Victoria brushed some ash from the folds of her dusty pink ball gown and wished that she hadn't sat so close to the hearth before she left. The sun had long since disappeared and with it went any warmth it might have offered. Her only consolation in being forced to attend the theatre was that the crush of bodies would ensure that she stayed toasty and warm.
She reluctantly took off her cloak, handing it to the nearest attendant and gazed up at the beauty that was the Drury Lane Theatre. Burgundy carpets matched the upholstery of the seats and long thick curtains hung elegantly around the room. Glass chandeliers lit the milling crowds below and Victoria shivered from more than cold. The ton always made her nervous. She always felt looked down upon, even from the height of her brother in law's box. They could still see her from every angle and watch her every mistake, from her out of fashion attire to her unfashionable coiffeur, she knew that the ton could be brutal.
Victoria looked down at her simple satin dress. There was a time that she would have matched it with pearls around her neck but she no longer sought to stand out. So she left her mother's old jewellery in its chest and hoped only to blend into the background. In an unguarded corner of her heart she was grateful that her aunt still insisted that they retain their tenuous place in society. Victoria loved the theatre and the rhythm of its music was a pleasure she would have sorely missed.
Aunt Beatrice nodded to several matrons as they made their way up the coiling staircase to the family box and Victoria gave her usual dips and curtsies although no one marked her existence with so much as a smile. By the time they were ensconced in their seats Victoria once again felt the weight of the tons disapproval settle like a mantle over her shoulders. She wondered if the Duke of Westley could indeed make good on his promise despite such staunch opposition. It would be a miraculous thing indeed to turn the ton around, and greater still if Victoria could learn how to goad and coax them all on her own. Men seemed to have far greater breadth of movement in their own actions but occasionally some women were known to be able to make the greatest of the ton dance a pretty tune.
The orchestra struck its opening note and the heavy curtains pulled back to reveal one such woman. The star of the play tonight and practically every night whether she graced the stage or not was the courtesan Miss Liara du Coeur. She was the jewel of the Crimson Guild and though every respectable woman could pretend not to know her, Victoria knew that they were all lying if they did not confess to a feverish fascination. The actress had made her debut into London roughly one year prior and now there was not a man who did not admire her, nor a trend in fashion that she herself did not dictate. Victoria sighed as the play began and Aunt Beatrice discreetly passed her peanuts from within her reticule. To be such a woman. To exude both confidence and coolness without even trying, that was the dream.
Victoria's eyes dashed quickly around the room. It was filled with the glittering throng of the ton. It was the opening night of the 'Siege of Rochelle' and the libretto was to be performed to highly anticipated music by the famed Balfe. Everyone who wished to be seen was present and even some who actually came to view the performance rather than the antics of their peers. There were counts, dukes and debutantes all decked in their most beguiling attire in the hope of catching another's eye but Victoria was not remotely interested in such games anymore. Darling of the ton or not she was always enamoured with the passion that poured from the stage. Her gaze fixed on the actors and she allowed herself to be swept up in the story.
The courtesan brought to life the character of Clara, the daughter of a secretly married count and princess, raised by the cruel, Moltalban whom she believes to be her father. Victoria felt the woman's pain as if it were her own when Clara witnessed Moltalban kill the son of her lover, Valmour. Her fingers gripped the upholstered arms of her chair when the innocent Clara suffered the blame and escaped to assume another identity in the town of Rochelle. By the time the siege had brought together Clara's true father, Valmour and Moltalban, Victoria ears were ringing from the powerful operatic swell of voices. When the doors opened marking the play's intermission her heart clamoured to peer behind the curtain and follow the story further.
Victoria extricated her nails from the cushioning and wiped her sweaty palms on the folds of her dress.
Aunt Beatrice handed her a handkerchief with an expression of exasperation. "Not again, my dear." She clucked. "Anyone would think that you have never attended the theatre before."
Victoria took several deep breaths. "Surely, even you have to admit, Aunt that the music is particularly moving. Balfe is notorious for it."
"Hmmph, Balfe shmalf." Aunt Beatrice shrugged. "Now for the real act. Let's step into the corridor for some air."
Victoria rolled her eyes. "I think you will find that the air in the Marquis' box is just as breathable as the air in the hallway."
Aunt Beatrice narrowed her eyes tellingly. "You know that is not what I mean, young lady. Everyone comes to meet and mingle, why should you not do the same? Maybe you will even run into the Duke of Westley should you be so fortunate."
Victoria grimaced. What had she been thinking agreeing to the Duke's game? She knew that such a man was trouble with a capital t. After the morning in his greenhouse she spent the next two avoiding his presence until he had sent her a note to remind her the mutual benefits of their arrangement. Victoria succumbed, knowing full well that an opera box in full view of the ton was a rather safe place to be. If he planned to entice her into a world of pleasure he would certainly have a hard time of it under the guise of propriety in such a location. All she was required to do was receive his advances in public and not allow herself to be seduced. Victoria scoffed silently. That shouldn't serve as a problem since she had spent half her youth loathing him. When she was a Diamond of the ton he ensured that she never felt good enough for the likes of him, and now that she was nothing more than cut glass he suddenly desired her? There was something false in his bargain and Victoria did not fancy herself a fool. Once a Rake, always a Rake.
With a final sigh she dusted the crumbs of peanuts from her lap and followed her stout aunt into the hallway of milling patrons.
"Good evening Lady Markeby."
"You look splendid Miss Harrington."
"Yes, it is a remarkable opera, my Lord."
Victoria went through the motions, alternating between greeting those who must be greeted and standing silently beside her aunt as small tidbits and chatter were shared above the clinking of champagne flutes that circulated the rooms on trays of polished silver. Victoria longed for a sip of something stronger than punch but as always it was not to be. She contented herself with reading the program for the evening and fading into the wallpaper.
Aunt Beatrice had just excused herself to the bathroom when Victoria felt a warm presence at her side.
"Not enjoying yourself tonight, Diamond?"
The Duke of Westley leaned with casual unaffected grace against the wall Victoria had spent the last five minutes holding up. He looked delectable. Gone was the understated elegance that he usually wore and in its place was a man who was poured into an evening coat and tails of the deepest black. His hair was slicked back with a concoction that made its every strand darken into something altogether more dangerous. Some men went to extremes to shock the ton and set fashions than ran rampant across England but the Duke of Westley was far more subtle. His were small changes, minutia of his personage that niggled at the mind and left both men and woman wondering for days at the profound effect of his visage.
"Your Grace." Victoria greeted him with an in drawn breath that was perfumed with the citrus and cinnamon of his cologne. "You know very well that this is my least enjoyable part of the evening."
Anthony half smiled in a sardonic sort of style. "I remember a time when this portion of events thrilled you to no end." He looked over to where a pretty debutante was surrounded by a bevy of young admirers on the third tier steps. "I believe you often held court on those very same steps. And if I remember accurately that every debutante to reign since you has used them for that very same purpose."
Victoria rolled her eyes and looked away, secretly surprised that the duke would recall such a banal detail of her existence. "Nevertheless," she re-joined at length. "Now I stand here."
"Beside this wall," Anthony noted with a nod to the filigree papering above her head.
"Yes, this wall Your Grace."
"This particular wall?" The Duke raised an amused brow.
"No, not this 'particular' wall. Just walls in general." Victoria's lips pressed into a firm line that hid the tug of a smile.
"Well, Miss Hasting is there any condition under which I could tear you away from your new found love of architecture to tour another part of this grand theatre?"
Victoria's head whipped around. "What do you mean?"
"I hear the alcoves on the second floor are particularly quiet this time of night." The Duke's teeth gleamed.
"Honestly, Your Grace. You are insufferable. If you are going to attempt to win your little game at least make it something I would struggle to refuse. I would hardly miss the performance on stage for one of your own making." Victoria huffed and inspected her gloves for any residue of peanuts.
"So, you are enjoying the Siege of Rochelle, then?"
Victoria nodded and couldn't help but follow the gesture with a smile. "I can't imagine anyone who would not. The music is simply breathtaking and Miss du Coeur has this, this way of taking the audience on a journey with her. Her movements, her voice it is so, well, captivating." Victoria grasped for the words to illustrate her feelings and found herself becoming more animated with every syllable. It was then that she noticed a few members of the ton closest to them beginning to take notice of their presence. Some flicked a gaze over a glass of wine and others stared unabashedly at the uncommon sight of a duke conversing with a spinster.
"Yes, the actress certainly has a way about her." Anthony continued barely registering the growing tension in the air. "I wonder...," he trailed off with a look of careful calculation.
"Ah, I don't suppose you could 'wonder' somewhere else, Your Grace? People are beginning to stare." Victoria whispered with eyes downcast.
Anthony frowned. "If you will recall, Diamond, that is the entire purpose of this endeavour. As unfair as it may be, your position in society can only be improved by my interest in you and if you will also kindly recall, I am very interested."
"Actually, I was thinking that perhaps I agreed too rashly," Victoria hesitated.
"Hardly," Anthony scoffed. "It took me three days to convince you. I have done far more in far less time I can assure you."
"Anthony!" Victoria choked on her punch sending rivulets of flavoured liquid spluttering from her nose and mouth. She grabbed at the handkerchief the duke offered and turned towards her trusty wall to dab furiously at her face.
"Well, that was certainly amusing." The Duke of Westley smiled.
"Amusing?! For whom?" Victoria hissed angrily. "The entire ton will know that I practically cast up my accounts in front of a leading member of the peerage."
"I wouldn't remotely equate it with that particularly disturbing image." Anthony eyed her wryly. "And why do you care what they think?"
"They are the only reason that I am even considering your bargain. Of course I care what they think. I need their approval to live in their world." She handed him back the cloth with fire in her sapphire eyes.
"And that is why you will never have it. Diamond, they are all grasping for approval of their own. The less you care about giving it to them, the more they will seek to desire it."
Victoria eyed the duke carefully. "Many years ago you used to tell me with disturbing frequency that I was not good enough. Not as pretty as some, not as intelligent as others and now you are telling me not to care. Which version of you is the one you would have me listen to?"
The Duke of Westley's lips curved into the ghost of a smile. "I would have you listen to yourself. Perhaps as a boy I was not as eloquent as the man I am today. I wished then as I do now for you to see that it matters little what others think of you, only what you think of yourself. I was waiting for you to tell me that you did not care for my assessment or approval, not mine nor the tons. I was waiting for you to realise that you are perfect, just as you are."
The bells signalling the end of intermission rang out through the crowded hallways and Victoria felt the beating of her heart as if she had lived through another act of a play. The Duke bent gentlemanly over her hand and placed a brief kiss on the cream silk of her glove. "Meet me at the end of the performance outside the stage door on Russell Street."
"You must be mad."
"All the most interesting people are," he replied with a wink.
"For what conceivable purpose?"
"You enjoyed the performance didn't you? I thought you might like to meet the cast."
Victoria's eye's widened into saucers as the duke slipped back through the crowds returning to their seats. It was beyond inappropriate for a lady of the ton to meet with a notorious member of the demi-monde but the mere idea of it sent a thrill down her spine. It was the first temptation the Duke of Westley had set before her to win their bargain. She did not have to take the bait, but oh how she wanted to.
"Oh there you are, my dear." Aunt Beatrice walked towards her calmly as if she hadn't left her niece unchaperoned for a full ten minutes. "The line for the powder room was atrocious. I hope you were not too bored. Was that the Duke of Westley I just saw leaving?"
Victoria caught the gleam in her relations eyes. If it wasn't incredibly inappropriate to suggest she would have sworn that money had changed hands for her aunts' absence during their interaction. Instead she simply nodded mutely as they re-entered the box and the curtains were raised once more.
The play resumed. Clara was reunited with her father, Moltalban imprisoned as a traitor and Valmour joined with his love. But, in the darkened theatre where Aunt Beatrice happily munched on hidden nuts and the orchestra thundered with its final operatic notes, Victoria felt the duke's seductive lure tugging at her soul.
I couldn't do it, she wondered. Could I?
.
.
.
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~You know what to do>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>VOTE~
Authors Note:
Dear Readers
Did you like your trip to the theatre? The seduction of this spinster begins! Will she succumb to her first flight of passionate intrigue and cross the boards of the stage to meet with a courtesan?
Only time will tell. I would love to hear your thoughts. And of course if you are keen to meet Liara let me know. I'll whisper a word or two in Victoria's ear.
xx Inara Rose
Michael William Balfe was a Dublin born baritone singer and composer who became one of the mainstays of English Opera for almost thirty years. The Siege of Rochelle opened initially in 1835 and then again on September 30th 1843. Queen Victoria saw the opera on November 15th 1837 as her first state visit to a theatre of her reign. Several newspapers of the time reported opening night as a time of incredible excitement in response to a masterly musical performance.
Demi-monde is French for "half-world". The term derives from a play called Le Demi-Monde, by Alexandre Dumas, published in 1855. The demi-monde was the dangerous pleasure-loving world occupied by wealthy, powerful men and the demi-mondaine were the elite courtesans and prostitutes (frequently actresses) who entertained them.