Two stares swung in his direction; one concerned, one curious. “I am fine,” he gritted out.
Chloe returned her attention to Jane. “The opera is a good deal better than attending some ball or another.” Her lips pulled into a grimace. “At those events one is expected to dance.” She gave Jane a wide smile.
An awkward pall of silence descended over the carriage and Gabriel settled into his seat. For the first time, he truly wondered about the young lady in his employ. Before, it hadn’t mattered being the context of her references or the role she would fulfill, but this evening he was filled with a desire to know who, exactly, was Mrs. Jane Munroe? She spoke with the elegant, refined tones of a young lady, which indicated a woman who’d received a proper education. Yet, how had she come to this moment where she served in the role of companions and governesses to other English ladies? Up until this moment, she’d been quite tight-lipped with details about her past, neatly stepping around his inquiries.
It was just an evening at the opera. He’d faced far greater trials and tribulations, most of them right in this very household, than attending one performance by Rossini with a woman who’d wreaked havoc upon his senses. He closed his eyes a moment and drew in a deep breath.
How bloody difficult could that be? His gaze met Jane’s. Bloody impossible.
An interminable carriage ride later, they drew to a stop before the crowded theatre. As the ladies shuffled ahead, he trailed at a safe distance. “You’ve never been to the theatre, then.” His sister’s words reached back to him.
Jane had said as much at breakfast. Could his sister not remember the excited sparkle in her companion’s usually guarded blue eyes? They entered through the theatre doors and he kept his gaze on Jane’s proudly held shoulders. The hall resonated with the booming laughs and loud whispers and conversations being had about the space. Jane paused and his sister continued on several feet.
Jane, the blonde temptress, remained frozen with her head tipped back at an impossibly awkward arch as she stared up, just as she’d done in the foyer of his home, with her lips parted in a silent awe at the ceiling. He froze mid-step, his gaze trained upon her, For the remainder of his days, when he was old and at the end of his life, alone for a decision that had been his, he would remember her in this moment—innocently wide-eyed and awed by a mural of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden with an apple between them.
Much like Jane, a veritable Eve, tempting, enticing, taunting Gabriel with his desire for her.
“Jane?” his sister called, and then she made to take a step forward.
He should let her go and maintain the careful distance. He should pretend he’d not noted her gawking at the ceiling.
Then, he’d spent the whole of his life doing exactly what was expected of him. He quickened his stride and fell into step beside her. She startled at his appearance and cast a desperate look at his sister. Chloe, however, marched ahead, moving at an unladylike clip that would have scandalized their mother. “You were admiring the painting,” he said with a gentle teasing.
She stole a glance at him. “The mural,” she corrected with a smile.
About them, leading members of Society stared openly at him conversing with his sister’s companion. And he would have had to be blind to not see the manner those condescending matrons peered down their noses at her.
He fisted his hands. Had he ever been so self-absorbed that he’d failed to note the disdain shown to people the ton took as interlopers? You don’t care. Isn’t that the person you’ve perfected through the years? One who tends his familial obligations and nothing more? Shame turned in his belly. Yet Jane, with her strength and courage in making a life for herself, without the assistance of anyone, was far stronger than he or any other member of the whole damned peerage.
They reached his private box.
“Imogen and Alex will be in attendance,” Chloe prattled. She claimed the seat at the right of the box as she was wont to do. “I do so wish they’d share our box.” A beleaguered sigh escaped her. “Alas, they are wedded.” She wrinkled her nose.