“Are you here with Alana and Philip?” Morven asked, threading my arm through hers and pulling me toward the door before I could answer. “I’ll accompany you to their box. I haven’t yet had a chance to respond to your sister’s invitation to dine tomorrow evening.”
An impromptu dinner party she’d insisted on arranging for my and Gage’s benefit, regardless of my feelings on the matter.
“Did I divine that situation correctly?” she leaned closer to murmur, her dark hair brushing my shoulder. “Lady Wilmot and her companions appeared bent on making trouble.”
“Yes, thank you.”
We paused before Gage, so that he and Morven could exchange greetings, and then he fell into step behind us as we made our way down the corridor toward Philip’s private box.
“Morven,” I murmured, waiting for her to glance at me. “Could you not mention Lady Wilmot to Alana?”
Morven’s topaz eyes turned shrewd, deducing why I wished to keep it from her. “I know how much she’s always hated seeing you taunted and belittled.”
“Yes, but that’s no longer her responsibility.”
Morven’s smile turned gently reproving. “Kiera, we never outgrow an obligation to defend our family. You, of all people, know this.”
I sighed, conceding her point. “Yes, but you can’t deny that Alana takes greater offense than most.” I scowled. “And she’ll only see it as another stick to beat me with.”
We reached our destination before Morven could reply, but I trusted she would abide by my wishes. She might be closer in age to Alana—after all, they’d debuted together—but they had never deliberately allied against me. Perhaps because Morven also knew what it was like to be the youngest child. Her two older brothers had been protective of her throughout their childhood and, at times, still were.
I looked on as the two of them embraced and then teased each other mercilessly, as they’d always done. They tweaked each other’s curls and laughed over something one of their children had said.
Perhaps feeling they were leaving me out of the discussion, Morven turned to draw me closer. “Well, I’m glad to see Kiera looking so radiant. I’m sure I was never so in the pink when I was entering the final weeks of my confinements.” She smiled approvingly at Gage. “You must be taking good care of her.”
“Yes, but I do wish she would take it easier,” Alana interjected. “There’s no reason to go traipsing about town on walks as she does. Not with the cholera in the air.”
I frowned. “I hardly think a stroll through the Queen Street Gardens or a trip to the theater would be considered ‘traipsing about town.’” Particularly as those gardens were located less than a block from our town house. “In any case, Dr. Fenwick said physical activity is good for me and the babe. That there is no reason to fear catching the disease in a place like Queen Street, so long as I’m temperate and consume the correct diet.”
Alana’s mouth pursed. “Yes, well, of course I esteem Dr. Fenwick. He attended at the birth of my wee Jamie.”
And likely saved Alana’s life after a fraught and difficult delivery. Dr. Fenwick wasn’t considered one of Edinburgh’s finest physician accoucheurs without good reason, after all.
“But that doesn’t mean he knows everything.”
I bit my tongue, holding back an acerbic response. I knew Alana was merely apprehensive for me, especially after the trials she’d endured bringing her last two children into the world. It was the manner in which she was expressing those concerns that rubbed me raw. I’d grown tired of her brusque and disdainful comments, and if not for the flicker of the lights signaling the beginning of the third act, I might not have restrained myself.
But my nerves began to flutter in my stomach, recalling me to my dread of what was to come. I offered Morven a distracted farewell, then gripped Gage’s hand tightly in mine as the murmur of voices throughout the theater softened and the curtain began to rise.
Chapter 2
When the actress playing Lady Dalby strode onto the stage, I found myself holding my breath. Despite all the thrilling events that had come before—chases across rooftops, daggers drawn at a whisky drop, fisticuffs, and even a scene where Bonnie Brock and his men had eluded capture by wearing women’s clothing—this was the moment I was most anxious about. As the scene played out, I could feel some of the audience members in the boxes across the theater dividing their attention between watching me and watching the play. Thus I was determined to display no discernible reaction.
I was relieved to discover that the actress sported flaming red hair—nothing like my own more muted chestnut tresses. She also spoke with a slight Scottish brogue—one which I had never possessed. Mr. Gale, likewise, looked unlike Gage, with dark hair and a sartorial style that was far more ostentatious than my husband would ever adopt. I assumed that once again the theater was wisely observing their bottom line, eager to avoid any potential defamation lawsuits we might bring against the play.
Lady Dalby brazenly waltzed into Grassmarket seeking Bonnie Brock and demanding he answer her questions about his involvement with an investigation she and Mr. Gale were conducting. I found it curious that both the author and playwright had made this error, that neither knew that Bonnie Brock and I had first met when he had abducted me in my carriage. An event they would surely have made use of had they known. But that they did know our meeting had
