The Black Moth by Georgette Heyer (famous ebook reader .TXT) 📖

LADY LAVINIA GOES TO THE PLAY

RICHARD was away from home all next day, and his wife had plenty of time in which to meditate upon her situation. She had quite come to the conclusion that she must elope with Lovelace, and was only waiting for to-night to tell him so. She would never, never ask Richard to let her stay with him now that she knew he loved another. Truly a most trying predicament. The Carstares were going to-night to Drury Lane to see Garrick play one of his most successful comedies: the Beaux’ Stratagem. The monde that would flock to see the inimitable Archer was likely to be a very distinguished one, especially as the cast held the added attraction of Mrs. Clive, and ordinarily Lady Lavinia would have looked forward with much excitement to seeing the piece. To-day, however, she felt that she would far rather go to bed and cry. But Lovelace had to be answered, and besides that, she had invited two cousins, new come from Scotland, to accompany her, and she could not fail them.

So that evening saw her seated in her box, wonderfully gowned as usual, scanning the house. Behind her stood her husband—when she thought that this was the last time she would ever go with him to the theatre she had much ado to keep from bursting into tears before them all—and in the chair at her side was the cousin, Mrs. Fleming. Mr. Fleming stood with his hands behind his back, exclaiming every now and then as his kinsman, young Charles Holt, pointed out each newcomer of note. He was a short, tubby little man, dressed in sober brown, very neat as regards his wrists and neckband, but attired, so thought Lavinia, for the country, and not for town. His dark suit contrasted strangely with Mr. Holt’s rather garish mixture of apple-green and pink, with waistcoat of yellow, and Richard’s quieter, but far more handsome apricot and silver. His wig, too, was not at all modish, being of the scratch type that country gentlemen affected. His wife was the reverse of smart, but she was loud in her admiration of her more affluent cousin’s stiff silks and laces.

She had married beneath her, had Mrs. Fleming, and the Belmanoirs had never quite forgiven the shocking mésalliance. William Fleming was nought but a simple Scotsman, whose father—even now the family shuddered at the thought—had been a farmer!

Lavinia was not over-pleased that they should have elected to visit London, and still less pleased that they should evince such an affection for the Hon. Richard and his wife.

“Well, to be sure, Lavvy, ‘tis pleasant to sit here and admire all the people!” exclaimed Mrs. Fleming, for perhaps the twentieth time. “I declare I am grown positively old-fashioned from having lived for so long in the country!—yes, my dear, positively old-fashioned! … I cannot but marvel at the great hoops everyone is wearing! I am sure mine is not half the size of yours, and the lady down there in the stage-box has one even larger!”

Lavinia directed her gaze towards the box in question. At any other time she would have been annoyed to see that the occupant was Lady Carlyle, her pet rival in all matters of fashion. Now she felt that nothing signified, and merely remarked that she considered those absurd garlands of roses on the dress quite grotesque.

Behind, Holt was directing Mr. Fleming’s attention to a box at the back of the house.

“‘Pon my soul, William! ‘Tis the Duchess of Queensberry and her son—March, you know. I assure you there is no one more amiable in town. When I last visited her—”

“Charles knows well-nigh everyone here,” remarked Mrs. Fleming ingenuously, and wondered why her cousin laughed.

When the curtain rose on the first act, Lovelace was nowhere to be seen, and Lavinia tried to interest herself in the play. But it is difficult to be interested in anything when one’s whole mind is occupied with something else far more overwhelming. She was not the only one of the party that Garrick failed to amuse. Richard sat wretchedly in the shadow of the box, thinking how, in a short while, he would never again conduct his wife to the theatre and never again sit at her side watching her every change of expression.

In the first interval Lovelace had still not arrived, but many other acquaintances had arrived and called to see the Carstares. Markham, Wilding, Devereux, Sir John Fortescue—all came into the box at different times, paid homage to Lavinia, were introduced to Mrs. Fleming, laughed and cracked jokes with the men, and drifted away again.

How was it she had never before realised how much she enjoyed her life? wondered Lavinia. She settled down to listen to the second act, and Garrick’s skill caught her interest and held it. For a moment she forgot her woes and clapped as heartily as anyone, laughing as gaily.

The next instant she remembered again, and sank back into unutterable gloom.

But Richard had heard her merry laugh, and his heart was even gloomier than hers. There was no help for it: Lavinia was delighted at the thought of leaving him.

As the curtain fell, Mrs. Fleming suddenly demanded if it was not Tracy seated in the box over on the other side. Lavinia turned to look. In the box, alone, sat his Grace, seemingly unaware of her presence.

“Is it not Tracy?” persisted Mrs. Fleming. “I remember his face so well.”

“Yes,” nodded Lavinia, and waved to him.

Andover rose, bowed, and left his box. In a few moments he was in their own, kissing his cousin’s hand.

Lavinia now caught sight of Lovelace standing on the floor of the theatre looking up at