lost its youthful bloom, looked back at her, but she was not concerned a ith dazzling anyone.
Lord Harding had brought his cousin with him in the carriage. They were to meet his sister and her betrothed at the theater. Melissa had been quite right. Mr. Timothy Simms was a very small man and thin into the bargain. Although he was apparently very young, his fair hair was thinning. He seemed to be living to disguise its sparsity by combing it straight up at the sides and piled in the center. His shirt points were so high and so stiff that Helen feared he was in danger of scratching his eyeballs with them. But she was not at all perturbed by the thought of having to spend the evening in his company. She smiled dazzlingly at him and unknowingly enslaved him from the first moment.
She gazed about her in frank wonder when they entered Lord Harding's box at the theater. She did not know what she had expected, but it was certainly not this.
'It is more like a ballroom than a theater,' she said wide-eyed to Mr. Simms, who was solicitously placing a chair for her close to the balcony. 'Look at those chandeliers and all the velvet in the boxes.'
'It is quite a magnificent place, is it not?' he agreed.
'And the people!' she continued. 'Do they always dress like this, sir, to watch a play?'
Mr. Simms smiled indulgently and placed his own chair as close to Helen's as he decently could. 'But of course,' he said. 'Attending the theater is a fashionable activity, Lady Helen. No one wishes to be seen to disadvantage by other members of the
'And will everyone quieten down when the play begins?' Helen asked. 'There is such a noise now that I can scarcely hear myself think.'
He smiled. 'A great deal depends on the quality of the acting,' he said. 'People will listen if there is something worthwhile to listen to.'
'And they will carry on talking otherwise?' she asked incredulously. 'How unspeakably rude!'
Mr. Simms laughed outright. 'You are delightfully idealistic, Lady Helen,' he said. 'Most people do not come to the theater for the primary purpose of watching a play, you know.'
But at that moment the performance began and there was no further chance for conversation. Helen was enthralled from the outset. Mr. Sheridan's wit positively sparkled through the expert performance of the actors. She could not have said afterward if the audience had quietened down or not. She forgot there was an audience. She was alone in the theater, carried body and soul into the world of the drama. It was quite bewildering at the end of the act to discover that there was to be an intermission before the play resumed. Helen blinked and looked around her, disoriented for a moment.
Lord Harding rose and held out a hand to Emily. 'May I escort you to the box of my aunt, Lady Downing? She has asked that I present you to her,' he said.
They left the box, followed closely by Lord Harding's sister and Sir Rupert Davies. Helen had no intention of moving. Had she got up from her seat and moved out of sight of the stage, the spell would be broken. She waited impatiently for the play to resume. She found it harder to converse with Mr. Simms than she had before. She looked around when someone entered the box, expecting to see one of their party returned. But it was William Mainwaring who was standing there looking at her.
'Good evening, Lady Helen,' he said gravely, bowing formally. 'I trust you are enjoying the play?'
Helen gaped and suddenly became very conscious of Mr. Simms beside her. 'Thank you, sir,' she said. 'Yes, indeed, I am. May I present Mr. Timothy Simms? Mr. Simms, Mr. William Mainwaring.'
The two men exchanged bows and polite greetings. And all three of them conducted a stiff and labored conversation for the few minutes that ensued before Lord Harding's group returned. Mr. Mainwaring exchanged civilities with the newcomers and took his leave. But before he did so, he turned to Helen again and addressed her quietly, but for all to hear.
'May I call on you tomorrow, ma'am,' he asked, 'and take you driving in the park?'
Helen bit down hard on her lower lip. Just in time she remembered where she was and who her audience was. And she had promised Emmy so faithfully to be on her best behavior. She could not make a scene. And he must have known it.
'Thank you, sir,' she was forced to reply meekly. 'That would be very pleasant.'
And that was the end of the play, as far as Helen was concerned. She might as well not have been there at all, she reflected later, for all that she saw or heard. She could see them out of the corner of her eye the whole time: William, the Marquess and Marchioness of Hetherington, and a slightly older couple, in a box almost directly opposite the one in which she sat. She could not imagine how she had not noticed them there before. They must have come late and she had been so engrossed in the play that she had not witnessed their arrival.
Why, in the name of all that was wonderful, had he decided to pay a call on her during the intermission? Had her rejection of the week before not been plain enough? And why would he want to challenge her rejection, anyway? Surely he had offered for her only out of a sense of social duty. It should have been a vast relief to him to find that he need not marry her after all. Yet not only had he felt somehow obliged to call on her this evening, but he had also maneuvered her into accepting a more private meeting with him the following day.
She did not wish to go driving with him. She did not wish to see him ever again; she certainly did not want to be close to him or to be in the position of having to converse with him. What did they have to say to each other? Even apart from her dislike of him and the contempt that each must feel for the other, it would be acutely embarrassing to be alone and yet on public display with the man with whom she had been so intimate just a few months before. Even during those very uncomfortable minutes when he had been involved with her and Mr. Simms in an absurdly formal conversation, she had had alarming flashes of memory of him kissing her, touching her, his face close to hers, dreamy with passion.
She would merely have to be sick the next day or she would have to think of some other excuse not to keep the appointment. But of course, it would not work. Emily had heard her consent quite positively and quite freely to drive with Mr. Mainwaring. And Emily would tell Mama. And Mama would make her go. Mama's hopes of a wedding for her youngest daughter would be instantly revived. Was that what he hoped for? Did he really wish to marry her?
Helen had the uncomfortable feeling that William Mainwaring might prove to be a troublesome adversary.
William Mainwaring was feeling decidedly nervous as he guided his curricle through the busy traffic of the London streets on his way to Charles Street. For a week he had been looking for her wherever he went, hoping that somehow he could arrange to talk to her, to give her a better impression of himself than he had I ne hitherto. He had racked his brains for a method of approach. But then, when he had seen her the evening before at the theater, he felt as if he had been taken by surprise. He had been as jittery as a boy with his first infatuation.
He had agreed at the last minute to accompany Robert and Elizabeth and their mutual friends, the Prossers, to the theater. He had not wanted to go at first, feeling that his presence as a fifth member of the party would be awkward. But all four of them had persuaded him over dinner that they really desired his company. They had been almost late, arriving only minutes before the performance began. And he had been looking forward to the play. He always enjoyed a sparkling eighteenth-century farce. He had seen Nell immediately, seated in the box opposite and talking animatedly to a young man he had not seen before.
The first act had been completely lost on him. He had hardly glanced at the stage but had looked across at her almost the whole time. There was no danger that she would turn and see his interest. She was as utterly absorbed in the play as she had been with the water when he first saw her or with the sky on the second occasion. She leaned forward over the edge of the box, both arms on the velvet armrest before her. She had looked beautiful to him again. Her hair was drawn back and made her look younger and more fragile. And her face had had that dreamy yet eager look that had attracted him during the summer. He had felt a rush of tenderness for her. He longed to be sitting beside her so that she would turn to him and share with him her enthusiasm.
The intermission between acts had been more than half over by the time he had made up his mind to go and speak to her. She was so obviously enjoying herself. Did he have the right to spoil her evening? Her reaction to him both during Robert's ball and on the following morning had suggested that she would not welcome a visit
