. After all, there is nothing more important than love.” She directed the statement to Lord Keegain who observed his wife with a soft look in his eye.
“Love is forever,” the dowager said, her voice heavy with emotion.
John was surprised. He knew the Dowager Keegain’s own husband had passed away years ago, and marriages in theTonwere often arrangements. He had not thought a woman of the dowager’s years would still be moved by romantic sentiment. He directed his attention back to Lady Charlotte. She said nothing, but gazed off at the distant stage as if contemplating a grand romance herself.
“Very true,” Sir John averred. Mentally he nearly groaned at the predictability of his comment. However, looking at the ladies of the Keening family, grouped together in their box, he could see that they all agreed with the sentiment. Even Lord Keegain who seemed to be a right down to earth chap, nodded sagely at his wife, and a look of such heat passed between them that Ashbrook almost felt scorched by it. He looked away, only to catch Charlotte’s eye and that by no means cooled his passion.
“I do adore the story, even though the lovers are doomed in the end,” Lady Charlotte commented, attempting to regain her composure.
“If you know the story,” Sir John said, trying to think of what to say, but the truth came unbidden to his lips. “Why should you want to watch it again when you know they have no hope of finding their happy ending?”
“It is beautifully sung,” Lady Charlotte said. “And I suppose in some way, each time I watch, I wish they would find a way to trust one another. Trust is a fragile thing.”
John smiled bitterly. “No matter how beautifully it may be sung, I do not appreciate a tragic end as much as I did once.” His words broke off suddenly and he looked away. He was dismayed by the admission. He did not wish to think of such sad things tonight. He would not.
“What has caused this change in your opinion, do you imagine?” prompted Lady Keegain, as if she could guess the answer, but wanted to hear it from his own lips.
“I am afraid that my answer would be inappropriate for mixed company,” Sir John said with a forced smile. “I would hate to disrupt the mood of the evening.”
The young countess nodded as if he had somehow confirmed her assumptions of him.
“But do you not believe that true love must triumph in the end? Even over death?” Lady Charlotte asked. He shook his head.
“We wish it so,” he said in a hoarse whisper. He hoped that he had not let too much of his melancholy past color the evening. He forced a smile for the beautiful Lady Charlotte. “It is my most fervent wish to show you nothing but beauty.”
She laid her delicate gloved hand over his own in a most forward motion. “It is our continued belief in such things that elevates us above the animals. Hope gives meaning to all for which we strive,” she said.
“Then for you, my lady, I shall be hopeful.” Sir John replied taking her hand in his. He trained his eyes on Lady Charlotte as he spoke, so there could be little doubt in anyone’s mind as to his feelings for her, but despite his better judgment he found he meant what he said.
Lady Charlotte blushed most prettily under the intensity of his gaze, her hand held firmly in his. Her tawny eyes sparkled. They were just the color of fine whiskey, he realized. They caught the light from the candles and seemed to burn with an inner fire, like a pair of amber gemstones set within her cherubic face.
The musicians struck a chord to announce the nearing end of the intermission and Ashbrooke released Lady Charlotte’s hand abruptly. He felt suddenly unsure, like waking from a half-remembered dream. He didn’t want to turn away from her, as if he might suddenly lose her.
“I… I must be returning to my own box now,” he stammered. “That is to say, before the intermission ends.” He rose and bowed awkwardly to the assembled family. “Thank you all for your kind hospitality. I hope to see you again soon.”
“I imagine that you will,” the dowager commented dryly. “As we seem to be frequenting all of the same events. Of course, you may call on us whenever you like, Sir John,” she added with a touch more warmth.
“I will, gladly.” John thanked the dowager, never taking his eyes off of Lady Charlotte. “And I will do my upmost not to wear out my welcome in my enthusiasm for, ah… for your stimulating conversation,” he finished lamely.
Sir John nodded politely to Lord Keegain and took his leave.
He returned to Lord Blakely’s box with a sense of both satisfaction and unease. Unless he was very much mistaken, he had made excellent progress towards his goal this evening. It was well worth having to sit through the rest of the performance; even the inevitable tragic end. Although, an unrealistic happy one, would have suited him no better.
The story brought forth too many memories of the war…and death. And what was left behind. He had only been a child when his father had put his wife and her sister, John’s widowed aunt, and her young son on that ship insisting that the danger was real, and they must sail for England immediately.
“Go now,” he said. “Don’t look back.”
