“Try not to look so shocked, darling, it’s very unfashionable.”
Violet resisted the temptation to grind her slipper into his foot. Instead, she smiled sweetly up at him and said, “I’m not shocked at all, my lord. I’m taking notes.”
She felt the arm beneath her hand stiffen, and a surge of triumph raced through her. Point to Violet.
James gave her a narrow look but said nothing more, instead turning back to Emily to respond to some unheard inquiry. As he spoke, Emily gazed past him to Violet, raising an eyebrow inquisitively. Violet smiled back at her.
As they made their way to the box that Lord Julian had reserved for them, Violet could not help but be aware that they were attracting some attention. She had expected this to some degree, of course—three gently bred ladies, one of them unmarried, could not attend a theater with a reputation like the Belfry’s without arousing some notice—but she wondered if they had miscalculated by inviting Emily along. She and Diana had thought merely to give Emily an evening out without her mother watching her like a hawk, or the odious Mr. Cartham’s unwelcome attentions, but she was now second-guessing this decision. Emily was unmarried, and easily shocked. Who knew what the sight of this blatant parade of mistresses would do to her delicate sensibilities?
“Did you see that lady’s bodice?” Emily hissed gleefully at Violet as James led them down the green-carpeted hallway that housed the theater’s most exclusive boxes. “I don’t know how she even moved.” She cast a not-terribly-surreptitious glance back over her shoulder. “I should like to ask her how it manages to stay up,” she added thoughtfully. “Her modiste must be very clever.”
“Emily,” Violet said severely, at the same time that James made an odd choking sound that, after a moment, Violet realized was a barely suppressed laugh.
“I do not think that lady is the appropriate word to use to describe that woman, Lady Emily,” he said a moment later, having somehow managed to school his features into a somber expression.
“Yes, yes, my lord, I do realize she’s a doxy,” Emily said impatiently, waving her hand as though this distinction were too insignificant to even warrant her notice. “But that gown was some sort of scientific marvel. I should dearly love to see how it was made.”
“Well,” Violet said, “I expect she shall be taking it off with a fair amount of haste at some point in the next few hours, so perhaps you could follow her and the viscount and snatch it away whilst they are in the midst of a passionate embrace.” For a fleeting moment, James caught her glance, the lines around his eyes crinkling slightly in amusement. In that instant, it was as though the past four years had never happened, as though they were still in the habit of sharing private jokes, of allowing their eyes to meet across a crowded room and reveling in the knowledge that they understood one another better than anyone else.
It was just a moment, however, and then Violet averted her gaze.
They arrived at their box at last, and were followed in by Penvale, Diana, and Jeremy, who were close on their heels.
“Emily, darling, I can still scarcely believe you are here,” Diana said gleefully, dropping her brother’s arm as soon as the door to the box closed behind them.
“Nor can I,” Emily admitted. “You’re very convincing, I must say.”
“Your mother shall have an absolute fit if she ever finds out,” Diana said cheerfully.
“And your reputation could be harmed,” Violet added, more seriously.
Emily’s mouth quirked up at the corners in a smile that Violet wasn’t sure she’d ever seen before. “I know. And I find myself not terribly bothered by either prospect.”
At this juncture, Penvale and Jeremy performed the requisite bows and hand kisses before engaging James in conversation, and Violet could not help but be strangely aware of their presence behind her, all of her nerves sensitized. It was as though her very skin was attuned to James’s proximity, in a way it hadn’t been since the early days of their marriage.
No doubt it was a simple result of having seen him more often than usual of late, she told herself firmly.
“. . . that dress, Violet,” Diana was saying, and Violet started, realizing she hadn’t been attending to anything her friends were saying.
“I’m sorry?” she asked, a trifle guiltily.
“I said,” Diana said patiently, “that I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you wear that dress before.” She cast it an approving glance. “I must say, I do like it.”
“Of course you do.” Diana’s own gown, which was a deep shade of green with intricate beadwork on the sleeves, was as daring as Violet’s own—and yet Violet knew it to be far from the most scandalous dress in Diana’s wardrobe. She had to admit that the effect was enticing, however—Diana’s impressive bosom was displayed to great effect, and the green of the gown brought out the green flecks in her lovely hazel eyes. Violet wondered if this was for the benefit of Lord Julian. He had not been as taken in by her charms as men tended to be upon meeting Diana, and yet she could certainly be stubborn. If she had truly decided to take a lover at last, Violet wasn’t sure how well she liked Lord Julian’s chances in the face of Diana’s resolve.
Further conversation was forestalled by the arrival of Lord Julian himself. He was, just as he had been at Diana’s dinner, very handsome; the black and white of evening attire suited him as well as it did any man, and he wore his clothes well, with the air of confidence that is natural to a man who has been told since birth that he is special, favored above other men. Even when a man cast off that world, as Lord Julian had done, the confidence seemed to linger.
“Audley,” he said, shaking James’s hand easily, showing no sign of even remote discomfort. “I’ve not seen you in an age, I don’t think.”
“Belfry,” James said, and there was something ever so slightly odd about his voice as he spoke. Violet looked at him sharply, but there was nothing unusual in his expression—not that that was saying much, of course. “It was good of you to invite us.” Was Violet imagining the wryness to his tone?
Lord Julian shrugged lazily as he shook Penvale’s and Jeremy’s hands in turn. “I ran into Penvale at dinner the other day,” he said, which was true enough, as things stood. “He mentioned that he still saw a fair amount of yourself and Willingham, and I thought you chaps might enjoy an evening out. Especially with such lovely company,” he said, flashing a winning smile at Violet, Diana, and Emily. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” Lord Julian added, and Violet had to fight hard to suppress a smile.
“My wife, Lady James,” James said, stepping back toward Violet and touching her elbow lightly. In the early days of their marriage, he had always included her first name as well as her courtesy title when introducing her, unlike most gentlemen of the ton—not that any gentleman would be so bold, or rude, to refer to her with such familiarity, but James had done so nonetheless. It was a small breach of social norms, but one that Violet hadn’t realized she’d appreciated until he’d ceased doing so.
“And this is my sister, Lady Templeton,” Penvale added, with a lazy nod toward Diana. Not that it was necessary—even if Diana and Lord Julian hadn’t already met, it would have been obvious which lady was Penvale’s relation.