They looked at each other then, both flinching aside as the lady nearest them gestured wildly with her fan. They recovered quickly, but the hilarity of it all had them catching each other’s gazes and fighting not to laugh. That didn’t work, and soon the two of them burst into giggles.
It was a sweet moment as Amber began to relax among the ton. It was also the moment of her undoing. One of the gentlemen whipped around, his voice loud as he called out.
“I know that laugh! It’s most distinctive.”
Amber’s eyes widened. No one had ever said that her laugh was distinctive, but she supposed everyone made their own particular sound. That gentleman, for example, was a regular at the Lyon’s Den. She knew his voice very well. He often stayed late when the Den was less crowded, and workers like her were left to chat amongst themselves. She had friends in the Den, people who made her laugh, and so he must have heard her. He absolutely did point his finger straight at her as he crowed. “It’s you! Thisbe Gold! The most beautiful gel in the Lyon’s Den. Whatever are you doing here?”
Amber felt her jaw drop and her breath catch. She was exposed. Worse, the declaration had come in a voice that carried throughout the box, if not the whole theater. Cold chills shivered through her body, and panic clutched at her throat. But also, a sense of inevitability sank to her belly. What had she been thinking? Dreams did not come true. Not unless they were nightmares. One where everyone stared at her in horror.
She knew she ought to say something. Deny it, if nothing else. But the shock of having her identity shouted like that left her addled. And the wash of conflicting emotions made her tongue thick and her mind lost amid the chaos of feelings.
But Lady Byrn did not have such difficulty. “Just how much have you imbibed, Mr. Walsh?” she demanded, her voice even louder than his had been. “Speaking of such a thing among polite company! It is bad enough that you choose to frequent such a disreputable location, but do not ascribe your hallucinations to anyone else.” Then she strode over to Amber’s side, grabbed her arm in a vise-like grip, and hauled her forward. “This is my daughter’s dear friend from school, and you owe her the sincerest apology.”
Mr. Walsh was not drunk, though he certainly had been drinking. He blinked as he stared at her. His mouth screwed up into a mean kind of smile. “Are you sure, my lady? As you say, I do frequent disreputable places, but I never forget a face. Certainly not one as lovely as hers.”
He wouldn’t have seen her face…much. That was why her father insisted she wear a scarf to cover her features. But it got hot in the summer and sometimes late at night, she would discard the covering. He could have seen her then. He certainly could have heard her laugh.
Mr. Jupp stepped forward, his tone cold. “You can’t tell your own mother’s face when you’ve been drinking, Rodney. Apologize and take yourself off until you’ve sobered up.”
That was gallant of Mr. Jupp, and Amber flashed him a look of gratitude. And in that moment, she found her voice. “You seemed to have mistaken me for someone else, sir. In this darkened theater, I imagine I look rather common.”
“No, miss, you do not,” the man said. But before Lady Byrn could castigate him again, Mr. Walsh sketched a mocking bow. “But my eyes have been playing tricks upon me lately. I do apologize for my error.”
“You are forgiven, sir,” Amber managed.
“Provided you make pains to explain your error to others who might be equally confused,” Lady Byrn said harshly.
Mr. Walsh opened his mouth to speak more, but he wasn’t given the chance. Mr. Jupp released Amber’s arm to manhandle Mr. Walsh out the door. Another gallant move, except that it left Amber alone while everyone in the box looked at her with open speculation. And not just them, but people in the nearest box as well. And probably from the floor below and boxes all the way around the theater. At least that’s how it felt.
She tried to tell herself that it had been bound to happen. She had lived in London for most of her life. It had been foolhardy to think no one would recognize her. But those words were useless to her. She felt awkward and miserable, standing there as the center of attention. In her dreams, people had always looked at her and exclaimed over her beauty, her poise, and her laugh. Now, they were remembering her laugh, analyzing her beauty, and no doubt sneering at her lack of poise.
After a day of being subtly insulted at every turn, this was the moment that crushed her. And though Lady Byrn did her level best to distract everyone, the other ladies soon began whispering behind their fans. Amber had worked the ladies’ room at the Den enough to know what they were saying. They were forever attaching her name to the place, whether it was true or not. The speculation alone would damn her in many people’s eyes. That it was entirely true only made it worse.
But Lady Byrn was nothing if not a society maven. She deftly introduced a new topic of conversation, involved as many of the girls as possible with the eligible gentlemen, and did her best to distract everyone from what had just occurred.
It didn’t erase what had happened, but it helped. Amber was soon brought into a discussion of the best weather for a fox hunt. Also, the best attire for a fox hunt. And of course, the best dogs for a fox hunt.
Mr. Jupp returned just before the end of the intermission. His face was flushed, and his expression serious. Amber blew out a sigh of relief and hoped to renew their discussion, but she didn’t have a chance. She had monopolized him too much that evening, and the other ladies grabbed him up the moment he entered the box.
He danced attendance upon them while she was left to hear about the best food for dogs who would be used in a fox hunt. And was never more grateful than when the tragedy began again. But Mr. Fox Hunt, as she now called him, had taken Mr. Jupp’s seat. She was left to listen to him prattle on about hunting while the rest of the play progressed.
It was miserable, and she counted the moments until the first play was over all the while praying that Lady Byrn had no interest in staying for the farce. Another three hours of this would break what was left of her.
Thankfully, Lady Byrn declared a headache, and Amber leaped to her feet to help the poor woman to their carriage. But in this, they were forestalled as Mr. Jupp did one last gallant thing. He asked if he might escort her around Hyde Park tomorrow afternoon.
Amber was so stunned that she couldn’t even stammer out a coherent reply. He was a good man, and she had just enlisted him in duping the rest of the ton. It was horrible of her, and yet, what could she do? If she confessed all, she would shame Lady Byrn and her entire family.
So Amber nodded, tears swimming in her vision. Lady Byrn had no such problem, of course. She loudly exclaimed that it would be a delight for him to take her to the park. She made sure everyone there knew that Amber had claimed him for tomorrow at the Fashionable Hour. And then she whisked Amber out the door.
Done. Or nearly done as it took twenty minutes to make their way through the crowd and finally climb into the carriage. But finally, they were inside the dark and headed to Diana’s home. Amber could at last close her eyes and exhale. This day’s horrible round of parties and theatre was finally over. But the moment the carriage began moving, Lady Byrn snapped her fan hard on Amber’s knee. When Amber jumped in surprise, the lady spoke with loud, angry words.
“Out with it.”