He hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until he exhaled at her words.
“I’m not your enemy, Caro,” he said softly. “I don’t hate you.”
Their discussion was becoming uncomfortably personal. “And I want to find Miss Warrington, too.” He hoped moving it back to their shared goal of finding Frank’s fiancée would dissipate the emotions brewing between them.
“You don’t even know her.” Caro frowned. “I’m still not sure you approve of Frank’s betrothal to her. My first thought when I saw you today was that you were there to spirit Frank away before he could bring scandal down on the family name. Tell me I’m wrong.”
“Not entirely,” he admitted. Before she could argue, he continued, “But I didn’t even know why Frank had summoned me. Once I knew she was missing, I was ready to help. My father and uncle may not approve of the marriage, but I have no objection. Once we find her.”
Her mouth twisted in suspicion, but he’d pleaded his case with her enough for one evening.
She was silent for a moment before changing the subject. “Your parents are encouraging you to marry, then?”
Val fought the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. Caro was the very last person on earth he wished to discuss his marriage prospects with.
“It’s been over a year,” he said. What interest, if any, could Caro have in the matter? She’d certainly shown herself unwilling to take on the role of his wife. “My father is quite eager to see the succession secured. Especially given how unexpectedly we lost Piers. I know he and Cynthia certainly weren’t expecting to remain childless forever.”
Caro’s eyes softened. “Poor Cynthia. She’s lost both her husband and any chance at his child. It seems doubly cruel, somehow.”
Caro had always been loyal, and that she could find it in herself to show sympathy for his brother’s widow given how cruelly dismissive Piers had been of her only proved how generous she could be.
Kate and Eversham came and sat beside them then, so there was no further chance for private conversation.
It felt to Val as if an age had passed before a man came onto the stage and announced that the role of Ophelia would be played by Miss Julia Todd rather than Miss Effie Warrington as previously scheduled.
A cry went up from several men in the pit and one even shouted, “Blasphemy!” as if having anyone besides Effie perform was a crime against Shakespeare. It was clear that Frank and Mrs. Spencer hadn’t exaggerated about Effie’s popularity.
Once the play began, he tried to settle back and watch, but concentrating was difficult after his conversation with Caro. He hadn’t intended to tell her the whole of his reason for inviting her parents. Not tonight, anyway. But his parents’ presence and her close proximity in a pretty gown had thrown him off balance, weakening his resolve, and he’d confessed all. He’d never behaved with more rashness in his entire life than he had today.
Perhaps he was sickening with something. He should have asked Woolford to examine him after looking over Frank.
She’d been just as annoyed as he’d predicted, but her understanding at his attempt to make amends for his past sins had been gratifying. He wasn’t sure what she would think about the motive he hadn’t shared—the simple fact that he wanted to spend more time with her. He’d only just realized that desire within himself.
Beside him, Caro sighed. “Will you please be still?” she whispered. “You’re jumpier than Ludwig with a bit of string.”
Of course she’d compare him to her damned cat. He grimly concentrated on quelling his nervous energy.
When the interval arrived, he was more than ready to stretch his legs.
As Eversham, Kate, and the Hardcastles rose and made for the door, he got up with the intention of following them but was waylaid by his father.
“I thought we’d agreed Miss Hardcastle wasn’t a suitable candidate to become Lady Wrackham,” his father said discreetly. “However lovely she might be, and she is that, we are not in the sort of dire straits financially that we expect you to sacrifice your title for a fortune.”
“I don’t recall any agreement of the sort,” Val said coldly. He loved the duke, but he was long overdue in needing to set him straight on this one matter. “You have made your wishes clear as to my needing to marry sooner rather than later. But you will find me much less pliable than Piers was when it comes to your involvement in my choice of bride. I’ll thank you to remember that.”
He might have let his father and brother get away with disparaging remarks about Caro and her family in the past, but no more.
Rather than abashed, however, the duke seemed amused by Val’s sharp words.
“Don’t tell me you actually have feelings for this girl.” His brows rose in a familiar display of ducal hauteur. “When you were the younger son, such a mésalliance might have been acceptable, but you are my direct heir now. You owe the family a lady of impeccable lineage. Not the daughter of a tin can merchant. Do your best to forget her and let your mother introduce you to—”
“Miss Hardcastle is also the granddaughter of the Earl of Leith, and her father, who is one of the most successful businessmen in London, is currently my guest. If you wish me to take my guests elsewhere before the end of the interval, I will do so, but know that Mama would not wish to be embarrassed in that way.”
Val saw the moment his father realized he’d gone too far. The duke’s expression turned from one of disbelief to puzzlement, like that of a pampered spaniel chastised for the first time. As the younger son, Val had enjoyed a somewhat more casual relationship with him than Piers. But it seemed that their easy rapport was at an end, and Val couldn’t say he was sorry. Whether he’d intended it or not, his refusal to stand up to his father in the past had led the duke to assume that Val would bow to his wishes. But it was high time to prove himself to be his own man. And if that meant a change to their easy relationship, then so be it.
“There’s no need to leave,” his father said at last, his tone defensive. Val would hardly call the man repentant. He was far too full of his own importance for that. But perhaps he’d recognized that he’d crossed a line. “Of course your guests are welcome. We will discuss Miss Hardcastle at another time.”
Like hell we will.
But concluding that he’d already demanded enough concessions for one evening, Val simply nodded.
The subject at a close, the duke waved a dismissive hand. “Go and find that policeman Lady Katherine married.” There was an unspoken complaint buried in his words about Kate’s choice of husband, but that was a battle for another day.
Satisfied that he’d made his point, Val left the box.
Once he was in the hallway, however, he saw no sign of Eversham, Kate, or Caro.
Uninterested in making conversation with the acquaintances in the corridor, and in no mood to return to the box and further brangle with his father, he decided to see if he could find the greenroom from here.
On a hunch, he made his way in the opposite direction from where the throngs were headed. At the end of the hallway, he found what he was looking for, a door cleverly hidden in the wallpaper. He’d once kept company with an opera singer who had told him about all the little ways theatres hid their inner workings from the patrons who came to watch the performances. Similar to the great houses with their hidden staircases to mask servants’ comings and goings, theatres held corridors within the walls for the ushers and various other workers so that they didn’t mingle with the upper-class patrons of the boxes.