because of the marquess’s wealth and title. But when she had met him, she had realized that here was the man of her dreams. Her passionate and voluptuous nature, which had never been allowed to blossom in an arranged marriage or among the strict rules and taboos and shibboleths of London society, smoldered away dangerously. She had never taken a lover as had some other widows.
Her opera gown of gold tissue, she thought, lent her a stately but seductive air. She turned this way and that before the long glass, trying to shrug off a bright little image of Mira. The girl was positively plain with those Slavic cheekbones.
She summoned her companion, one of those sad, indigent females who eke out an existence chaperoning such as Lady Jansen. Her box, Lady Jansen knew, faced that of the marquess across the opera house. She was sure her golden gown and diamond tiara would catch his eye.
As she had little interest in the music and liked to make an entrance, she planned to arrive at the first interval, unaware that her poor companion was looking forward so much to hearing Catalini sing and that music was the one consolation in her rather miserable existence. Her name was Mrs. Anderson, the Mrs. being a courtesy title, for Mrs. Anderson was in her forties and had never married, the fate of so many of little looks and less dowry.
That Mrs. Anderson, who was small and mousy, was capable of hate would have surprised Lady Jansen very much, but Mrs. Anderson did hate her employer for the many little indignities and cruelties she was subjected to. She was wearing a gown that Lady Jansen had grown tired of. It was a merino gown of red-and-white stripes, which Mrs. Anderson considered vulgar but wore because the material was good, and also it was warm.
Mrs. Anderson knew all about Lady Jansen’s hope of snaring this marquess and had been with her on calls that day when she had set out to ruin the reputation of some chit called Mira Markham. Mrs. Anderson did hope that Mira Markham had somehow survived the damage done to her reputation, for she was eager to see this spirited girl who dressed as a boy and went on races. Mrs. Anderson admired spirit, having very little of that commodity herself.
They arrived at the opera house exactly in time for the first interval. Mrs. Anderson sat down quietly at the back of the box, blinking a little in the glare of lights from the huge chandelier that hung in the middle of the theater.
Lady Jansen sat waiting impatiently for callers. After a few moments she took out a pair of opera glasses and leveled them on the marquess’s box. It was empty. She swung it along the boxes and then stiffened. The marquess was in the Markhams’ box. She could just make out his golden head above the press of men crowding around the Markham sisters. They all seemed to be laughing a lot.
She slowly lowered the glasses at the end of the interval, for as the callers left, she could see Mira quite clearly. What had happened? Then she sat back and forced herself to be patient. The gossip, which usually spread like wildfire, had obviously not reached the Markham parents yet.
The opera began again, and she fidgeted impatiently while little Mrs. Anderson gave her soul up to the music.
The next interval was no better. This time she saw the marquess rise and leave his box only to reappear in the Markhams’ box. She swung her glasses angrily about the other boxes until she located that famous gossip, Mrs. Gardener. Good. It was only a matter of time.
For his part the marquess had made a very amusing story about the “lie” about himself and Mira. He then suggested to the other callers in the Markhams’ box that they all invent some really horrendous lie about Mrs. Gardener and spread it about, and the laughter rose loudly when Mira offered that they suggest that Mrs. Gardener’s magnificent head of white hair was actually a wig and dare people to take tugs at it.
And all
Her opera gown of gold tissue, she thought, lent her a stately but seductive air. She turned this way and that before the long glass, trying to shrug off a bright little image of Mira. The girl was positively plain with those Slavic cheekbones.
She summoned her companion, one of those sad, indigent females who eke out an existence chaperoning such as Lady Jansen. Her box, Lady Jansen knew, faced that of the marquess across the opera house. She was sure her golden gown and diamond tiara would catch his eye.
As she had little interest in the music and liked to make an entrance, she planned to arrive at the first interval, unaware that her poor companion was looking forward so much to hearing Catalini sing and that music was the one consolation in her rather miserable existence. Her name was Mrs. Anderson, the Mrs. being a courtesy title, for Mrs. Anderson was in her forties and had never married, the fate of so many of little looks and less dowry.
That Mrs. Anderson, who was small and mousy, was capable of hate would have surprised Lady Jansen very much, but Mrs. Anderson did hate her employer for the many little indignities and cruelties she was subjected to. She was wearing a gown that Lady Jansen had grown tired of. It was a merino gown of red-and-white stripes, which Mrs. Anderson considered vulgar but wore because the material was good, and also it was warm.
Mrs. Anderson knew all about Lady Jansen’s hope of snaring this marquess and had been with her on calls that day when she had set out to ruin the reputation of some chit called Mira Markham. Mrs. Anderson did hope that Mira Markham had somehow survived the damage done to her reputation, for she was eager to see this spirited girl who dressed as a boy and went on races. Mrs. Anderson admired spirit, having very little of that commodity herself.
They arrived at the opera house exactly in time for the first interval. Mrs. Anderson sat down quietly at the back of the box, blinking a little in the glare of lights from the huge chandelier that hung in the middle of the theater.
Lady Jansen sat waiting impatiently for callers. After a few moments she took out a pair of opera glasses and leveled them on the marquess’s box. It was empty. She swung it along the boxes and then stiffened. The marquess was in the Markhams’ box. She could just make out his golden head above the press of men crowding around the Markham sisters. They all seemed to be laughing a lot.
She slowly lowered the glasses at the end of the interval, for as the callers left, she could see Mira quite clearly. What had happened? Then she sat back and forced herself to be patient. The gossip, which usually spread like wildfire, had obviously not reached the Markham parents yet.
The opera began again, and she fidgeted impatiently while little Mrs. Anderson gave her soul up to the music.
The next interval was no better. This time she saw the marquess rise and leave his box only to reappear in the Markhams’ box. She swung her glasses angrily about the other boxes until she located that famous gossip, Mrs. Gardener. Good. It was only a matter of time.
For his part the marquess had made a very amusing story about the “lie” about himself and Mira. He then suggested to the other callers in the Markhams’ box that they all invent some really horrendous lie about Mrs. Gardener and spread it about, and the laughter rose loudly when Mira offered that they suggest that Mrs. Gardener’s magnificent head of white hair was actually a wig and dare people to take tugs at it.
And all
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