“Every letter, hmm? What aboutZ?” asked Vanessa.
“Zany,” Sheridan said.
“Q?”
“Questionable,” he said.
“I’ll accept that, although it’s a bit questionable.”
Sheridan rolled his eyes. “You are the soul of wit.”
Vanessa laughed. “What aboutP?”
“Poppycock.” He smirked at her. “I can do this all day, you know.”
A voice came from the door to the box. “Please don’t.” Mr. Juncker flicked some lint from his coat sleeve. “It’s best to leave wordplay to the writers.”
Sheridan eyed him askance. “Let a man pen a few farces and suddenly he’s an expert.”
“They’re not farces,” Vanessa said. Thanks to her bargain with Sheridan, she was forced into the position of defending Mr. Juncker. “They’re comedies, and excellent ones, too.”
“That’s a matter of opinion,” Sheridan drawled. “What do you think, Miss Younger?”
Belatedly, Vanessa realized she hadn’t yet introduced Mr. Juncker to Flora. But as Vanessa turned to her friend, words left her entirely. Flora’s face was the pallor of paper and her eyes were haunted.
When Vanessa looked back at Mr. Juncker, she sawhimstaring at Flora as if she’d risen from a grave.
“MissYounger?” he asked in a clipped tone. “Still?”
“Yes, still.” Flora looked as if she wished to sink into the floor. “And you, sir? Are you still a bachelor?”
“I am,” Mr. Juncker said. “I’m just . . . I did not expect . . . How long have you been in London?”
“Not long.” Flora clearly wished she could be anywherebutLondon at the moment.
Sheridan looked at Vanessa as if seeking an explanation of this stilted interaction. She had none to give. Flora hadn’t once mentioned Mr. Juncker. Then again Vanessa had never encountered her friend at one of his plays, either.
“The two of you know each other?” Vanessa asked.
Flora merely nodded, but Mr. Juncker said, “We met in Bath. Years ago.”
Lady Whitmarsh rose, having just then noticed the new arrival in her box. “Haven’t you done enough to my dear Flora, Mr. Juncker?” She made a motion as if she were shooing a hen. “Go on now. The next act is about to begin, and you don’t want to miss your chance to glory in it.”
Apparently Lady Whitmarsh knew what had happened “years ago,” too. Now Vanessa was desperate to know it herself, although she would have to put off finding out until she could get Flora to herself.
Mr. Juncker bowed to Lady Whitmarsh and started to leave, but Sheridan called out, “Juncker, hold up! I need to speak to you.”
Vanessa tensed. What was Sheridan up to now? She didn’t trust him to keep quiet about their supposed plan to make Mr. Juncker jealous, so she followed him into the corridor just in time to hear him say, “Thorn told me to remind you that you’re invited to Thorncliff after the play.” Sheridan saw her and added, “You’re invited to Thorn’s supper as well, Miss Pryde. You and your mother.”
Mr. Juncker glanced past them through the doorway into the box, to where Flora had already turned to face the stage and Lady Whitmarsh still stood glaring at him. “Tell your half brother I had already fully meant to attend. But I may be a bit late.”
“As may we,” Sheridan said, tucking Vanessa’s hand into the crook of his elbow in a wonderfully proprietary manner.
Mr. Juncker appeared too distracted to notice. They could hear voices on the stage, signaling the beginning of the third act, but even that didn’t make him stir from contemplating the back of Flora’s head.
Then he shook himself, as if to free his body from a spider’s silken web. “I shall see you both then.” He walked back to his box, obviously deep in contemplation.
“What was that all about?” Sheridan asked.
