The Wedding Caper Page 3
“Four chairs?” asked Daphne. “Is someone else joining us?”
“Not that I am aware of,” she replied to her daughter. She was unsure if Daphne hoped for another person to sit in their box or if she was relieved it would be only the three of them. “It is always a good
idea to have an extra chair in case someone pauses for a bit of conversation.”
“And,” Neville said with a wink, “you can use it to fight off admirers, Daphne.”
Her face screwed up as she gave him the disgusted look she had since she was young. While he teased Daphne about her face freezing that way, Priscilla went to the front of the box.
She rested her hands on the edge, where paint was chipping off. Below, the theater was filling rapidly. Most of the boxes on the far side remained empty, and she knew the members of the ton were using every minute before the beginning of the night’s entertainment to share the latest gossip.
“This is so exciting,” said Daphne as she came forward to stand beside her. “I cannot believe I am here tonight. I have waited so long for my first Season. Do you think it will be my only Season, Mama? I know you are concerned that I will fall in love too quickly and too easily and that I am young and that I have much to learn and—”
Priscilla interjected, when her daughter paused finally to take a breath, “You always have been fond of the theater.”
“But this is different! Tonight is different. Everything is different. I am not standing on the outside of the Polite World wondering when I will have a chance to be part of it. I am part of it tonight, and that makes everything and everyone different.”
Priscilla put her arm around her daughter’s shoulders and gave them a squeeze. “Do not let being part of the Season make you think you are different. If you stay true to Daphne Flanders, you will find yourself enjoying the whirl of events much more.” She chuckled. “That is advice I was given by my mother when I began my Season.”
“Did you heed it?”
“As best I could. Neville can tell you how important it is to—” She looked behind her. “Bother! Where did he go?”
“He said he would be right back.” Daphne’s eyes glittered like twin jewels in the lamplight.
Swallowing her vexation, which would do neither her nor Daphne any good, for Neville would not change to meet the expectations of the Polite World, Priscilla wondered if he had slipped away to visit the actors before the play began. She had not been able to ignore this afternoon how much he was enjoying himself among the thespians. It was a life he had aspired to and one he would have gladly remained a part of if he had not inherited the obligations of his title.
“Is anyone within?” came a female voice from outside the box. The drapery was pushed aside before Priscilla could answer.
“Harmony, how kind of you to stop by our box,” Priscilla said, hiding her surprise as she sat and motioned for her guest, Lady Lummis, to do the same.
The viscountess, a pleasingly round woman with graying hair and an indulgent smile for Daphne, sat beside Priscilla. “My dear Priscilla, it is grand to have you return to London for the Season.”
“We were here last year, if you recall.”
“For only a short time, and you were involved with that most unpleasant business about bodysnatchers.” She gave a genteel shudder as she pressed her hand over the ornate gold and sapphire brooch she wore on the bodice of her dark blue gown. ‘This year, you are here for a far more engaging reason.” She smiled again at Daphne. “You may have heard that my stepson is looking for a bride.”
“Is that so?” Priscilla kept her smile in place, but
glanced at Daphne. She was relieved that her daughter had turned to look back out at the theater. She was unsure if Daphne could hide her reaction to such a statement.
“Yes, and, as he is his father’s heir, the lucky woman who becomes his bride need never worry a moment about her comfort.”
‘That is true.”
“He will be attending the gathering at Lord Mulberry’s house this evening after the conclusion of the entertainments here at the Prince of Wales Theater. I trust you will be coming.”
Priscilla continued to smile only because of the years of practice she had at keeping a smile in place when she had been a parson’s wife. Harmony Lummis reminded her of one lady, Mrs. Stone, at her late husband’s church. Mrs. Stone believed everything would be perfectly right in the world—mayhap even peace with the French—if everyone would do exactly as she suggested. Priscilla had known Harmony for many years, so she indulged her friend’s belief of knowing what was best for everyone around her. Both Harmony and Mrs. Stone were well intentioned, but Priscilla knew where paths cobbled with good intentions led.
“It will depend on Neville’s plans,” she said, glad to be honest, although not completely. She knew Neville intended to go to Lord Mulberry’s house. The two men were friends, and Neville was looking forward to the chance to introduce Priscilla to the baron.
“I do hope we will see you there.” Harmony leaned toward her and whispered in a voice that would easily reach the next box, “Your daughter would be wise to consider a match with my son.”
“My daughter is only beginning her first Season. I suspect she will wish some time for harmless flirtations before she allows some young man to win her heart.”
“Her heart?” Harmony fanned herself as if the very idea of marrying for love made her swoon. “My dear Priscilla, I trust you will not allow her to involve herself in a youthful indiscretion, which is all too often the result of letting a young woman believe she knows better about these matters than her elders.”
“My daughter has a good head upon her shoulders.”
“Even a good head can be turned by the nothing- sayings of a rogue.” She set herself on her feet and put her hand over the gold brooch on her bodice. “I hope you will heed the advice of someone who is more familiar with the beau monde than you may be.”
‘Thank you for your concerns.” Priscilla would not get into a brangle with the viscountess. It would be futile, because Harmony was quite assured of her beliefs and would not allow anyone or anything—not even rational discussion—to alter them. “We will see you at Lord Mulberry’s, I am sure.”
Harmony immediately brightened. “Yes, and I shall introduce my beloved son Elwen to you and your daughter. Oh, it shall be a most pleasant evening.”
“Yes, it will be.” She hoped the viscountess would not hear the doubt in her voice. There was no need to worry, she discovered, when Harmony took her leave, smiling more broadly than when she had come into the box.
Bother! Being the mother of a young woman taking part in the Season was going to be more complicated than she had imagined. She should have known better, because she had been part of one Season herself and witness to at least a dozen more. Somehow, amidst Daphne’s prattle about how wondrous the Season would be, she had allowed herself to overlook
how her daughter would be of interest to men who were unworthy of the title gentleman. It would be simple to dismiss them, except when one of her friends was involved in the matchmaking. Hurting Harmony’s feelings must be avoided, but at the same time, Priscilla needed to safeguard her daughter from rakes who would damage her reputation and possibly break her heart as well.
Her disquieting thoughts were interrupted when Daphne dropped into the chair the viscountess had vacated. “Oh, Mama, this is so exciting! I cannot wait until we reach Lord Mulberry’s house. Do you think there will be dancing? Do you think Lady Lummis’s son will ask me to stand up with him?”
“Let us take one matter at a time,” Priscilla said, her smile growing genuine. “Right now, we are going to enjoy the performances.” She was going to add more, but the drapery drew back again.
She expected Neville, but was astonished to see a young woman she recognized from a hop Daphne had attended in Bath. The redhead’s maid, who wore an anxious frown, followed close behind her, and Priscilla wondered if the young woman had slipped away unseen from her co
mpanions.
Daphne jumped to her feet and embraced her friend. They both began talking, so excited they chattered at the same time like a pair of birds in a tree. The maid slid along the wall and waited in the shadows for her young charge to return to where she belonged.
“I see we have a fourth,” Neville said as he came into the box. He glanced at the frantic maid. “And a fifth.”
“We have had many callers while you have been busy upon whatever errand that called you away, Priscilla replied.
He grinned. “Is that your way of chiding me for pausing to speak with an old friend before I joined you here in the box?”
“I would not chide you,” she said, letting her voice become prim.
“But you are distressed with me because you think I went off without telling you where I was bound.”
“It would have been polite to tell me.”
“I did.”
“You did?” Priscilla did not doubt him. Neville was honest. . . usually. If he were to tell her an out-and- outer, it would be for a good reason, not just to ease her dismay as what appeared to be an uncharacteristic discourtesy.
He smiled. “No doubt your ears were filled with Daphne’s excitement.”
“As they have been all week.”
When the redhead squealed with unbridled delight, Neville shook his head. “We shall have everyone in the theater wondering if that young woman is in need of rescue.”
“Rather I would say it is Daphne who is in need of rescue.”
“The girl is loud, but Daphne seems to be enjoying her company, so I doubt we need to hurry to save her from being prattled to death.”
Priscilla shook her head. “I do not speak of Daphne’s friend, but of a previous caller. Harmony Lummis.”
“Lady Lummis?” His nose wrinkled. “Is she here with her vexing husband or her loathsome son?”
“She was by herself, although she was eager to let me know that her son is ready to find himself a bride. She hopes to introduce him to Daphne this evening at Lord Mulberry’s house.”
“Pris, you should know that—”
She put her fingers to his lips and glanced at where Daphne and her friend were giggling. “There is no need to denigrate the young man here. I have been friends with Harmony for more years than either of us would wish to own to, and I am aware his reputation is even more discolored than yours, Neville.”
“You do not know the half of it.”
‘Yours or his?”
“Both.”
Her smile returned. “What you know that I do not about Harmony’s son is most likely something I do not wish to be enlightened about.”
“True, although usually you can handle even the most sordid tidbits of information.” He became serious as he glanced at Daphne. “However, you need to heed on dits in this case, Pris. Lummis may wish to marry, but I doubt he wishes to put an end to his bachelor’s fare or his liaison with his convenient.”
“You are fretting like an apprehensive father, Neville. I do not intend to allow Daphne to as much as dance with a man of questionable character.”
He gave her a rakish smile. “How can you say that when you have let her dance with me?”
“Neville, you have exulted in your roguish reputation, but I fear it has been cleaned up quite thoroughly since you most honorably asked me to marry you.”
A rumble of voices from beyond the box followed by an abrupt quiet warned that the entertainment was about to begin. Daphne’s friend, with her maid following close behind, hurried out of the box. Neville shifted the chairs so all three of them had an excellent view of the stage.
Priscilla sat between him and her daughter. Putting a hand on Daphne’s arm, she wondered if her daughter was trembling or if the quiver came from her own
fingers. She appreciated Neville’s teasing more than she could say. Did he guess that she had become distressed that he had vanished because she needed his banter to keep her from thinking of all that awaited Daphne in the hours and days ahead as the Season unfolded? On one thing, she agreed wholeheartedly with Harmony. A young woman must never be allowed to do anything indiscreet. The Polite World was often unforgiving, and it never forgot a faux pas.
A pair of singers began the evening. They were well received, and Daphne applauded loudly even as she asked Neville’s opinion of them. A short ballet seemed to have no connection with the music being played. The audience began to talk among themselves, revealing their ennui with such amateur entertainment.
It became quiet again when the new play was introduced. A buzz of anticipation filled the theater.
“Will this play be as good as Wiggsley’s best or another disaster?” Neville murmured. “You can almost hear them asking each other that.”
“And your opinion?” Priscilla asked.
“I will wisely wait and see for myself.” He chuckled. “After all, the ending is certain to be a surprise.”
“Even to the actors?”
“One would hope not, but with Wiggsley one can never be completely certain.”
Priscilla wondered if that uncertainty was why the actors seemed so stiff while they spoke their lines. Even the scene where the young woman hid behind the draperies and the audience was shown the identity of the killer—Mr. Birdwell, once more in his black wig and magnificent mustache—was without any tension. At the end of the scene, the applause was tepid. She clapped more enthusiastically, but she had to agree with the majority of the audience. The play was
convoluted and much of what was happening on stage was meaningless. Even so, the evening’s entertainment might have been redeemed if Mr. Birdwell did not make each entrance as if he expected a standing ovation simply for appearing on the stage.
“Do you think Mr. Birdwell is intentionally trying to ruin the play?” asked Daphne, revealing her thoughts matched Priscilla’s.
‘You should not say such things! ” Priscilla returned.
“But, Mama, it is the truth. Tell me, do you think differently?”
She would not be dishonest with her daughter. “No, for the same thought has been plaguing me for the past fifteen minutes. But one should not speak so of people who are trying so hard to do their best.”
“And why not?” asked Neville, folding his arms on the front of the box so he might look at the audience below. “It is a valid question, especially when anyone with only half a brain—and I know you are not in that category, Pris—can see that tonight Birdwell would be better suited to the role of the bumbling fool.”
“Oh, bother, Neville! How shall I ever instill in Daphne the need to guard her tongue in public when you have never done so?” She laughed, unable to maintain her scolding pose.
Daphne giggled.
“Do you think anyone else in the theater,” he asked, “is speaking of anything else? Look at how many people are not waiting for the conclusion of the play.” He pointed to the slow line edging through the audience toward the back door. “Dash it! I had hoped Wiggsley and Birdwell would set aside their dislike of each other and remember their love for performing in the Prince of Wales Theater. By all that is blue, they are going to leave me no choice.”
“No choice?” Priscilla shifted on her chair to face him.
“I told Robertson earlier that I would do what I could to keep the Prince of Wales Theater from closing.”
“Mr. Robertson? He’s the theater’s manager, isn’t he?”
Neville nodded. “Now he is going to be eager to get me to put my money where my promise is.”
“Are you saying that you will be buying the Prince of Wales Theater and trying to keep it open?” Her smile broadened. “Neville, that is a wonderful idea. It will allow you to keep a toe in the theatrical world while you still remain in the Polite World.”
“Wonderful idea? I was a beef-head to suggest it, but I thought when Wiggsley and Birdwell saw how dire the situation was, they would rise to the occasion with brilliant performances. I was wrong. Now—”
A woman screamed.
Neville’s chair crashed to the floor as he jumped to his feet.
“What is happening?” cried Daphne, grasping Priscilla’s arm.
As if in answer to her question, another scream erupted through the theater, followed by the shout, “She is dead!”
Chapter Three
Neville tore aside the drapery and took a single step out of the box. He was struck by several people, sending him back into the box. Shouts from the hallway rose in panic.
He pushed the drapery out of his way again to survey the people crowding the narrow corridor. It appeared that half the people wanted to go toward the stairs while the other half were determined to reach the far end of the passage. No, he corrected himself. They were gathering near the entrance to a box closer to the stage.
“What do you see?” asked Priscilla from behind him.
“A frightened herd of sheep unable to figure which way to go.”
A woman screamed. The same woman who had called out moments ago. He heard a thump. The woman must have swooned. The corridor was so crowded. Why hadn’t someone kept her from striking the floor? Were all of them frozen in place?
Priscilla shoved him aside and went out into the corridor. She would not wait in safety when someone needed assistance. Dash it! Would she ever think before she acted? There must be a reason for the