No Regrets (9 page)

   When the first act ended, she discovered that most of the patrons were staring at the first floor boxes opposite them. A ripple of applause broke out. "Who is it?" she asked.

   "Wellington," Lucas said.

   "Lord Wellington is here?" Caro stared across the auditorium.

   "See, next to the Royal box?" Mr. Rivers said.

   "I understand he is in town to consult with the Regent about the preparations for Princess Charlotte's wedding," Aunt Rivers said. "It is to be held at Carleton House."

   Caro finally picked out a wiry gentleman with a sprinkling of orders on a plain blue coat. "Why, he looks just like his portraits."

   Wellington threw back his head and laughed at something the diminutive black-haired lady in cherry red at his side must have said. "Who is she?"

   "Lady Audley," Lucas said. "A veritable pocket Venus, ain't she."

   "So it is," Mr. Rivers said, leaning forward. "The Audleys are certainly flying high these days."

   Caro's stomach plummeted. Lady Audley looked far too elegant to be bothered with the likes of a country vicar's daughter.

   Another man, a tulip of fashion, entered the box. "And there's Bas," Lucas said. He stood up and waved.

   Mr. Bascombe answered with a slight bow.

   "He'll bring Tisha at intermission," Lucas said.

   "And Lord Wellington?" Caro asked. The thought of meeting a war hero made her feel quite lightheaded.

   "I doubt the Duke will call on us," Aunt Rivers said repressively. "Particularly since your father isn't here, Foxhaven."

   Caro stared at the modest figure. The hero of Waterloo.

   "Don't look quite so besotted, child. Everyone will think you are some sort of provincial," Aunt Rivers said.

   Sharp prickles ran down her spine. Wasn't that what she was?

   "Let Caro look her fill," Lucas replied with a frown. "I know I did my first time in London."

   Caro wanted to hug him for rushing to her defense, but she satisfied herself with a smile. All the same, she shifted her attention away from the Duke.

   Lucas put one arm on the back of her chair. "Enjoying it so far, pigeon?"

   As plump as a pigeon. One of the nicest phrases that had haunted her childhood. It evoked memories of swallowed tears and the cream cakes her father used to cheer her up.

   "Very much," she replied, miserably aware of his proximity and the scent of his sandalwood cologne. He'd never look twice at her while there were slender ladies like Tisha Audley in the world. Why couldn't men see that there were more important attributes in a woman than an eighteen-inch waist?

   "Oh, look." Aunt Rivers said. "There's Sally Jersey—she's promised you vouchers for Almack's."

   There was no telling which lady among the crowded boxes Aunt Rivers meant, despite Caro's best efforts to pick her out. At that moment, an actor walked on stage, and Caro once more turned her attention to the play.

   At the next intermission, she glanced over to the Audleys' box. The Duke was surrounded by a crush of admirers, and the tiny lady in red had disappeared.

   "Good evening," said a drawling voice behind them.

   Caro swiveled in her seat to find Mr. Bascombe with his sister on his arm.

   "Bas," Lucas said. "Come in."

   "Lucas, Lady Foxhaven, good evening," Mr. Bascombe said. "Lady Audley, may I present Lady Foxhaven and her companions, Mrs. Rivers and Mr. Cedric Rivers."

   Mr. Rivers bowed, while Caro and Mrs. Rivers rose to give their courtesies.

   "Please, do sit down," Lady Audley said, her light voice friendly and musical. "I just had to meet Foxhaven's new bride."

   From the corner of her eye, Caro saw Aunt Rivers's mouth purse and Mr. Rivers' brows meet over his nose, but she ignored them and smiled. "You are very kind."

   "Please, take my seat, Lady Audley," Mr. Rivers said and moved aside. "I'm off to fetch some refreshment for the ladies."

   "Nothing for me, thank you," Lady Audley said. She perched next to Caro in a rustle of silk. The diamond pin between her breasts glittered with each dainty movement.

   Caro couldn't imagine wearing a gown cut so daringly low. Not unless she wanted every male in the vicinity to be unable to look her in the face while they stared at her bosom as if they expected her breasts to escape their confines like flounders jumping from a fishing net.

   "Bascombe told me all about you, Lady Foxhaven," Lady Audley said, her frank smile very much like her brother's, though she was as dark as he was fair. She laughed at the dismayed sideways glance Caro shot at Lucas's aunt. "Only good things."

   "What else would there be?" Aunt Rivers snapped.

   "Quite." Lady Audley seemed not a wit perturbed by the stiff widow. "Are you fond of the theater, Lady Foxhaven?"

   "This is my first visit," Caro acknowledged. Dash it, she sounded so gauche. "I mean in London." That didn't help. She felt heat rise to her cheeks and was glad of the shadows in the box.

   "I hear there is a very good playhouse in Norwich?" Lady Audley said with an amused smile. "That is where you are from, is it not? Your home is close to the Stockbridge estate, Bascombe said."

   "Yes. We've known each other all our lives."

   Lady Audley nodded and arched a delicate eyebrow. "And was the play to your liking tonight?"

   "I liked it enormously," Caro replied with a chuckle, beginning to feel at ease with the vivacious young woman in spite of her spate of questions.

   "I am so looking forward to knowing you better," Lady Audley said, echoing Caro's own sentiments exactly. "Are you free tomorrow?"

   Caro glanced at Lucas. After her faux pas about this evening, she didn't dare make a commitment. "I am not sure."

   "You are supposed drive with me tomorrow afternoon, Luc," Mr. Bascombe said.

   Lady Audley's face fell and then brightened. "Oh, no, Bas. Have you forgotten? You promised to attend my afternoon tea."

   Mr. Bascombe groaned. "Dash it all. Luc, we will have to go another time."

   "There," Lady Audley said to Caro with a triumphant little smile on her rosebud lips. "You are free. You must come to tea tomorrow afternoon at four. Foxhaven, you will also attend."

   Lucas didn't look exactly thrilled, but he didn't say no.

   "Here is your wine, Mother," Mr. Rivers said, squeezing around Mr. Bascombe and handing a glass to his mother. "And ratafia for you, Lady Foxhaven."

   Lady Audley inclined her head. "It has been lovely meeting you all, but I really must return to my box before the iron duke sends out a search party."

   "He would too," Mr. Bascombe muttered. "The old boy makes me feel like a schoolboy when he looks down his long nose in that way of his."

   Lady Audley's laugh rang out as she stood up. "Peagoose. Wellington is a perfect dear. No, please, don't get up, Mr. Rivers. Bascombe will see me out. Don't forget, Lady Foxhaven. Four o'clock tomorrow."

   She swept out on her brother's arm, and it seemed to Caro as if someone had blown out a candle and turned the box into an empty cave.

   "Well, really," muttered Aunt Rivers. "What a flibbertigibbet. Audley must have had brain fever when he married the chit."

   "Now, Mother," Mr. Rivers said. "Lady Audley only means to be kind."

   Caro hoped it was more than kindness; she hoped they could be friends. She stifled hope and stared out into the auditorium. Perhaps Lady Audley had been forced into this by her brother and would find Caro dreadfully provincial. She stiffened her spine. Just because she had been brought up in the country didn't mean she wasn't good company. Just not very exciting. Vicars' daughters were supposed to be models of decorum.

   Lucas leaned forward in his seat. "By Jove." The relaxed, laughing man he had been a moment ago disappeared in an instant. His eyes narrowed. Tension radiated from his lean frame.

   "What is it?" Mr. Rivers asked, following the direction of his gaze.

   "Someone I need to speak to. What a piece of luck. I hope you will excuse me."

   "Really, Foxhaven," Aunt Rivers said. "Can't you be still for an hour or two?"

   "Go," Mr. Rivers said with a conspiratorial wink. "I'll take care of the ladies and bring them home too, if you wish."

   A pang of disappointment tightened the smile on Caro's lips. The evening had felt quite special with Lucas at her side.

   Lucas, on the other hand, looked relieved, as if Mr. Rivers had rescued him. "Thanks. I've no idea how long it will take. You really are a brick, Cedric. No wonder my father places such reliance on you."

   A rather resigned smile played at the corners of Mr. Rivers's thin mouth. "I'm surprised you noticed."

   Lucas shot him a grin. "I'll try to get back before the last curtain." He bade them a brief farewell and strode off.

   Aunt Rivers glared at his departing back. "That boy is a scoundrel. It is time someone took him in hand, my lady."

   Aunt Rivers expected Caro to do something about Lucas? A feeling of panic stirred in her breast. Their agreement precluded anything of the sort.

   In an attempt to divert the older lady's thoughts, Caro nodded at a box on the third floor where a blonde woman wearing a glittering necklace of emeralds hung over the rail to greet friends in the pit. "Who is that?"

   "A brazen hussy," replied Aunt Rivers. The gray hairs around her pinched mouth bristled in disapproval. "Lady Louisa Caradin. One of the so-called dashing widows."

   She reached across her son and tapped Caro on the knee with her black lace fan. "Don't have anything to do with her. She's fast. Every bachelor in town is sniffing at her skirts."

   "Mother." Cedric sounded almost cross. "She is not worth talking about. Look, down there in the pit. It's Lord Castlereagh. He has caught Wellington's attention. Lady Audley will have her hands full with those two once they start on politics."

   The Duke had indeed risen to his feet and acknowledged the gentleman in question.

   Caro's gaze drifted back to the glamorous widow's box. Near the curtain at the back, a darkhaired gentleman handed his hat to the footman.

   The bottom dropped out of her stomach. Lucas.

   As if he sensed her gaze on him, Lucas looked directly into their box. He nodded. The woman in diamonds and emeralds turned her head, saw him, and rushed to drape her arm around his neck.

   A sharp pain sliced between Caro's ribs. It hurt so much she couldn't breathe. No regrets indeed.

   With shaking hands, she removed her spectacles and returned them to her reticule. Better not to see him.

   Aunt Rivers said something in low icy tones to her son. Caro caught the word "rakehell," followed by a murmured, "What did you expect?" from Mr. Rivers.

   Pretending not to hear, she kept her face averted, wanting neither their pity nor their curiosity. She stared blankly at the rising curtain. To her relief, the orchestra struck up a tune, drowning out their voices.

   She stared at the stage, unable to make out more than a blur of light and the sound of the actors' voices speaking. Nothing they said made any sense. All she saw in her mind's eye was Lucas and the slender creature twined around him.

   Attar of Roses threatening to choke him, Lucas peeled Louisa Caradin's arm from around his neck. With his gaze unaccountably drawn to the box on the other side of the auditorium, he'd been too late to take evasive action.

   Louisa placed a slender white hand on his waistcoat and twirled the top button. A ruby flashed on her gloved hand. "Foxy, darling." Her husky voice dripped sugar and arsenic. "How wonderful. I didn't realize you were back in town so soon after your wedding."

   He brushed her hand off and kept his voice chilly. "Good evening, Lady Caradin."

   Her wide mouth curved in a wicked smile. "La, my lord, such formality to one who knows you so intimately." She turned her creamy shoulder and cast him an inviting glance from beneath lowered lashes. "Come, do sit beside me and tell me your news."

   Lucas resisted the temptation to look across the pit once more. Caro looked the best he'd ever seen her tonight, a muted dove in contrast to this strutting bird of paradise flaunting her plumage. He unhooked Louisa's fingers from his coat. "It's over, Louisa. I came to talk to Lady Bestborough."

   On the other side of her box, Lady Bestborough's peacock feathers nodded as she chatted to the elderly dandy seated beside her chair. Wrinkled by time, heavy-jowled, and prone to flashy clothes and flashier jewels, the placid widow enjoyed the company of idle rakes and racy women. They gathered to her wealth like wasps to rotting fruit. On the one occasion Lucas had met her, he had liked her razor wit and the way she delivered her stinging set-downs in so mild a manner that her acolytes never caught on. She made him laugh.

   Finding her at Covent Garden rather than some gambling hell was unexpected good fortune. He'd been searching her other haunts for days.