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“Then we are agreed.”
He was still smiling as he stood and moved to the back row.
Justine sat back, her heart galloping in her chest. She very much wanted to bet, too.
“What is the bet?” Lady Bardaline asked with a lightness that didn’t fit the flare in Justine.
“About the opera,” she lied and glanced over her shoulder.
Mr. Ashley had still not returned to the box.
William winked at her.
She turned around. That man thought he knew everything, and really, he knew nothing at all. She was determined to prove it. She would win this ridiculous bet and make him grovel, and if not, well...she wouldn’t mind another kiss.
The third act began. Her heart was still racing in her chest, and this time it wasn’t because of the music.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
MR. ASHLEY,WHOHADclaimed to be a great lover of opera, and that he saw her affinity for it a sign of her superior intellect, did not return to the box until the fourth—and final—act. Justine had glanced back once or twice, wondering where he was, ignoring William’s smirk, and quickly turned her attention to the music. The opera was too good to let anything else occupy her.
Mr. Ashley returned in the middle of the death scene, at the point when Leonora takes the poison so that she dies with her lover.Rather than live as another’s, I wanted to die as yours!
Mr. Ashley’s return necessitated a lot of shuffling about behind her, as Lord Grafton and Lord Bardaline had to allow him to pass, and then forcing William to move one seat over so that he might sit as quickly as possible. And then the man had the audacity to whisper loudly to one of the gentlemen.
His behavior perturbed her. How could he miss the finale? Worse, how could he cause others to miss even a moment of it? How dare he not give these performers his complete attention?
At the conclusion of the opera Justine was on her feet. She still had tears in her eyes from the moving death scene, and was applauding as hard as one might in gloves. She turned about, expecting to see him, but her gaze met William’s.
She was surprised to see that he looked a little misty eyed and guessed he, too, had been moved by the final scene. “Wasn’t it wonderful?”
“Superb,” he said and looked as if he intended to say more, but Mr. Ashley swayed into view.
He was all smiles, solicitous of her opinion of the performance and eager to carry on to the Grafton house. “They’ve invited us all to come round,” he said eagerly. A bittooeagerly—Justine could detect the scent of whisky and understood he’d slid a bit into his cups.
Lord Grafton presented the invitation to Justine to return to his house for refreshments. She found it hard to refuse after his kindness of lending his box. But she felt the swell of nerves in her chest as they all bustled out and she was swept into a waiting coach along with the Bardalines. She was at least grateful that the Graftons had not invited hordes to ogle her in their home. Just those who had been guests in their box.
Their home was as grand as all of them seemed to be in and around Mayfair, with a large salon and furniture upholstered in silk chintz. There were at least three cats strutting among them, tails high, rubbing against the ladies’ skirts. It should have been the perfect social setting for Justine—there were new faces, but not too many—and perhaps she might have enjoyed it had Lady Bardaline not been so suffocating in her attentions. She hardly left Justine’s side, as if she feared a private conversation with Mr. Ashley would result in an elopement.
Justine couldn’t believe what she was thinking, but she really wished Amelia was here to take center stage so that she might step aside and breathe. Unfortunately, she was at the very center. When refreshments were served, the Graftons were full of questions for her—what was St. Edys like? When did she expect to return to Wesloria? Did she find the prospect of being queen terribly challenging?
Somehow, she managed through it, and sounded, at least to herself, perfectly collected. Twice, she tried to steer the conversation to the opera, to the breadth of talent the soprano, in particular, seemed to possess. William said, “Aye, her performance was exceptional,” but Lord Grafton said he’d heard that Wesloria would be building more rail lines, and was that so?
Eventually, wine and whisky were served along with cake, and everyone seemed in good spirits, the talk lively, the attention on others, and Justine relaxed. Mr. Ashley had assumed the role of Amelia and commanded attention by his laugh and his charming asides to everyone in the room. He was swaying a bit on his feet, and when the butler offered to refresh his glass, he sloshed a bit of the liquid onto the carpet in his haste to agree.
Justine was explaining to Lady Grafton the bit of green she wore on her gown that was the symbol of Wesloria when Mr. Ashley interrupted her. “Will your husband be forced to wear the green?” he asked jovially. “Will he be required to renounce his country?”
Forced?“Not at all,” Justine said. She touched the bit of green on her bodice. “It’s a mark of national pride, that’s all.”
“What elegant hands you have, ma’am,” he said as if he hadn’t heard her. “It is little wonder that your skill at the piano is so advanced.”
“They are very ordinary hands, sir, and my skill is average. My mother, on the other hand, is quite adept at the piano.” She avoided William’s gaze, knowing that he was marking the number of useless compliments Mr. Ashley was giving her.
“There is nothing ordinary about you, Your Royal Highness. I would wager you’re a fine dancer as well. Are you? Lady Grafton, we must have music.”
“Oh, no, thank you,” Justine said quickly. She would rather be tossed out the window than made to stand up and dance in this setting.
“That’s a splendid idea,” Lord Grafton said. “We might all have a turn about the salon, eh? Madam?” he said, indicating with his head that his wife should seat herself at the piano. “Lady Bardaline, if you will do me the honor?”
