Child’s gaze sharpened while his contrived expression suggested he couldn’t quite remember.
Despite the people around them, Therese felt Devlin’s gaze. She glanced his way and saw that although he appeared to be listening to the comments of the gentlemen about him, his gaze was, indeed, locked on her and held a quality, an intensity of focus, that sent a slight but pleasurable shiver down her spine.
Returning her attention to Child, she smiled knowingly. “Alverton only attends musical events under duress or with some other motivation. Perhaps your difficulty in remembering is due to your ‘years’ being, in fact, decades?”
Child feigned hurt. “You wound me, countess. I’ll have you know I’m excessively civilized. At least,” he amended, with a provocative glint in his eye, “in all the ways that matter.”
She laughed. “I daresay that’s true, but I’ll have you know, I’m very fond of music. Speaking of which, have you met Miss Conningham?” She smiled invitingly at Lady Conningham and her pretty, if sadly freckle-faced, daughter, who had been waiting to approach.
After introducing Child, as he straightened from bowing over Miss Julia Conningham’s hand, Therese glibly added, “Lord Child has been sadly absent from ton drawing rooms and even more from music rooms for many years. I was just telling him he needs to improve his understanding of musical performance, and here is your Julia, who is such an accomplished pianist.”
Lady Conningham needed no further encouragement; she immediately buttonholed Child, inquiring as to his plans now that he’d returned to England’s shores.
Therese stood back, watched, and declined to assist him. Child threw her a surreptitious look of betrayal, then with an adroitness she had to reluctantly admire, extricated himself and weaved across the box to seek refuge beside her husband.
Quite what Child thought was going on between Devlin and himself, Therese had no idea, but she was faintly annoyed that he had thought to use her to bait her husband in any way whatsoever. She was not a pawn to be used by Child to poke at Devlin.
Relieved of Child’s presence, she smiled on Miss Conningham and her mother and, drawing both with her, joined the widening circle about Lord Swan.
Devlin had closely observed Child’s interaction with Therese and had resignedly concluded that via his attentions to her, in his inimitable and rather predictable fashion, Child was deliberately trying to provoke him. He’d mentally applauded when Therese had serenely introduced Child to the Conninghams—a more definite fobbing off was hard to imagine. Soon enough, it would dawn on Child that Therese’s only interest in him was to foster a suitable match between him and some young lady. Devlin couldn’t think of a situation more likely to make Child keep his distance.
Reassured by that understanding—anchored in his knowledge of both Child and Therese—when Child, having picked up a glass of champagne along the way, joined the group about Devlin, he acknowledged Child’s nod with one of mild curiosity rather than the bristling Child had hoped to trigger.
From childhood, Child had been court jester to Devlin’s more serious nature. Child had always delighted in poking at him just to get a reaction.
Plainly, after nearly a decade apart, neither of them had changed.
Devlin and the other gentlemen, including Cremorne, had been idly discussing the hunting and shooting they expected to enjoy over the coming months. Child sipped and listened, but as he had only just returned to England, no one expected him to contribute, and he didn’t.
Shortly after, Lady Cremorne summoned her husband and left, and the other gentlemen departed. Poulson nodded a farewell to Devlin and Child and crossed to join his mother and her charge.
Devlin seized the moment to arch a brow at Child. “You dislike opera as much as I do.” He tipped his head toward his wife. “She’s my reason for being here. What’s yours?” He seriously doubted the prospect of poking at him would have provided sufficient motivation to get Child through the Opera House’s doors.
Broodingly staring across the box, Child sipped, then muttered, “My paternal aunt, Lady Matcham. She has a box and insisted I show my face.” He shrugged lightly. “I have to start somewhere, I suppose, and at least this is a rather select event.”
Lady Matcham was an avid aficionado of all things musical. Devlin followed Child’s brooding gaze to Therese and murmured, “You do realize you’re giving Therese ideas?”
Child blinked; he hadn’t expected what he interpreted as a direct attack. “I…have no idea what you mean.”
“Oh, I think you do.” Devlin kept his tone light. He was tempted to drag out Child’s discomfiture—for all that he delighted in teasing Devlin, Devlin knew Child would never genuinely attempt to harm him or his marriage—but the consternation he glimpsed forming in Child’s eyes had him weakening and letting him off the hook. “Therese is one of the most prominent matrons in the ton. I’ve heard other ladies describe her as a grande-dame-in-the-making. Simply by being you and spending time in her orbit, you’re triggering her matchmaking tendencies.” He met Child’s eyes and arched a brow. “For instance, with Miss Conningham.”
Child shuddered and gulped champagne. “For God’s sake, don’t encourage her.”
Devlin couldn’t—didn’t try to—mute his grin. “Trust me when I say that she’s an unstoppable force of nature—even her family call her that.”
Child grumbled, “She did try just now and at that damned picnic.” He swallowed another mouthful of champagne, then complained, “Why is it that ton matrons such as your countess so adamantly believe that bachelors like me must be in need of a wife?”
Devlin pretended to give the question ten seconds’ serious thought, then opined, “Possibly because it’s true.”
Interestingly, the deliberate statement didn’t provoke a “Bah” or any similar dismissal; instead, Child, his gaze on Therese, looked increasingly uncertain.
And that fixed Devlin’s attention. Oh, ho! It seemed his childhood friend had reached a predictable personal crossroads. Reflecting that watching Child look for a wife would almost certainly be hugely entertaining, Devlin relaxed even more.
Cedric Marshall stepped into the box. He looked first at Therese, still chatting with Lord Swan and the Poulson party. After observing the sight for several moments, Cedric drew his gaze away, spotted Devlin, smiled, and walked over.
Child drained his glass, mumbled a farewell, and after exchanging nods with Cedric, departed.
Devlin welcomed Cedric with a smile. “I’m surprised to see you here. I didn’t think you appreciated opera any more than I do.”
Cedric faintly grimaced and shifted to stand alongside Devlin. “I’d heard about this event from so many people, I wondered what all the fuss was about. Thought I’d come and take a look.” Cedric’s gaze had drifted across the box to rest once more on the group talking animatedly on the other side. Then Cedric pulled a pained face. “Sadly, by that time, I could only just squeeze into the pit.”
Devlin waved at the extra chairs lining the box. “You’re welcome to join us for the rest of the performance, if you wish.”
Cedric’s gaze had settled on the young lady standing beside Lady Poulson; it took several telltale seconds for Cedric to register what Devlin had said.