Edith jerked away again, one hand rising to strike, fearing he was another man like Sir Reginald. But to her surprise, it was Lord Radcliffe, looking even more massive than she recalled from their waltz. Faintly, it occurred to her to wonder what had possessed her to dance with such an imposing man.
His dark eyes took in her cheek, and his strong jaw tightened. He took her arm in a surprisingly gentle hold and tilted his head. “Come.”
“What are you doing?” she whispered. “How did you know—?”
“I saw you leave the box,” Lord Radcliffe murmured, “and then I caught sight of your weasel friend just now. He looked too smug; I didn’t like it. And from the looks of things, my instincts were correct.” He shook his head and peered around the column. “If we go now, I can take you back to your friends with hardly anyone seeing you.”
“Hardly,” Edith murmured, reaching back to try fixing another lock of hair, “but I will be seen.”
The pressure at her elbow increased with a firm comfort. “Just stay close to me, all right? No one will notice you.”
She snorted in derision as she allowed him to lead her from her hiding space, staying almost improperly close to him out of instinct. “Not likely, my lord.”
He gave her a look, then pulled her closer, setting his arm around her waist and tucking her into his side as others started to approach. “I can be a peacock if I need to be.”
It took Edith a moment to realize it, but by his pulling her closer as he did, he ensured that the side of her face that had been struck remained hidden against his side. Further, in keeping her in conversation with him, he also ensured that she would not meet the eyes of anyone else.
Quite clever, she would freely admit.
She had to smile at him for that, though it pained her face to do so.
“I cannot see you being a peacock, sir.”
He grunted an almost laugh, his mouth quirking.
“Use your imagination, madam. It does not happen often, but it is quite the sight when it does.”
Edith giggled and covered her mouth with a hand, unintentionally turning her face more against him.
“That’s better,” he said gruffly. “No one looks so upset at the theatre, besides myself, unless Madame LeFonte is singing. Now you blend perfectly well.”
Pressing her tongue to the back of her teeth, Edith shook her head gently. “I forgot to thank you, my lord, for saving me at the ball.” She swallowed hard. “And as for tonight…”
“It’s nothing,” he said simply, steering her out of the way of some others.
“If you ken my situation, my lord, ye’d not think it to be nothing at all,” Edith managed hoarsely. “And for me to force you into a waltz when you do not care for dancing…”
Lord Radcliffe gave her a hard look. “You did not force me, Lady Edith,” he said firmly, his dark eyes suddenly darker. “I had every choice I needed at that time. I do not need to know your situation, nor do you need to bear guilt. I do hate to dance, but not as much as I hate troublemakers like the weasel. Who is he?”
Edith shivered, and his hold on her tightened in response.
“My nightmare,” she murmured.
He was going to ask more, she could see, but they had returned to the box, and Lieutenant Henshaw, Camden, and Aubrey were outside of it.
“There you are!” Cam said, his relief evident. Then his eyes took her in.
“Edith…”
“Lady Edith will need to be tended to discreetly, and perhaps taken home before the show is ended.” Lord Radcliffe spoke in low tones, his voice calm.
Aubrey nodded once, his eyes on Edith.
“I’m going to venture a guess, Edith, if you will confirm it. Sir Reginald?” he asked in clipped tones.
Edith nodded, her tears starting to well up again as she swayed a little into Lord Radcliffe.
He bolstered her up at once even as Lieutenant Henshaw swore, and started away.
“Not here,” Edith begged, grabbing his sleeve. “Not now.”
He looked at her for a long moment. “Very well, Edith. But soon.”
There was no questioning him, so Edith only nodded once more.
“Lady Edith, perhaps now formally I should introduce you to Lord Radcliffe? As it appears he is now caught up in this, as well.” Aubrey gestured to him. “Radcliffe, Lady Edith Leveson.”
Lord Radcliffe looked at Edith, and there was a small hint of a smile on his face.
“Charmed,” he said in a droll tone, giving her a nod.
“You’re a hero, Lord Radcliffe,” she told him, bobbing a makeshift curtsey. “Twice now.”
He removed his hand from her waist and took her hand in his. “I told you before, madam, I am no hero.” He pressed a polite kiss to her glove, though the sensation of it raced up her arm as if to soothe the pain Sir Reginald had caused there. “But a third time may change my mind.”
“I know how you hate heroics, so I shall venture not to require you.” She tried for a cheeky smile, praying he would take the show of levity for what it was.
His eyes showed a bit of amusement, though his face did not. “I would be most appreciative.” He bowed, and made eye contact with Aubrey, apparently communicating some message as both men nodded. Then, with a final nod to Edith, he left the group.
Without another word, Edith was ushered into the box, and seated out of sight of any other guests of the theatre while Grace and Prue descended upon her.
“Darling, what happened?” Grace pleaded, her fingers tracing the damage of her gown.
“Edith, a-are y-you q-q-q…?” Prue’s distress returned her stammer to its former notoriety, and she bit her lip to keep herself from stammering further as she took Edith’s hand in her own.
“Dinna fash,” Edith soothed as much as she was able, though she felt her body tremble in earnest now that she was fully removed from the situation. “I’m well enough.”
Grace’s fair brow creased at that. “But what…?”
“My love,” Aubrey said firmly, cutting her off as he settled a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Now is not the time, and this is not the place.”
“No, indeed,” Cam agreed as he gestured for his wife to come to him.
She did so, and he rubbed soothing circles on her back, whispering to her, no doubt to calm her anxieties and set her to rights. He was so good at that, and just what Prue needed.
If only someone could set Edith and her life to rights. That would solve everything.
“But,” Aubrey went on, his tone very serious indeed, “may I suggest that we leave before the second act has concluded, and that we continue this conversation at our home immediately after our departure? I don’t think we can waste another moment, quite frankly; nor do I think we ought to.”
“Agreed,” Lieutenant Henshaw intoned gravely, one hand resting on the scabbard he still wore at his side, not nearly as decorative as the rest of his regimental uniform.
Edith swallowed hard. She couldn’t bear this, couldn’t tell them, couldn’t reveal…
“Edith?”
Grace’s soft, kind, loving voice broke through her resistance, and Edith felt herself slump in her chair, her head lowering as the tears once more began to fall.