Someone to Wed
Page 53

“Wren?” Alexander stood before her, one hand extended. “What is your wish? We can merely stretch our legs in here, if you choose.”
“Thank you.” She set her hand in his and stood. She did not turn her head, but with her peripheral vision she was aware that the two ladies in white had remained in their box and that other gentlemen had stepped into it, presumably to pay their respects.
“Are you enjoying the play?” Alexander asked, closing his hand about hers.
“Very much,” she said.
He moved his head a little closer and frowned slightly. “What is it?” he asked her. “Are you regretting your decision to come? Is this all a little overwhelming for you?”
“I am fine,” she said. But she was feeling the unfamiliar urge to step closer to him, to bury herself against him, to feel the safety of his arms about her. Perhaps that was all it was. Perhaps she was overwhelmed. Too much had happened too fast in her life.
He was still looking searchingly at her. But they were interrupted by the opening of the door and the appearance of the Radleys, Alexander’s aunt and uncle, who had come with a couple of friends to greet them. They stayed only a few minutes while Aunt Lilian told them how much she had enjoyed the wedding yesterday and the other couple congratulated them and Uncle Richard commented that they were putting Alexander to the blush.
And then they were alone again and Wren turned to resume her seat—and glanced unwillingly across at the box opposite. One lady and gentleman were still seated to the side. Most of the visiting gentlemen were leaving the box with bows for the other lady, while one member of her court had fetched her a glass of something and was presenting it to her with a graceful bow of his own. She was ignoring them all, however. She was holding a jeweled lorgnette to her eyes and looking directly across at their box. So were the other lady and the gentleman with her. Both sides of her face were visible, Wren realized. She sat down hastily and turned her attention toward the empty stage.
“You are attracting attention from over there,” Alexander said. “I hope it does not bother you. But really you ought to be feeling flattered, Wren. Lady Hodges usually notices no other lady but herself. By all accounts she has been the toast of the ton for at least the past thirty years, though her appearances in recent years are rarer and more carefully orchestrated.”
It could not be, Wren thought once more as the others returned to their box in time for the second half of the performance. It could not be.
But somehow it was.
Lady Hodges …
As far as Alexander was concerned, the evening had gone well. Cousin Viola was quietly dignified, rather as she had always been as far back as Alexander remembered. She nodded to a few people as they left the theater but did not exchange words or smiles with anyone. Abigail was both dignified and shyly smiling. Jessica was exuberant. Anna remarked upon the quality of the performance. Netherby was his usual imperturbable self. Wren spoke with admiration about the play and was warm in her thanks to Anna and Netherby as she hugged the former and shook hands with the latter before climbing into the carriage after Cousin Viola and Abigail.
“Well?” Alexander asked as the carriage moved away. “I would say you all met the challenge quite magnificently. Are you pleased?” Wren had told him earlier of the agreement she and Cousin Viola had come to, though they had intended a mere sightseeing outing or two together.
“We did it, certainly,” Viola said. She had Abigail’s hand in hers, Alexander noticed. “We have proved something to ourselves and maybe to others too. Abby, was it an experiment to be repeated?”
“It was pleasant,” Abigail said, “and I do appreciate the effort Anastasia is making to draw us back into the family and even into society. I am sure tonight must have been her idea more than Avery’s.”
“Not Jessica’s?” her mother asked.
“No,” Abigail said. “Jessica wants to do quite the opposite, silly thing. She wants to withdraw from society herself in order to be with me. She does not understand that we must both find our place in the world but that those places will necessarily be very different.”
She was quite mature for one so young, Alexander thought. One did not always realize it. She was small and sweet and quiet and a bit fragile looking.
He moved slightly on the seat so that his shoulder was against Wren’s. She had fallen silent. Despite her praise for the play after it was finished, he had had the curious feeling during the second half that she was not really seeing it at all. He took her hand in his. She did not withdraw it, but it remained limp and unresponsive.
“No, Mama,” Abigail said. “I have no craving for more such evenings. Certainly not for parties. Not any longer. It was lovely to come for Alexander and Wren’s wedding and to see the family again. And it was wonderful beyond imagining to find Harry here.”
“Shall we go back home within the next few days, then?” Cousin Viola suggested. “And take Harry with us? He insists he will be well enough to return to the Peninsula within a week or two, but when he was sent home, he was ordered quite specifically by both an army surgeon and his commanding officer not to return for at least two months. We will fatten him up and perhaps take him to Bath to see Camille and Grandmama Kingsley and to meet Joel and Winifred and Sarah.”
“I should like that, Mama,” Abigail said. “I just have to persuade Jessica that really my world has not ended. Cam’s did not end, did it? It began last year.”
Alexander’s mother and Elizabeth were at home when they arrived, having just returned from a musical evening at the house of one of Elizabeth’s friends. They wanted to talk about it, and they wanted to hear about the visit to the theater. They all entered the drawing room together—except Wren, who slipped off upstairs without a word. And Harry had retired even before they left for the theater.
“Has Wren gone to bed?” Elizabeth asked five minutes or so later when she had not returned.
“I am not sure,” Alexander said. “I think perhaps she needed to be alone. The whole of the last week or so has been overwhelming for her, and this evening was perhaps too much.”
“Has she lived her whole life as a hermit?” Abigail asked. “And always veiled?”
“Yes,” Alexander said.
Abigail looked a bit surprised as her mother, Viola, said, “I am sorry, Alexander, if I have been the cause of distress to your wife. I challenged her to face the world with me. I like her exceedingly well, you know.”
“So do we all, Viola,” Alexander’s mother said. “But you must not blame yourself. We have learned Wren has a very firm mind of her own and will not be talked into anything she does not choose to do.”
Five minutes later Alexander was worried. He had expected her to come back down. Surely she would have said good night and offered some excuse of tiredness if she had not intended to do so.
“I will go up and see how she is,” he said.
She was not in bed—not in their bed, anyway. Nor was she in her dressing room or her own room. Or so he thought at first. There were no candles burning in there. Wherever was she, then? He set his candle down on the table beside the window and looked out, almost as though he expected to see her walking down the street. The room behind him was quiet, but there was a prickly feeling along his spine that warned him he was not alone. He turned.