Regency Improprieties. Diane Gaston

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      ‘I’ve seen you at Vauxhall,’ Katy said, as if speaking Rose’s thoughts.

      The marquess smiled. ‘I have seen you too, Miss Green. Someone as lovely as yourself cannot be missed.’

      Katy laughed, but softly this time. ‘I thank you. But you must meet Miss O’Keefe.’

      She stepped aside, exposing Rose, and the marquess turned his eyes on her. ‘Miss O’Keefe, I am delighted you have come.’

      Flynn stepped forward. ‘Miss O’Keefe, may I present Lord Tannerton.’

      Rose dropped into a curtsy. ‘My lord.’

      Tannerton extended his hand to her to help her rise. She had no choice but to accept it. ‘It is my pleasure to meet you,’ he said, holding her hand only a second longer than was comfortable.

      He stepped back so that they could come farther into the opera box. Katy moved to the back, as did Flynn.

      The Marquess spoke to Rose alone. ‘We shall have some refreshments at the intermission, but I have arranged for wine now. Would you care for a glass?’

      She needed something to calm her. ‘Yes, thank you,’ she said.

      Flynn immediately poured the wine, but Lord Tannerton handed Rose’s glass to her.

      ‘It is French champagne. Bottled before the conflict, but I managed to acquire a case very recently.’ He took his own glass. ‘May I propose a toast?’

      Rose inclined her head, wondering why a marquess would ask her permission.

      ‘To new friends,’ he said, turning to include Katy, but letting his gaze linger a bit longer on Rose.

      ‘To new friends,’ repeated Katy.

      Rose did not speak, but she took a sip.

      ‘Come now,’ Tannerton gestured to two front chairs. ‘Sit and be comfortable. The performance should start at any moment.’

      Rose turned towards Katy. ‘Perhaps Katy—Miss Green—would like to sit up front as well?’

      Katy ignored Rose’s silent plea. ‘I’ll sit behind you. Keep Mr Flynn company.’ For emphasis she laced her arm through Flynn’s.

      ‘Come,’ Tannerton repeated.

      He settled Rose in an elegant brocade chair and sat beside her. For the first time she looked out into the opera house.

      ‘Oh, my!’ she exclaimed.

      The theatre curtains were rich red with a gold fringe as long as she was tall, with the King’s crest, also in gold. The curtains spanned nearly the whole distance from ceiling to floor, a space high enough for several tiers of boxes all around. Light blazed from huge chandeliers close to the stage and from candles all around the edges of the boxes. The orchestra floor was busy with people talking and laughing and moving around. Several of the boxes were empty, but in those that were not, elegant gentlemen were seated with ladies dressed in beautiful gowns. Some were looking straight into their box, pointing and whispering to their companions.

      ‘It is rather thin of company.’ Lord Tannerton smiled at her. ‘But I hope you like it.’

      ‘It is lovely,’ she responded, trying not to think of what the other theatre-goers might be saying about her. ‘Much larger than I even could have imagined.’ She’d only read of theatres like this one. The closest she’d been to seeing one was when Miss Hart had taken them to Astley’s Amphitheatre, but that was an entirely different sort of place. This was the best of theatres.

      ‘I am pleased to be the first to show it to you. Flynn said you had a wish to see it.’

      Flynn.

      Flynn had made this happen for her. He alone knew how much she desired it. He must have forgiven her wanton behaviour, to give her such a gift. ‘I did indeed.’

      It had seemed natural to Rose to tell Flynn all about her mother singing in King’s Theatre, about her mother’s dashed dreams and shortened life. She had no such impulse to tell the marquess.

      The musicians entered and took their seats, the violinists tuning their strings, horn players testing their instruments’ sound. Though none played at full volume, the notes filled the huge room, and Rose found she was eager to hear the performance, especially the singing.

      ‘Do you fancy yourself singing in this theatre some day?’ Tannerton asked her.

      Rose shot a glance at him. Had Flynn told him this as well? It seemed a betrayal of confidences. ‘Why do you think so?’

      He shrugged. ‘King’s Theatre is the pinnacle, is it not, for singers? At least others have told me so.’

      Perhaps Flynn had not told him all her secrets, after all. She heard Flynn behind her talking quietly to Katy and wished he would speak loud enough so she could hear what he said.

      Katy disappointed Rose, acting so subdued Tannerton would never notice her. In fact, Katy seemed more determined to have Flynn’s company.

      Tannerton handed her a paper. ‘Here is the programme telling who sings tonight. I will get you a candle if you cannot read it.’

      She took the paper and stared at it even though she could read but little in the dim light. It gave her an excuse not to talk to him.

      ‘Thank you,’ she said belatedly, briefly glancing at him.

      Tanner smiled at her. He had a boyish handsomeness, she had to admit. An open countenance. He was tall and athletic and looked out of place in this elegant theatre, as if he would prefer hunting or whatever gentlemen did in the out of doors. By appearance, and so far by manner, he did not threaten, but Rose could not forget her father’s warning. This was a man who possessed the power to ruin her ambitions. She turned back to staring at the programme.

      ‘I think it is about to begin,’ Tannerton said.

      She glanced at the stage. The conductor of the orchestra took his place. The musicians quieted, but the audience seemed as noisy as ever. The music began. Rose could make out that the opera was one of Mozart’s, but she had never heard the music before. Her school had not owned these sheets of music. She poised herself to listen and watch, not wishing to miss a bit of it.

      When the curtain opened, she even forgot who sat beside her. The set was magical, looking so real she could barely believe she was not looking through some window. She heard singing voices like she’d never heard before, big voices, bigger than her own, big enough to fill this huge theatre. When the soprano sang, Rose held her breath. She wanted to open her mouth and mimic each note, to try to make her voice bigger, like this one.

      She could understand none of the words. She was not even sure what language they were singing. It did not matter, however. The performers showed her the story, a shocking one, really. Don Giovanni was a seducer of women, a man who made conquests and who cared little of what havoc he wreaked in people’s lives. When the character Elvira sang, Rose could hear her heartache and her rage. Elvira loved and hated Don Giovanni. Rose wanted to weep for her. How thrilling it would be to sing one’s emotions like that.

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