Drury Lane Darling Read Online Free Page B
theater.”
Pamela carefully filled his cup, and when she handed it to him, he noticed the lump had rather pretty eyes. They reminded him of his favorite cat’s eyes—a tawny topaz shade, wide-spaced in her pale face. Her nose, too, had a kittenish touch to it that set ill with his preconceptions of Miss Comstock.
“I don’t get many opportunities to attend, but I adore it.”
Breslau hesitated between a meaningless condolence and a joke. “That shows a lack of initiative on your part,” he said, opting for the latter.
She knew by this time that his conversation was unusual, and showed no surprise. “Does it? I thought it only betrayed my rustic abode. We don’t get many traveling players in the country.”
“This is true,” he nodded, assessing her quite openly.
“To show you we are not completely out of it, however, I can assure you I attended the theater just last week. Tuck’s Traveling Players gave us an excellent performance of The Beggar’s Opera.”
Breslau stood holding his cup, undecided where to sit. He now took up a seat beside Pamela. “If you endured the entire performance, you are indeed an irreclaimable lover of the theater.”
“Have you actually heard of Tuck’s?”
“Worse, I’ve seen them perform, but with the excuse that it was in the line of duty. I cull performers from the traveling groups. Tuck’s has never yielded anything resembling the Flawless Fleur.”
“She’s wonderful, isn’t she? I never could understand the story of Helen of Troy till I saw her.”
“Fleur’s an intriguing cross between Helen of Troy and Lucrezia Borgia,” he said, with the unworthy aim of shocking her. She only looked confused. “You really ought to bestir yourself to attend the London Season.”
“If I had the sort of initiative you’re recommending I’d move to London, but my parents are so unimaginative. Papa feels he must be home to look after the farm. Sugar, cream?”
“Just sugar, please.” Breslau didn’t continue immediately. His eyes lingered over Miss Comstock’s lively face. The chit was no Incomparable, but she had a certain charm. He always preferred conversation to less animate pulchritude. “Nigel often speaks of you,” he said. What Nigel had failed to mention was that his intended was not in the first blush of youth. For himself, Breslau preferred a little maturity.
“You have already warned me. What does he say?” she asked bluntly.
Expecting some token of pleasure, Breslau was thrown for a loss by her question. “All manner of compliments. I shan’t repeat them, or—”
“Afraid I’ll dash this hot tea in your face?” she said, and smiled at his discomfiture. That had removed his haughty expression. “Never mind, Lord Breslau. The only thing he might have said in my favor is that I have ten thousand pounds, and am his mama’s goddaughter.”
“I shan’t repeat them, or your head will swell,” he continued, as though she hadn’t interrupted. Breslau examined her with disconcerting frankness, and noticed her head would have a hard time growing, confined as it was by that hair, all skinned into a bun. That gamine little face was crying out for curls. She was still young enough to make a charming ingénue.
Miss Comstock lifted her cup and sipped daintily. “It’s going to be a lovely weekend, don’t you think?” she said, setting her cup down.
He glanced toward the window, where a sullen and sunless sky bathed the landscape in gloom. “Are you speaking of the weather?”
“Hardly! I refer to the company.”
“You have bizarre taste, Miss Comstock. Like the weather, the party threatens to be stormy.”
“That’s exactly what I mean! Something exciting will happen, at last.” She lowered her voice. “You can’t imagine how boring these visits usually are. I had no idea the Flawless Fleur would be here.”
“And here I dared to imagine my presence added something to the pending excitement.”
She considered this a moment. “I
Pamela carefully filled his cup, and when she handed it to him, he noticed the lump had rather pretty eyes. They reminded him of his favorite cat’s eyes—a tawny topaz shade, wide-spaced in her pale face. Her nose, too, had a kittenish touch to it that set ill with his preconceptions of Miss Comstock.
“I don’t get many opportunities to attend, but I adore it.”
Breslau hesitated between a meaningless condolence and a joke. “That shows a lack of initiative on your part,” he said, opting for the latter.
She knew by this time that his conversation was unusual, and showed no surprise. “Does it? I thought it only betrayed my rustic abode. We don’t get many traveling players in the country.”
“This is true,” he nodded, assessing her quite openly.
“To show you we are not completely out of it, however, I can assure you I attended the theater just last week. Tuck’s Traveling Players gave us an excellent performance of The Beggar’s Opera.”
Breslau stood holding his cup, undecided where to sit. He now took up a seat beside Pamela. “If you endured the entire performance, you are indeed an irreclaimable lover of the theater.”
“Have you actually heard of Tuck’s?”
“Worse, I’ve seen them perform, but with the excuse that it was in the line of duty. I cull performers from the traveling groups. Tuck’s has never yielded anything resembling the Flawless Fleur.”
“She’s wonderful, isn’t she? I never could understand the story of Helen of Troy till I saw her.”
“Fleur’s an intriguing cross between Helen of Troy and Lucrezia Borgia,” he said, with the unworthy aim of shocking her. She only looked confused. “You really ought to bestir yourself to attend the London Season.”
“If I had the sort of initiative you’re recommending I’d move to London, but my parents are so unimaginative. Papa feels he must be home to look after the farm. Sugar, cream?”
“Just sugar, please.” Breslau didn’t continue immediately. His eyes lingered over Miss Comstock’s lively face. The chit was no Incomparable, but she had a certain charm. He always preferred conversation to less animate pulchritude. “Nigel often speaks of you,” he said. What Nigel had failed to mention was that his intended was not in the first blush of youth. For himself, Breslau preferred a little maturity.
“You have already warned me. What does he say?” she asked bluntly.
Expecting some token of pleasure, Breslau was thrown for a loss by her question. “All manner of compliments. I shan’t repeat them, or—”
“Afraid I’ll dash this hot tea in your face?” she said, and smiled at his discomfiture. That had removed his haughty expression. “Never mind, Lord Breslau. The only thing he might have said in my favor is that I have ten thousand pounds, and am his mama’s goddaughter.”
“I shan’t repeat them, or your head will swell,” he continued, as though she hadn’t interrupted. Breslau examined her with disconcerting frankness, and noticed her head would have a hard time growing, confined as it was by that hair, all skinned into a bun. That gamine little face was crying out for curls. She was still young enough to make a charming ingénue.
Miss Comstock lifted her cup and sipped daintily. “It’s going to be a lovely weekend, don’t you think?” she said, setting her cup down.
He glanced toward the window, where a sullen and sunless sky bathed the landscape in gloom. “Are you speaking of the weather?”
“Hardly! I refer to the company.”
“You have bizarre taste, Miss Comstock. Like the weather, the party threatens to be stormy.”
“That’s exactly what I mean! Something exciting will happen, at last.” She lowered her voice. “You can’t imagine how boring these visits usually are. I had no idea the Flawless Fleur would be here.”
“And here I dared to imagine my presence added something to the pending excitement.”
She considered this a moment. “I