The Lord and his Lady (Forbidden #2)

Chapter Thirty Six

Belinha had never seen such luxury before! Her back was ramrod straight as she gazed down at the stage, unmoving. Every word exchanged, every haunting song that thrummed the air and flew to her ears was an experience she never even knew existed. It vibrated within her core, to the dormant part of her soul that had awakened.

She wasn't even bothered by the overwhelming majority of stares and whispers that was pointed her way before the start of the play. Belinha didn't really understand the story that was being told as the words travelled up here were in echoes.

From the acting itself, she could tell it was about a heartbroken man who had been burned by his love because he was poor, taking the treacherous journey to win back her love. Her heart ached with the cries of the man on his knees now, sobbing to the world of the cruelty of it. Of forbidden love.

It was a fairytale come to life!

A gloved hand automatically flew to her chest, painfully thudding against it on behalf of him.

A nudge to her right arm broke into her enchanted thoughts. Lord Beau gestured with his head to the figure diagonal to them. Lord Caldwell's head lulled back, snoring away. A giggle left both her and the younger brother.

"What a pig," he whispered.

"Is he always like this?"

"Mhm, he detests plays and operas."

Why did he come then? she thought. The play now became a fuzzy event in the background as her mind focused on what had occurred in his carriage. When she had asked about Lady Delafort, he was crisp and short with his response meaning it was not good. Or perhaps he did not want to say anything with the Duchess right there. The only other explanation would be that he came to distract himself.

Belinha swallowed an ache in her throat that developed at the thought.

When the murmurs began again, she straightened to see that the curtains had closed and people were standing up. "Has it finished so soon?" she asked, disappointment framing her question.

"It's only the interval," whined Lord Beau with a groan. "Please pay someone to shove me off the balcony, Miss Price."

The Duke turned from his seat and narrowed his eyes. "Continue whining like a child and I will beat you in front of everyone instead."

As Lord Beau muttered about the unfairness of his life, Lord Caldwell was shaken awake by the Duchess. Two men in suits came up to speak with the Duke and Lord Caldwell, the latter shooting up as if he hadn't been well and truly sleeping. They bowed, shook hands and discussed the latest in politics with the Duchess doing her part and speaking to the extravagantly dressed women—they all looked as if they were wealthy—surveying her up and down haughtily.

Everyone ignored Belinha, but she did not mind. She wanted the play to start up again.

Then the man she had met at that picnic, Mr. Monroe, clad in a deep velvet green coat appeared with a tall, thin woman wearing an ostrich feather as long as Belinha's arm. He was Miss Prescott's cousin, he had introduced himself as, and had arrived from Sussex for a short stay in London during the Season.

"Incredibly exhausting," he had said about it during the first meeting. "None of the ladies were notably eye-catching in terms of character."

Though surprise made Mr Monroe snap his head back when he saw her seated in the Bradford reserved box, he inclined his head. She smiled softly to greet him but did not move from her position; he whispered something to the woman before weaving through the bodies toward her. She blinked. She hadn't expected him willingly attempting to speak to her so she gathered her skirts to stand up and curtsey.