woman. She concealed her distaste behind the unfurled lace of her fan.
"Quite true. I fancy the quidnuncs will be puzzled at this turn, for all our party will be the height of respectability.” Susan turned sparkling eyes on her hostess.
"How nice,” murmured Clare with true appreciation for the subtleties of the situation.
Venetia looked puzzled, but said nothing. She raised the question of what to wear, and the conversation turned to fashion and hairstyles, and whether or not it might rain.
When Mr. Talbot entered the house on the Royal Crescent early that evening, it was to find two exquisitely arrayed ladies awaiting him with poorly concealed and pleasing impatience.
"La, sir,” fluttered Venetia from behind her fan, “it has been an age since I have seen proper theater. I do hope the theatrical company is up to the mark.'’ She twitched the skirt of her pale blue sarcenet gown with nervous fingers. Perhaps the plan she'd considered quite fine this morning was now giving her second thoughts.
Richard repressed a grin at the rather odd notion of appreciation. “I am told the production is of London quality. Bath is yet a desirable place for the theatrical circuit players, as the house is usually full."
Annoyed with Venetia's quite unseemly remark, Clare tried to atone. “We are vastly delighted with your theater party, Mr. Talbot. A truly charming thought to bring together a group for a jovial evening. I trust we shall all be most amiable.” She darted a minatory glance at Venetia, daring her to behave with less than polite enthusiasm.
Venetia bowed her head sweetly in reply, causing Clare to wonder what the lady had been up to in the hours past. Each lady had spent time alone in her room, resting, fussing with her hair and clothes. When they had met for an early dinner, Venetia had worn a smug expression that Clare found a trifle odd.
Since they elected to travel in sedan chairs to the theater, due to the press of the crowd, she was not able to question Richard about any progress in their quest. Once they arrived at the theater—in good time, fortunately—she again found herself unable to speak with him. It was not that she did not trust Venetia to be privy to the conversation. It was merely her innate sense that such talk ought to be confined to privacy.
Now the delights of the play awaited them. Clare set aside her concerns and prepared to enjoy the evening. Her sea-foam gown of sheer jaconet had drawn appreciative glances from Richard Talbot, and she felt assured she looked her best.
The theater on Orchard Street thronged with people. The narrow, curved street itself was a madhouse of sedan chairs and foot traffic, as the citizens of Bath descended upon one of the main cultural spots of the city.
"Two boxes, Mr. Talbot?” exclaimed Lady Kingsmill, charmed to be included in this lively group. “I declare, that is indeed generous, sir.” She led the way into the one closest to the stage, where a comfortable chair suitable to her girth had been especially arranged in advance.
"I wish to please, ma'am,” he said with a courtly bow.
"Ladies never take to having their gowns crushed, don't you know,” Lord Welby added sagely as he took up his position close to Lady Kingsmill.
"I trust that is true,” replied Richard with a glance at Clare's rosy cheeks, remembering one lady who hadn't seemed to mind overmuch.
Lord Adrian Grove and Sir Henry Berney entered the second box where Venetia and Susan Oliver sat in anticipation. Venetia fluttered her delicate blue lace fan with an energy Clare found amazing. The introductions were a revelation to her. Susan bloomed, while Venetia reminded Clare of a calculating huntress.
Susan dimpled a winsome smile, modestly conversing with Lord Adrian. She behaved with comely appeal. He obviously found her attractive in her pretty pink muslin, for she was in first looks this evening. Any protégée of the wealthy Lady Kingsmill must be of interest to a young man
"Quite true. I fancy the quidnuncs will be puzzled at this turn, for all our party will be the height of respectability.” Susan turned sparkling eyes on her hostess.
"How nice,” murmured Clare with true appreciation for the subtleties of the situation.
Venetia looked puzzled, but said nothing. She raised the question of what to wear, and the conversation turned to fashion and hairstyles, and whether or not it might rain.
When Mr. Talbot entered the house on the Royal Crescent early that evening, it was to find two exquisitely arrayed ladies awaiting him with poorly concealed and pleasing impatience.
"La, sir,” fluttered Venetia from behind her fan, “it has been an age since I have seen proper theater. I do hope the theatrical company is up to the mark.'’ She twitched the skirt of her pale blue sarcenet gown with nervous fingers. Perhaps the plan she'd considered quite fine this morning was now giving her second thoughts.
Richard repressed a grin at the rather odd notion of appreciation. “I am told the production is of London quality. Bath is yet a desirable place for the theatrical circuit players, as the house is usually full."
Annoyed with Venetia's quite unseemly remark, Clare tried to atone. “We are vastly delighted with your theater party, Mr. Talbot. A truly charming thought to bring together a group for a jovial evening. I trust we shall all be most amiable.” She darted a minatory glance at Venetia, daring her to behave with less than polite enthusiasm.
Venetia bowed her head sweetly in reply, causing Clare to wonder what the lady had been up to in the hours past. Each lady had spent time alone in her room, resting, fussing with her hair and clothes. When they had met for an early dinner, Venetia had worn a smug expression that Clare found a trifle odd.
Since they elected to travel in sedan chairs to the theater, due to the press of the crowd, she was not able to question Richard about any progress in their quest. Once they arrived at the theater—in good time, fortunately—she again found herself unable to speak with him. It was not that she did not trust Venetia to be privy to the conversation. It was merely her innate sense that such talk ought to be confined to privacy.
Now the delights of the play awaited them. Clare set aside her concerns and prepared to enjoy the evening. Her sea-foam gown of sheer jaconet had drawn appreciative glances from Richard Talbot, and she felt assured she looked her best.
The theater on Orchard Street thronged with people. The narrow, curved street itself was a madhouse of sedan chairs and foot traffic, as the citizens of Bath descended upon one of the main cultural spots of the city.
"Two boxes, Mr. Talbot?” exclaimed Lady Kingsmill, charmed to be included in this lively group. “I declare, that is indeed generous, sir.” She led the way into the one closest to the stage, where a comfortable chair suitable to her girth had been especially arranged in advance.
"I wish to please, ma'am,” he said with a courtly bow.
"Ladies never take to having their gowns crushed, don't you know,” Lord Welby added sagely as he took up his position close to Lady Kingsmill.
"I trust that is true,” replied Richard with a glance at Clare's rosy cheeks, remembering one lady who hadn't seemed to mind overmuch.
Lord Adrian Grove and Sir Henry Berney entered the second box where Venetia and Susan Oliver sat in anticipation. Venetia fluttered her delicate blue lace fan with an energy Clare found amazing. The introductions were a revelation to her. Susan bloomed, while Venetia reminded Clare of a calculating huntress.
Susan dimpled a winsome smile, modestly conversing with Lord Adrian. She behaved with comely appeal. He obviously found her attractive in her pretty pink muslin, for she was in first looks this evening. Any protégée of the wealthy Lady Kingsmill must be of interest to a young man
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