“This is the final scene,” he whispered, as some sort of judicial proceeding began on stage.

“Of the play?” she asked in surprise. The hero and heroine hadn’t even met each other yet.

“Of the first act,” he told her.

“Oh.” Of course. She turned front again, and within a few minutes, Tamino and Pamina finally clapped eyes on each other and instantly embraced…

…and were separated.

“Well,” Annabel said as the curtain went down, “I suppose there wouldn’t be much of a second act if they weren’t torn apart at the end of the scene.”

“You seem suspicious of the romance,” Mr. Grey said.

“You must admit, it is a bit far-fetched that he should fall in love with her portrait, and she should fall in love with his…” Annabel felt her brow furrow. “Why did she fall in love with him?”

“Because Papageno told her he was coming to save her,” Louisa said, leaning forward.

“Oh, of course,” Annabel replied, rolling her eyes. “She fell in love because a man wearing feathers told her she would be saved by a man she’d never met.”

“You don’t believe in love at first sight, Miss Winslow?” Mr. Grey asked.

“I did not say that.”

“Then you do believe?”

“I don’t believe or not believe,” Annabel replied, not trusting the glint in his eye. “I myself have not witnessed it, but that does not mean it does not exist. And it was not love at first sight. How can it be love at first sight if she has not even seen him?”

“It is difficult to argue with such logic,” he murmured.

“I should hope so.”

He chuckled at that, then frowned as he looked toward the back row. “Harry and Olivia seem to have disappeared,” he said.

Annabel twisted and looked over her shoulder. “I hope nothing is wrong.”

“Oh, I assure you that nothing is wrong,” Mr. Grey said cryptically.

Annabel blushed, not entirely sure what he meant, but certain nonetheless that it could not be proper.

Mr. Grey must have seen her go pink, because he chuckled, then leaned toward her with a mischievous gleam in his eye. There was something dangerously intimate in his expression, as if he knew her, or as if he would know her, or wanted to know her, or-

“Annabel,” Louisa said loudly, “will you come with me to the retiring room?”

“Of course.” Annabel had no particular need to “retire,” but if there was one thing she had learned in London, it was that one never refused an invitation to accompany another lady to the retiring room. Why this was so, she was not certain, but she’d declined once and had been told that it had been very bad form.

“I await your return,” Mr. Grey said, standing.

Annabel nodded and followed Louisa out. They were barely two steps out of the box when Louisa grabbed her upper arm and whispered urgently, “What have you been talking about?”

“With Mr. Grey?”

“Of course with Mr. Grey. The two of you were practically touching heads the entire performance.”

“That can’t be true.”

“I assure you, it can. And you were sitting in the front. Everyone will have seen it.”

Annabel began to feel nervous. “What do you mean by everyone?”

Louisa looked furtively about. Crowds were beginning to spill out from the boxes, everyone dressed in their finest opera attire. “I don’t know if Lord Newbury is in attendance,” she whispered, “but if not, he’ll surely hear about this soon.”

Annabel swallowed nervously. She did not wish to jeopardize her impending match with the earl, but at the same time…

She desperately did.

“It is not Lord Newbury I’m worried about,” Louisa continued, looping her arm through Annabel’s to bring her closer. “You know I pray that the match will fall through.”

“Then-”

“Grandmama Vickers,” Louisa cut in. “And Lord Vickers. They will be livid if they think you have purposefully sabotaged the courtship.”

“But I-”

“They couldn’t possibly think anything else.” Louisa swallowed and lowered her voice when she saw someone make a curious turn in their direction. “Sebastian Grey, Annabel.”

“I know!” Annabel retorted, grateful to have finally got a word in. “You’re one to talk. You’ve been flirting with him all night.”

Louisa looked stricken, but only for a moment. “Oh, my heavens,” she said. “You’re jealous.”

“I am not.”

“You are.” Her eyes lit up. “This is wonderful. And a disaster,” she added, almost as an afterthought. “It’s a wonderful disaster.”

“Louisa.” Annabel wanted to rub her eyes. She was suddenly exhausted. And not quite sure that this rather crafty-looking lady in front of her was her normally shy cousin.

“Stop. Listen.” Louisa looked about and let out a frustrated groan. She pulled Annabel into an alcove and yanked a velvet curtain around them to afford them a bit of privacy. “You have to go home.”

“What? Why?”

“You have to go home right now. There will be enough of a scandal as it is.”

“All I did was talk with him!”

Louisa placed her hands on Annabel’s shoulders and looked her straight and hard in the eyes. “It’s enough. Trust me.”

Annabel took one look at her cousin’s grave expression and gave a nod. If Louisa said she had to go home, then she had to go home. She knew this world better than Annabel. She understood how to navigate the murky waters of London society.

“With any luck, someone else will make a scene in the second act, and they’ll forget all about you. I’ll tell everyone you’ve taken ill, and then-” Louisa’s eyes filled with alarm.

“What?”

She shook her head. “I shall just have to make certain that Mr. Grey remains for the entire performance. If he departs early as well, everyone will assume you’ve gone off together.”

The blood drained from Annabel’s face.

Louisa gave her head a shake. “I can do it. Don’t worry.”

“Are you sure?” Because Annabel wasn’t. Louisa was not known for her assertiveness.

“No, I can,” Louisa said, sounding as if she were convincing herself as much as Annabel. “He’s actually much easier to talk to than most men.”

“I’d noticed,” Annabel said weakly.

Louisa sighed. “Yes, I expect you had. Very well, you must go home, and I will go…”

Annabel waited.

“I will go with you,” Louisa finished decisively. “That’s a much better idea.”

Annabel could only blink.

“If I go with you, no one will suspect anything, even if Mr. Grey departs as well.” Louisa gave her a sheepish shrug. “It’s an advantage of a sterling reputation.”

Before Annabel could inquire as to what that said about her reputation, Louisa cut in with: “You’re an unknown quantity. But me…No one ever suspects me of anything.”

“Are you saying that they should?” Annabel asked carefully.

“No.” Louisa shook her head, almost wistfully. “I never do anything wrong.”

But as they made their way from their curtained hideaway, Annabel could have sworn she heard Louisa whisper, “Sadly.”


Three hours later Sebastian walked into his club, still rather annoyed by how the evening had turned out. Miss Winslow, he was told, had taken ill during the intermission and departed with Lady Louisa, who had insisted upon accompanying her.

Not that Sebastian believed a word of it. Miss Winslow had been such a picture of health, the only way she could have taken ill was if she’d been attacked by a leper in the stairwell.

The Ladies Cosgrove and Wimbledon, freed of their duties as chaperones, had departed as well, leaving their guests alone in the box. Olivia immediately moved to the front row, setting a program on the chair next to her for Harry, who had gone off to the lobby.

Sebastian had remained for the second act, mostly because Olivia had insisted upon it. He’d been all prepared to go home and write (the leper in the stairwell had given him all sorts of ideas), but she had positively yanked him into the seat next to her and hissed, “If you depart everyone will think you’ve left with Miss Winslow, and I will not allow you to ruin the poor girl in her first season.”

“She left with Lady Louisa,” he protested. “Am I really thought so reckless that I’d engage in a ménage a trois with that?”

“That?”

“You know what I mean,” he said with a scowl.

“Everyone will think it a ruse,” Olivia explained. “Lady Louisa’s reputation may be unimpeachable, but yours is not, and the way you were carrying on with Miss Winslow during the first act…”

“I was talking with her.”

“What are you talking about?” It was Harry, returned from the lobby, needing to get past them to his seat.

“Nothing,” they both snapped, adjusting their legs to let him by.

Harry’s brows rose, but he merely yawned. “Where did everyone go?” he asked, sitting down.

“Miss Winslow took ill,” Olivia told him, “and Lady Louisa accompanied her home. The two aunts departed as well.”

Harry gave a shrug, since he was generally more interested in the opera than gossip, and picked up his program.

Sebastian turned to Olivia, who had resumed her glare. “Are you still scolding me?”

“You should have known better,” Olivia said in a hushed voice.

Sebastian glanced over at Harry. He was immersed in the libretto, seemingly oblivious to the conversation.

Which, knowing Harry, meant he heard every word.

Sebastian decided he didn’t care. “Since when have you become Miss Winslow’s champion?” he asked.

“I’m not,” she said, shrugging her elegant shoulders. “But it is obvious she is new to town and in need of guidance. I applaud Lady Louisa for taking her home.”

“How do you know Lady Louisa took her home?”

“Oh, Sebastian,” she said, giving him an impatient look. “How can you even ask?”

And that was the end of it. Until he arrived at the club.