look fashionable and pretty for a change. She thought she had appeared prettier when her mother had the dressing of her, with colors such as soft peach and bright peacock blue.
Turning her thoughts from such a useless topic, Chloe decided she had best write two notes—one for Mr. St. Aubyn, the other for Mr. Theo Purcell. Using a stiff sheet of white paper, Chloe bluntly informed St. Aubyn of her fate. On the second sheet—a lighter weight piece of cream paper, she asked that Mr. Purcell tell his friend that Chloe was in trouble.
With the two notes safely tucked into the depths of her reticule, along with her ever-present drawing pad and pencil, she joined her grandmother for dinner.
“Enjoy the meal, my dear. Bread and water can be so tedious—not to mention slimming.” Her grandmother eyed Chloe’s slender figure with a raised brow. Her comment had the effect of putting Chloe quite off her food, in spite of the warning.
Chloe determined that she would find a way out of this predicament with or without Mr. St. Aubyn. However, she concluded with a touch of wistfulness, it would be far nicer to have his support and sympathy.
In the meantime, she put her mind to work figuring out a great number of ways and means of stalling Lord Twisdale. She could try sneezing again, for he seemed to always wear that dreadful scent and he abhorred any sign of frailty.
Lord Twisdale had looked askance at a woman who sneezed a great deal during the Purcell ball. Perhaps, Chloe thought with optimism, he held a dread of colds or maybe his wife’s death instilled this apprehension.
The theater was comfortably crowded this evening, Chloe decided with pleasure. It offered her a wealth of faces to draw if she might snatch a moment or two away from her grandmother and his lordship.
Across from the Dancy box Chloe espied her beautiful aunt. Elinor looked so lovely this evening. How could any gentleman resist such a creature of delight as she? Of course he would not know of her temper tantrums—famous within the family circle.
Next to her sat the docile elderly relative who was so obscure that Chloe could not even recall a name for her. She was one of those unfortunate unmarried ladies who drifted from household to household in the hope they could be useful and thus keep a roof over their head.
With a surreptitious slip of her hand into her reticule, Chloe withdrew her pad and pencil. The lights had dimmed and most of the audience seemed to pay some attention to the stage. The rest gossiped and chattered in quite loud tones.
She began to draw her impoverished relative. Within a short time—for she was some distance away so it was difficult to capture details—Chloe had her likeness on the paper atop a rather wilted-looking dove.
Before she knew it, the first intermission was upon them. She concealed her tablet and pencil, smiled dutifully at every comment her grandmother and Lord Twisdale made, and waited.
“I wish to speak with Selina Wingrove,” the dowager said. “I wonder how she can tolerate living with that Hadlow woman.” The Dowager Lady Dancy turned to his lordship and ordered, “You will be so good as to assist me. These corridors can be exceedingly hazardous. Chloe, wait here.”
Chloe nodded, then sneezed as Lord Twisdale’s scent assailed her nose. “Perhaps I may have a drink of water?”
Lord Twisdale seemed about to offer his assistance, although he appeared somewhat reluctant, when the dowager shook her head. “Nonsense. Stick your head out of the door and send someone to fetch you something.”
Chloe sneezed again and the dowager, with Twisdale in tow, left with more than usual haste.
Watching to see where her grandmother and his lordship might appear, Chloe saw them enter the opposite box. When they began to chat with the wilted dove in Chloe’s drawing, she saw her chance.
Retreating to the rear of the box and well into the shadows, Chloe searched the theater again. She had seen St. Aubyn earlier.
Turning her thoughts from such a useless topic, Chloe decided she had best write two notes—one for Mr. St. Aubyn, the other for Mr. Theo Purcell. Using a stiff sheet of white paper, Chloe bluntly informed St. Aubyn of her fate. On the second sheet—a lighter weight piece of cream paper, she asked that Mr. Purcell tell his friend that Chloe was in trouble.
With the two notes safely tucked into the depths of her reticule, along with her ever-present drawing pad and pencil, she joined her grandmother for dinner.
“Enjoy the meal, my dear. Bread and water can be so tedious—not to mention slimming.” Her grandmother eyed Chloe’s slender figure with a raised brow. Her comment had the effect of putting Chloe quite off her food, in spite of the warning.
Chloe determined that she would find a way out of this predicament with or without Mr. St. Aubyn. However, she concluded with a touch of wistfulness, it would be far nicer to have his support and sympathy.
In the meantime, she put her mind to work figuring out a great number of ways and means of stalling Lord Twisdale. She could try sneezing again, for he seemed to always wear that dreadful scent and he abhorred any sign of frailty.
Lord Twisdale had looked askance at a woman who sneezed a great deal during the Purcell ball. Perhaps, Chloe thought with optimism, he held a dread of colds or maybe his wife’s death instilled this apprehension.
The theater was comfortably crowded this evening, Chloe decided with pleasure. It offered her a wealth of faces to draw if she might snatch a moment or two away from her grandmother and his lordship.
Across from the Dancy box Chloe espied her beautiful aunt. Elinor looked so lovely this evening. How could any gentleman resist such a creature of delight as she? Of course he would not know of her temper tantrums—famous within the family circle.
Next to her sat the docile elderly relative who was so obscure that Chloe could not even recall a name for her. She was one of those unfortunate unmarried ladies who drifted from household to household in the hope they could be useful and thus keep a roof over their head.
With a surreptitious slip of her hand into her reticule, Chloe withdrew her pad and pencil. The lights had dimmed and most of the audience seemed to pay some attention to the stage. The rest gossiped and chattered in quite loud tones.
She began to draw her impoverished relative. Within a short time—for she was some distance away so it was difficult to capture details—Chloe had her likeness on the paper atop a rather wilted-looking dove.
Before she knew it, the first intermission was upon them. She concealed her tablet and pencil, smiled dutifully at every comment her grandmother and Lord Twisdale made, and waited.
“I wish to speak with Selina Wingrove,” the dowager said. “I wonder how she can tolerate living with that Hadlow woman.” The Dowager Lady Dancy turned to his lordship and ordered, “You will be so good as to assist me. These corridors can be exceedingly hazardous. Chloe, wait here.”
Chloe nodded, then sneezed as Lord Twisdale’s scent assailed her nose. “Perhaps I may have a drink of water?”
Lord Twisdale seemed about to offer his assistance, although he appeared somewhat reluctant, when the dowager shook her head. “Nonsense. Stick your head out of the door and send someone to fetch you something.”
Chloe sneezed again and the dowager, with Twisdale in tow, left with more than usual haste.
Watching to see where her grandmother and his lordship might appear, Chloe saw them enter the opposite box. When they began to chat with the wilted dove in Chloe’s drawing, she saw her chance.
Retreating to the rear of the box and well into the shadows, Chloe searched the theater again. She had seen St. Aubyn earlier.
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