Wicked and Wonderful by Valerie King

concertina, a lute, the drum once more, the singing of familiar songs and ballads.
    The moment his eyes found Judith among the troupe, he saw no one else. And every now and then, to his great pleasure, he could hear the clear strain of her voice above the din.
    In the shadows he waited, a hunter after prey.
    Only when she finally retired, the third after Margaret and Shelly to leave the fireside, did he begin his approach. He was not certain just how he meant to invade her tent but so he would. The closer he drew, his blood burned in his veins. He was almost upon her when a whisper called to him.
    “M’lord, a word,” Mrs. Ash said.
    Caught before he could begin.
    The devil take it.
    *** *** ***
    Judith hummed the tune, ‘The Joys of the Country.’ This was perhaps her favorite time of day, or rather night. The hour was near midnight, she had performed at her best, the earnings for the troupe were the highest they had ever been, and she was preparing for bed. Most of the troupe was still by the fire, finishing what was left of the keg of beer Kelthorne had provided several days past.
    She brushed her hair in long strokes but paused for a moment as she recalled taking her place on stage and seeing that Lord Kelthorne had been in attendance. An odd inexplicable warmth flowed through her. He had been dressed formally, in a black coat, an exquisitely tied neckcloth, black breeches and stockings of the same color. She had nearly forgotten the opening notes of her first song. She smiled thinking how she had been forced to shift her gaze anywhere but upon him in order to regain her composure.
    She sighed and brushed her hair anew. He had come to the theater tonight. Of course he had not come purposely to see her. Of course not. It would be absurd to think any such thing. But he had smiled at her when she had met his gaze while taking her bows. He had smiled and applauded quite vigorously.
    She sighed.
    He had smiled.
    Kelthorne had a wonderful smile. He should always be smiling. He should always be looking at her and smiling. She laughed at herself for she was being beyond ridiculous. She must think of other things.
    She glanced about her tent to see if everything was in order. In so confined a space, she was always more peaceful when her tent was neat and tidy. She had what each of the players had, a bed, a wardrobe, a table, a trunk and a stool. The niceties she had gained over a period of time added to the comfort and beauty of her tent, her standing workbox of course, a chair before her dressing table, and an excellent and very safe lantern which burned oil. Covering nearly the entire tent floor was a rug she had created by cross-stitching canvas, which was very popular at the time. She had even decorated the walls with several framed watercolors, painted by her own hand and hung from loops she had stitched to the joints of the tents, She kept her bonnets on a pegboard and because each was fetching in its way, all of them in a row had become as much a decoration as anything else. The single most expensive purchase she had allowed herself was a beautiful ceramic pitcher and basin, covered in lavender flowers, which sat on her table along with a perfume of the same name. Lastly, a tall looking glass, used by all the ladies quite frequently for the purpose of viewing the effects of a costume, stood beside her wardrobe.
    On her feet were embroidered slippers of olive green and purple. Her nightdress she had embroidered about the bodice with a summery string of flowers as though garlanded from a fine cutting garden. Presently, she had a shawl about her shoulders, one that she had crocheted a year past and which was still in excellent condition.
    How happy she was. In many places in her tent, she had secreted the money she had saved over the course of eight years. Of course, she had an account in Bath, but could only make deposits when the troupe passed through that fine city. She had pound notes and coins sewn into her mattress,