Belgrave Square - Anne Perry [70]
The slow drama played itself out on the stage in a glory of sound and lights, and in the dim, plush-lined balconies other comedies and tragedies took place of which Charlotte saw snatches and was fascinated. An elderly general, gorgeous in stars and medals, snoozed gently, his white mustache fluttering as he breathed, while his wife smiled and nodded imperceptibly at a young lieutenant in a box opposite. Two women, sisters from their likeness to each other, giggled behind their fans and flirted with a portly middle-aged gentleman who admired them extravagantly. Two duchesses sat together, diamonds blazing, and gossiped about everyone in sight. They could have had no idea whether the work on the stage was Lohengrin or The Mikado.
In the first interval the lights went up and they all arose to take whatever respite they most wished. Jack and Anstiss excused themselves and retired to the smoking room, naturally peopled only by men, where they could discuss politics. Emily granted her permission graciously only because she knew that this was the principal purpose of the whole evening. The visit to the opera was merely a civilized way of achieving it.
Pitt, a trifle self-consciously, escorted Aunt Vespasia, Emily and Charlotte to the foyer, where he bought them refreshments of cool lemonade in tall glasses, and they swapped greetings, gossip, and trivial conversation with passersby. It was a glorious, gay, noisy, brilliant throng of people, swishing skirts, clinking glasses, blazing jewelry and eager faces. Charlotte found it immensely exciting and could hardly keep her eyes on one person more than a moment or two, because there were so many things to see.
However she did observe Herbert Fitzherbert, so close he almost bumped her elbow, although quite unaware of her. He was speaking to Odelia Morden, their heads together, laughing at some small, private joke, or perhaps no joke at all, simply that they were happy and felt themselves in love.
Suddenly Odelia gave a little start and turned sharply to see a young man accidentally step on the edge of her gown, and blush in embarrassment.
“Oh—I am sorry, ma’am!” he exclaimed in confusion. “I do beg your pardon!”
Odelia stared at him in horror, still uncertain how damaged her gown might be, and not at all sure if the stitches might have been ripped at the waist, leaving her in danger of becoming something of a spectacle should it tear any further.
The young man colored furiously. “I—I am most profoundly sorry, ma’am! If there is any way…” He tailed off, becoming aware there was nothing whatever he could do and all his protestations were quite pointless.
His companion, a remarkably pretty girl with a mass of soft, honey-brown hair in natural curls and a peculiarly vivid face, looked more practically at the damage, then smiled at Odelia.
“It is only two or three stitches at the hem,” she reassured. “It will cause you no embarrassment, and I am sure your maid will be able to repair it. But we do apologize. My brother was bumped against by a gentleman a little too happy for the occasion, and I am afraid he lost his balance.” Her smile was bright and friendly, but there was nothing abashed in it, nor was she going to accept blame for what was not her fault.
Charlotte resisted the pressure to move with the crowd and stayed behind the potted palm where she could both hear and see unobserved. Pitt and Aunt Vespasia carried on.
Odelia breathed out, still uncertain how to react, whether to accept the situation with a gracious wave of her hand, dismissing the whole matter, or whether to remain injured and keep in them a sense of discomfort. She glanced at Fitz.
Fitzherbert looked at the girl, at her bright, frank face, and bowed.
“Herbert Fitzherbert, ma’am.” He turned to Odelia. “And may I present Miss Odelia Morden.” He touched