A Secret Affair

Chapter 7

THE CLERGYMAN SON of Mr. and Mrs. Park was not in town. Mrs. Park’s younger brother was staying with them for a while, however, and was more than gratified to be invited to join a party in the theater box of the Duchess of Dunbarton on Monday evening with his sister and brother-in-law. Ha

Lady Montford was Mr. Huxtable’s cousin.

“The opera and the theater both in one week,” Barbara said as she and Ha

“You must come to town more often,” Ha

“I probably will not want to spare myself once we are wed,” Barbara said. “I so look forward to being the vicar’s wife, Ha

But she stopped abruptly and turned her head to look at Ha

“But no, of course you will not,” she said. “Though I do wish you would. And it is perhaps time—”

“It is time,” Ha

The carriage was drawing to a halt outside the Drury Lane, and they could see crowds of people milling about, many of them no doubt waiting for other arrivals so that they could go inside. Constantine Huxtable was among them, looking both elegant and satanic in his long black evening cloak and hat.

“Oh, there he is,” Barbara said. “Ha

“I am, silly goose,” Ha

“Nor to Mama and Papa,” her friend said. “They would be very distressed. They may not have seen you for eleven years or so, Ha

Ha

“He has seen us,” she said.

And indeed it was Constantine who opened the carriage door and set down the steps rather than Ha

“Ladies, good evening,” he said. “We are fortunate that this afternoon’s rain has stopped, at least for a while. Miss Leavensworth?”

He offered his hand to Barbara, who took it and bade him a civil good evening. Barbara’s ma

Ha

Oh, goodness me, he really was quite, quite gorgeous.

Within minutes, of course, everyone who was at the theater this evening would know, or think they knew, that he was her newest lover. One in a long line of lovers. By this time tomorrow everyone who was not here tonight would know too.

Mr. Constantine Huxtable was the Duchess of Dunbarton’s newest paramour.

But this time, for the first time, they would be right.

Barbara was safely down on the pavement.

“Duchess?” He reached out his hand for hers and their eyes met.

She had never in her life seen such dark eyes. Or such compelling eyes. Or eyes that had such a weakening effect on her knees.

“I do hope,” she said, placing her hand in his, “someone has swept the pavement. I would not enjoy getting my hem wet.”

Someone obviously had. And someone had done some quick crowd control too. A path had opened up to allow them into the theater. Ha

The ducal box, which was on the lowest of three tiers surrounding the theater like a horseshoe, was close to the stage. Entering it was a little like stepping out onto the stage itself. It was doubtful that anyone in the house did not turn to watch them enter and greet the duchess’s other guests, all of whom had arrived earlier, and stand conversing with them for several minutes before taking their seats. Or to observe the fact that while the duchess’s friend eventually took a seat between Mrs. Park and her brother, the duchess herself sat beside Mr. Constantine Huxtable.

Her new favorite. Her first since the demise of the old duke and her return to town. Her new paramour.

It was not hard to interpret the slightly heightened buzz of conversation in the theater.

It was not hard either for Ha

Tonight it was not wrong.

She was very glad of it.

She set one white-gloved hand on Constantine’s sleeve and leaned a little toward him.

“Have you seen A School for Scandal before?” she asked. “It is really quite an old play. I must have seen it a dozen times, but it is always amusing. You will not find it too dull or too long, I believe.”

“On the assumption,” he asked her, “that I am all impatience for it to be over so that we may proceed to the main business of the evening, Duchess?”

“Not at all,” she said. “But I thought you might have more of an interest in tragedy.”

“To suit my satanic looks?” he asked.

“Precisely,” she said. “Though you did, of course, explain to me how the dreadful tragedies of the opera are not really tragedies at all. I was reassured. I suppose next you will be telling me that the heroes of tragedy do not really die at the end of a play.”

“Reassuring, is it not?” he said. “You are looking dazzlingly lovely tonight in white. Indeed, you sparkle.”

There was a gleam of something in his eyes—mockery, perhaps.

“With high spirits?” she said. “I never sparkle with high spirits. It would be vulgar. I daresay you mean my jewels.” She held up her left hand. “The diamond on my third finger was a wedding present. At the time I did not believe it was real. I did not know they came so large. The one on my little finger was a gift for my twentieth birthday.” She held out both hands. “There was a ring for each of my birthdays after that, to fit different fingers, until I ran out of fingers and we had to start over again since I thought they would be uncomfortable on my toes. And there was a ring too for each wedding a

“And for Christmas?” he asked.

“It was always a necklace and earrings for Christmas,” she said, “and a bracelet for Valentine’s Day, which the duke would observe, foolish man. He was very generous.”

“As the whole world can see,” he said.

She lowered her hands to her lap and turned her head to look fully at him.

“Jewels are meant to be seen, Constantine,” she said. “So is beauty. I will never apologize for being either rich or beautiful.”

“Or vain?” he said.

“Is it vain,” she asked him, “to be truthful? I have been beautiful since childhood. I will probably retain some beauty even into old age, if I should live so long. I have been told that I have good bone structure. I claim no credit for my beauty just as a musician or actor can claim no credit for his talent. But we can all claim credit for using the gifts we brought with us into this life.”