George was almost at the end of his tether.
Forced to walk into the theatre with Cecelia upon his arm, he gritted his teeth against the urge to grip her hand firmly on his arm, against the urge to hold onto her for however long he possibly could.
With Walter and Mary at their back, it felt all the harder, and he had no way of knowing if he was going to be able to make it through the first act, let alone an entire production.
The small talk in the foyer, smiling and talking of the weather, was a grating experience for George, made even more unbearable by the many eyes that lingered a moment too long upon the woman at his side.
He watched. He anticipated. He saw enemies at every glance. Yet, he forced himself not to react, forced himself not to grab Cecelia and run for the hills.
When, finally, they made it to his box, even the perfect view of the stage would not dampen the turmoil within him.
Though they left much of the chatter behind the closed door, Walter and Mary were clearly content to continue their quiet mutterings whilst he and Cecelia sat in stony silence.
The way she stared out through her binoculars, never once glancing in his direction, made his skin crawl with cold.
If anyone had asked him about the performance, he would not have been able to utter a word.
And his pain only grew when, only minutes into Act One, there was a gentle knock upon the door.
With a clenched jaw, he nodded for a staff member to open the door.
Silence fell within the box as everyone, including Cecelia, turned to see who the latecomer might be.
For only a second, George wondered whether Elizabeth might have joined them, though she had insisted she had plans elsewhere.
And when George caught sight of the gentleman at the door, his insides twisted so violently he almost jumped up from his seat.
“James!”
A chill ran the length of George's spine.
The way Cecelia lit up to see the man made him nauseous.
How she spoke his name was even more unbearable.
The grandeur of the evening, the candlelight, and quiet hum of the theatre were lost on George as Lord Greystone entered the box.
The way Cecelia's eyes sparkled at him made every muscle in George's body clench up.
“I do hope I am not imposing, but I caught your maid outside, and she told me you would be here,” the nobleman said.
George opened his mouth to say that indeed, he was – and uninvited – but before he could do so, Cecelia said, “Of course not!”
She gestured him in with a sweep of her gloved hand and waved to the empty seat beside her. “Please, join us.”
Join you,George thought bitterly.
Lord Greystone at least had the good grace to acknowledge him with a bow of his head before taking the seat she had offered.
George's hands gripped too tightly to the arms of his seat, so tightly, in fact, that the tips of his fingers began to feel numb.
“It’s wonderful of you to join us,” Cecelia said, her tone low as if she were trying not to disturb the lovers at the far end of the box who had been sat in quiet intimacy all the while. If they noticed, they did not show it as Walter leaned over and whispered something into the younger sister's ear.
George had never envied his friend. In fact, he had always been happy for his many triumphs, but this was almost too much.
If only such closeness had come easily to him also.
Instead, he sat in painful silence as the love birds twittered and Cecelia and Lord Greystone fell into a similar dance of watching the production and whispering quiet comments.
