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“Do you not often attend performances at the theatre?”
Mr. Marcellus shook his head. “Indeed, I do not. I find that I much prefer the quiet of the countryside to Town.”
“In this we are alike, sir. For I, too, prefer the natural beauty of the rolling hills, the sounds of the rushing river, and the ability to canter across an open field on my mare. There is no better feeling than that of the cold morning breeze upon one’s face.”
“From the gleam in your eye, I can see how fond you are of horses and riding.” Mr. Marcellus’s lips curved up, revealing a set of handsome dimples. “I confess that I find horses to be much more pleasant company than London society.”
Helen nodded. “Animals are always preferable to humans.”
He chuckled. “Do you keep any animals, Miss Davenport?”
“I do. On my father’s estate, I have a feline companion named Mozart.”
“Mozart. What a curious name.” He raised an eyebrow.
“You would understand if you were to greet him in the flesh. He is a highly vocal fellow. When Mozart is hungry, he ensures that the entirety of the Winterbrook estate is made aware. As if he were a soprano performing an aria, he meows. Loudly.”
“My collies, Jupiter and Neptune, will be in good company should they meet your Mozart.”
Helen tilted her head to the side. “How so?”
“My dogs are spoiled rotten. Whenever they desire attention, all they need do is bark, and either myself or my staff will shower them with affection. I confess, I have tried my best to ignore them and have attempted to have my gamekeeper train them up, but they are too smart for their own good.” Mr. Marcellus shook his head. “I cannot resist a dog who stares at me with sad eyes.”
“It is the animals who have trained us,” Helen giggled.
“Indeed,” he said.
Entering the lobby, Helen noted that it was full of well-dressed ladies and gentlemen clustered in tightly packed circles, entrenched in deep conversation. Similar to navigating a maze of thick yew hedges, Mr. Marcellus guided them through the sea of theatregoers, heading for the quiet of a corner near the rear of the lobby.
“Lord Greenly, Lady Greenly,” an acquaintance of Aunt Sarah and Uncle William called out.
Uncle William sighed. “And here I hoped this evening I might be able to avoid speaking business with Lord Montgomery.”
“He is a persistent man.” Aunt Sarah patted his hand. “Please excuse us.”
“If only I had had the foresight to bring a good book with me.” Papa’s brow furrowed.
“Papa, you are well overdue for a change in scenery.” Helen opened her ivory fan and hid a smile. “It is unhealthy for you and Uncle William to shut yourselves in the library night after night and keep such late hours discussing texts from the ancient world.”
“You are always welcome to join us, dearest,” Papa said.
She was happy to see Papa’s long-dormant zest for life return. He and Uncle William were like two schoolboys when they spent time together.
“That invitation is also extended to you, Mr. Marcellus. Your thoughts on what Tacitus wrote in his treatise on—”
“Papa. No more talk of Rome.”
He sighed. “Very well.”
“We are in luck, Mr. Davenport”—Mr. Marcellus looked to Helen, a trace of amusement in his eyes—“Miss Davenport has not mentioned a ban on any discussion of the Greeks.”
Her eyebrow twitched.
In the background a bell sounded, signaling the impending start of the play.
With a look of innocence, Mr. Marcellus suggested, “Shall we go up to the box?”
He offered Helen his arm.
