It doesn’t matter. I’m not strong like Alicia. I don’t have what it takes to defy society like she has. This was a moment in time, a dream. It could never be my reality to feel this empowered all the time.
Sucking in a restorative breath, Anna gave Alicia back her mask. Her cousin’s expression shifted then to dark satisfaction. Was Alicia really as proud of Anna as she said?
Anna wasn’t sure. There was a flicker of something else in her cousin’s expression now. Something like… jealous rivalry.
“The dress, Anna,” Alicia added, extending her free hand. “If you please.”
Anna nodded, shocked by the change in her tone. “Yes, of course,” she murmured as Alicia put her mask on.
She untied the gown and shuffled out of it, feeling bare in her undergarments. The cool, damp air of the dressing room clung to her skin and made her shiver.
Alicia quickly dressed herself, leaving Anna to collect her evening gown from the hook where they had left it earlier.
“Perhaps…” Anna said, slipping into her dress. “Perhaps we could sing together sometime, as Isaura and Amenaide, or something else.”
Alicia turned from the mirror where she had been inspecting herself. Her lips curled into a smile. “If I have time, then certainly, I would love to. But time is such a precious commodity nowadays.” She tilted her head to the side. “I really am so grateful for you, Anna. I will not forget your service to me tonight.”
No.I suspect you will remember this for a very long time. Though by my estimation, it will be for all the wrong reasons.
* * *
With the taste of tobacco still in his throat, Philip made his way back inside The King’s Theatre. He had no idea how long he had been outside. A faint echo of music had drifted between the doors while he had been outside. It had been mostly drowned out by the sounds of the wind and passing vehicles. Had another scene come and gone?
Indoors, the grand foyer was empty. He braced himself for his return as he began ascending the stairs. George would be concerned, and Simon would ask questions.
That was the last thing Philip wanted—other people’s questions and concerns. It was all wasted breath. He was perfectly content to live his life like he always had—on his terms, without caring what others thought.
What concerned him, at present, was the memory of Alicia’s voice still playing in his mind. He did not like feeling powerless, and she had made him feel just that. Something about the way she had sung had stirred him, and he wasn’t sure he liked it.
Could it be that I had been wrong about Alicia? If her voice speaks to me deeply, perhaps our connection was stronger than I had initially believed.
He kept his eyes on the floor, turning a corner and frowning in thought. The sound of the opera increased as he approached. The corridor was faintly illuminated by scones, the red tapestried walls glimmering in the candlelight. Around the bend, the wall opened into compartments, leading into the private boxes.
Just as they came into view, another body crashed into him. An errant elbow jabbed painfully into his side. The force of their collision made Philip’s teeth chatter, and he reeled back in shock.
“Egad, what the?—”
Before he could look up, pain burst across his ribs. He stumbled back and grabbed his side, groaning as the pain shot down to his leg. He looked up, expecting to find a half-man, half-beast staring back at him. The Barguest, perhaps, come to snatch him as George had said.
But the perpetrator of the attack was awoman. A small, thin, completely unassuming young woman, who was staring at him now with a look of horror. Her face was flushed behind the hands covering her mouth. Large brown eyes looked at him wildly, focused on his scar. There was something familiar about her features—her small delicate mouth, her lightly freckled cheeks…
“I’m so sorry. I’m so very sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going, and I just pushed past you,” she said quickly, the words tumbling into one another. “Are you hurt? Oh, but of course you are… I can’t believe I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
He tried to ask her who she was, but searing pain lanced through his side again, and he winced. Their collision had obviously irritated his old injuries—and his pride. Glancing down, he saw his snuffbox glittering on the carpet between them. It must have fallen from his hands as they crashed into one another. The woman quickly bent down to retrieve it, extending it to him with a trembling hand.
Philip pressed his lips together, taking a deep breath. He steadied himself, grabbing his snuffbox from her without meeting her eyes. Despite himself, the warmth of her fingers surprised him, sending a pleasant jolt up his arm, just as the scent of her lavender perfume reached him.
And just like that, realization dawned on him.
“You’re George’s cousin,” he said, straightening against the wall. He inspected her closely. Her face flamed in response, confirming his suspicions. “But what the deuce were you doing in the corridors, running around like a madwoman? Shouldn’t you be in your box?”
“George’s cousin…” Her mouth fell open in shock. The expression amused him, and he might have laughed if he hadn’t been so annoyed with her. “I am not George’s cousin. In fact, I-I don’t know a George in the whole world.”
“What? Not in the whole world? Not even your own King?” Philip arched an eyebrow, his pain ebbing somewhat. “YouareGeorge Walford’s cousin. I remember your face. Though, admittedly, you were but a child the last time we met.”
He had met her only a handful of times in his youth, during his courtship with Alicia. She must have been only fifteen then, judging by the look of her now. But they had never actually spoken.
Despite the brevity of their meetings, he was sure that it was her. Her resemblance to Alicia and George was proof enough in his eyes.
