London, England

1858

On May 15th, the new opera house in Covent Garden opened its doors with a performance of Meyerbeer's Les Huguenots, and all of London’s high society made a point to attend. Among them were of course the honorable Lord and Lady Waltham accompanied by their spinster daughter Ann, the beautiful Baroness Crowley and her youthful lover Mr. Dudley, the stout and slightly drunk Sir Charles Becker, and all the rest of the ton.

The lavish carriages were arriving in multitudes and beautifully adorned ladies were led by the arms of their handsome partners up the grand steps.

Driving down Oxford Street two gentlemen were on their way to the opera, each anticipating the event for different reasons.

“I’m looking forward to the opera,” announced John smiling to his friend who was sitting directly across from him in the carriage. “I saw it four years ago in Paris and it has left quite an impression on me,” continued John, his mood becoming increasingly jubilant.

“Religious disputes between the Catholics and the Huguenots, and the horrors of the Massacre of St. Bartholomew. Yes, it will be the most charming evening,” jibed William yawning into his white glove.

“Oh, come Burton, would you prefer to stay at home again, having no one to converse with except that tedious butler of yours?” queried John irritably.

Surveying his ebullient friend William answered, “I had better plans, my friend.” A sardonic smile momentarily distorted Will’s perfect mouth and John smiled back.

“Ah, the ladies of the night,” pronounced John as if it were poetic. “Were you thinking of paying a visit to Madam Claudine this evening?” asked he smiling wickedly.

William knew that John had a predilection for spending a lot of time and money at brothels, but he himself found those places to be most distasteful, especially after what had happened four years ago in Italy. Besides, William found it a nuisance to have to pay for sex. Women fell into his arms willingly and free of charge.

“I was talking about billiards, John,” answered Will annoyed at his friend’s assumption. “I haven’t stepped foot into a public house since our stay in Rome.  I’d think you could guess how much I loathe those places.” Will’s expression became somber for an instance as he recalled the painful details of Evelyn’s betrayal.

The folly of youth had left him with a seemingly permanent scar. He hadn’t been able to form a lasting connection with a woman for the past four years. Well known for his rakish ways in the ton, William Burton had been careful to guard his heart and not let the frequent nights of debauchery lead to anything more than sated lust. As he silently recounted scores of erstwhile paramours none seemed to provide even a semblance of affection.  

“Well, going to a gentlemen’s club to engage in meaningless talk with young aristocrats over a game of billiards strikes me as a ghastly prospect,” countered John. “I’d much rather spend an evening in an establishment full of half dressed women than in one where a slew of drunken men talk politics.”

“I think you’re just bitter about losing 300 pounds to old chap Swaggerly the last time we went.”

Upon hearing that, John’s face turned pink and assumed a rather terrible scowl. “Roger Swaggerly is a blackguard and a cheat,” proclaimed John resentfully. “At least when I visit Madam Claudine I get what I pay for. At Pall Mall I don’t get my money’s worth.”

“Gambling is just not your game,” said William feeling sorry that he ever brought it up. Although a frequent visitor to the gentlemen’s club, Will rarely gambled, preferring billiards to cards whenever possible.

John met the of deep of his friend’s eyes and pronounced slowly, “Duchess Ravinsky is going to be at the opera tonight.”

At hearing that name the corner of William’s lips curved up for an almost imperceptible instant.

“Oh, now I have your attention?” said John, happy to change the subject.

William knew quite well that Julia was going to attend, but he didn’t want to let on that that was the only reason he was joining his friend tonight. The duchess, who was on a short visit from Poland, had caused quiet a stir with her striking looks and vivacious temperament. She was tall and slender with dazzling blonde hair and a seductive voice. Will had met her at a soiree a few days ago. They danced, chatted, and flirted, after which she had offered herself to him in the conservatory. He was tempted, but a previous engagement had impeded their coupling that night. William had to leave, but not before he promised to resume their lovemaking at another time. Tonight he was going to make good on that promise.

Erotic thoughts flooded his mind, and Will was beginning to grow impatient as the coachman seemed to take his time leading the horses in an unhurried trot. He hadn’t bedded a woman in a fortnight, and adding a Polish duchess to his long list of conquests seemed a pleasant enough prospect.

Thankfully, in a few minutes the carriage rolled up to the grand façade of the opera house and Will quickly stepped out for the much needed breath of fresh air. John followed him.

--#--

Miss Emily Summerset was clinging tightly to her aunt’s arm, excitement shining in her hazel eyes.

“I’m so happy to be here,” said Emily unable to hold back. “I haven’t been to the opera in ages. It’s so romantic, don’t you think, aunt?” asked Emily beaming.

“To be frank, my dear, I’ve always found it to be rather dull,” whispered Mrs.Varnes. “What is this one about anyway?” asked she, pretending to be interested.

“The religious strife between the Catholics and the Protestants.”

“What is so romantic about that?” asked Mrs. Varnes surprised at her niece’s enthusiasm.

“That’s not all. The Queen Mother, Catherine Medici, in a political move to quell the violence, has arranged for the marriage of her daughter Marguerite de Valois to Henry of Navarre, a Protestant leader,” summarized Emily, who was very much familiar with the plot. Reading being one of her most cherished pastimes since her childhood, she recalled devouring the pages of La Reine Margot when she was nine years old. “Can you imagine? Being forced to marry a man whom you don’t even know. I’d imagine being trapped in a loveless marriage would be devastating,” Emily looked troubled for a moment.

“It happens more often than you think, my dear,” said Mrs. Varnes looking at her distressed niece. “Not everyone is as lucky as your parents.”

“I would never allow such a thing,” declared Emily loudly.

“My dear,” continued Mrs. Varnes, “not every girl in London has the luxury of turning her nose up at each man she meets. Many marry for connections, for a noble name, for money. You know this. Your father left you with very little, but the good Lord has blessed you with a pretty face. Let us pray that it will be enough.”

Emily didn’t reply, but her brow furrowed and her eyes were downcast. Her memory brought up Edward’s visage, but she instantly banished it. This summer would mark two years since their pathetic separation.

Mrs. Varnes didn’t want to upset her niece, but she also wanted Emily to have realistic expectations and find contentment instead of chasing a girlish fantasy and ending up miserable.

Despite her modest dowry, Emily was still a sought after woman, receiving several proposals in the last two years, but much to her aunt’s dismay, turning down each of them.

 “You can’t continue being so choosy,” carried on Mrs. Varnes, “you simply must find someone to marry by the end of the year. At eighteen I was already married and with child. Now my sweet Louisa is married and expecting and she’s two years your junior.”

“Perhaps I will not marry at all,” said Emily stoically.

“Oh, but my dear, you must marry. You’re already one and twenty. I know it’s difficult to think about the distant future when you’re still so young, but a woman must consider what will become of her in her old age. The dowry your father has left you with shall not suffice to sustain you forever. And were I a more wealthy woman I would certainly share whatever means I could. There are worse things than marrying for security, Emi dear.”

“There are worse things than being poor, aunt. I shall find a way to make money if I must. I could become a governess,” offered Emily.

“A governess? Oh, my dear, I know you adore children, but that is a reason to have your own, not look after other’s brood.”

Emily smiled gently at her aunt, but didn’t continue the conversation. Would she ever be content to marry anyone other than her true soul mate? She wondered. And after all, was twenty one years that old?

Emily was beginning to feel disheartened. She’d heard that lecture from her aunt time and time again, and was getting exhausted from having to stand her ground. Must she forever defend the notion of marrying for love, even if it meant never actually finding it and ending up alone? Or will she eventually be prevailed upon to marry someone out of sheer necessity for pecuniary support?

Emily considered the few suitors she had rejected. What if she had agreed to marry Mr. Bosley, the pragmatic banker she met in Russell Square, who after giving a florin to a beggar on the street, a gesture which he hoped would impress Emily, requested a shilling change back. No, she would sooner see herself begging for alms than become that miser’s wife.

Or what about Mr. Horton, the phlegmatic horticulturist who cared more about cultivating an herb garden than a romantic relationship. No, Emily could never settle for a man so placid and void of passion.

Mr. Pearce, on the other hand, didn’t lack for passion, quite the opposite, the man was so tempestuous that the slightest provocation ended up with him in a brawl. And Emily had no doubt that sooner or later she would find herself on the receiving end of one of his violent outbursts.

    Mr. Carberry was actually very lovely. He was quick-witted, well-mannered, a splendid dancer, and absolutely smitten with Emily. He was also seventeen.

    A rueful smile crossed Emily’s lips as she thought that perhaps as the time went on and she remained alone, her ideals would change and she would find herself in agreement with her aunt. Maybe she simply read too many Dumas novels in her girlhood and the fantastically adventurous romantic stories affected her more than she thought. Of course she realized that the handsome, rugged, yet sophisticated, and sensitive swashbuckling hero was a mere fantasy. She wasn’t so daft as to look for such a man in real life.

Perhaps, she already agreed with Mr. Varnes but was afraid to admit it. Afraid to acknowledge that for a woman in this day and age marriage was an absolute necessity, while love was considered an uncommon luxury, rarely, if ever, tied to matrimony.

Emily slumped her shoulders as she thought that maybe the time came that she gave up what many considered a ridiculous pursuit…

Mrs. Varnes and her niece took their seats in the stalls and began surveying the incoming crowd. They noticed Baroness Crowley and Mr. Dudley resume their usual places in the loge, knowing quite well that by the end of the second act both would be discreetly engaged in intimate embraces. Sir Charles Becker sat in the rear orchestra and quickly fell asleep to the annoyance of the Walthams who were sitting in a box right next to his and were far too familiar with his thunderous snoring during poignant arias.

Mr. William Burton and Mr. John Christi took their seats in the side balcony and began their usual assessment of the ladies.

“Lady Bristol looks rather well, wouldn’t you say?” asked John resting his gaze on a Rubenesque redhead taking her seat in the stalls below.

“One can’t say the same for her husband—the man looks as though he’ll crumble to pieces at any moment,” added Will.

“How could such a fresh young beauty marry that decrepit geezer?” queried John emphatically.

“Apparently the fresh young beauty has a price…as they all do,” said Will solemnly. “I hope you brought your opera glasses,” said William after a short silence.

“Why? Can’t you see the stage well enough? These seats are the best in the house. We’re practically close enough to be able to kiss the Prima Donna,” said John.

“I want to take a closer look at the crowd,” confessed Will.

“Anyone in particular?” teased John.

At that moment the heavy velvet curtains of their box parted and Rupert Sutter entered.

“Gentlemen,” greeted he, taking a seat behind them.

“Ah, Rupert, it’s been a long time,” said John glancing over his shoulder. William remained silent, only giving a curt nod of acknowledgement to Mr. Sutter. He was a new acquaintance and had yet to earn Will’s hard won trust and respect.

Rupert was in his early twenties, tall and lanky, his icy blue eyes ever watchful for pretty young girls and his platinum blond hair neatly slicked back, giving him a rather refined appearance.

He was a fairly new addition to their company and not much was known about him, except that he was from Portsmouth and carried about absurdly large sums of money. He’d seemed a decent enough chap, but Will was ever cautious about expanding his tightly knit circle of friends. Rupert, was aware of this, and tried his hardest to prove himself trustworthy and deserving of Mr. Burton’s friendship, but mostly he wanted to show William Burton that although young, he was on par with the rest of them when it came to women. This had proved to be quite the challenge since on more than several occasions ladies had blatantly chosen William’s company over his. Rupert had been doing his best not to appear to be a poor sport in those situations, always congratulating and even admiring William for his amorous prowess, but silently he had felt a rival’s covetousness.

John took out a leather case and extracted opera glasses ornately decorated with mother of pearl.

“May I borrow those for just a moment?” asked Rupert. “I’d like to see which one of these upper class tarts will be warming my bed tonight…”

“By all means, though do be careful old chap, they were my great-grandmother’s,” said John and carefully extended the opera glasses to Rupert.

Rupert leaned in closer to the edge of the balcony and placed the optical instrument to his squinting eyes.

“Hmm…I see Mrs. Rothchild brought her daughter tonight, that’s a possibility…” Rupert scanned the crowd again. “Oh, Lady Veronica is here as well…oh, blast, her intolerable brother is right beside her, can’t put anything past that watchdog.”

William and John exchanged looks. Both gentlemen found Rupert’s self-assuredness a bit obnoxious, but recognized that at his age they were perhaps far worse behaved.

Rupert continued his thorough exploration. “And what do we have here? By God, she’s lovely… I don’t know who she is, but soon she’ll be screaming my name…” whispered Rupert, a greedy smile stretching his mouth.

“Who will be screaming your name?” asked John, curiosity sparked.

“The most stunning creature I ever beheld,” said Rupert without breaking his concentrated surveillance.

“Is she blonde?” asked John, teasingly implying that the only woman to match that description must be Duchess Ravinsky.

“No, no. Her hair is dark…and her skin is pale…oh, the things I will do to her,” said Rupert lowering the opera glasses and meeting the dumbfounded looks of John and William.

“What on Earth are you blabbering about? You just assume that whoever you lay your greedy eyes on will come willingly to your bed…ugh, the blind cockiness of youth. Whoever she is, she probably won’t so much as look at you,” said John irritably.

“I will make her look,” said Rupert, as confident as ever.

“The show is about to start, shouldn’t you be getting back to your seat?” said John and reached for his opera glasses, but before Rupert could hand them over, Will deftly intercepted the exchange and snatched the binocular.

“Point her out and I’ll tell you if you stand a chance,” said Will, adjusting the opera glasses to magnify the shapes and figures.

“Down there,” said Rupert, trying to discreetly point out the location below.

      It didn’t take long to find her. As if led by instinct, within moments William’s gaze stopped on the beautifully coiled ringlets of a raven haired young woman. From above he had a clear view of the low-cut décolletage of her burgundy gown. Her fair skin was aglow from the dimming lights of the opera house and the contrast of her dark hair draping over her alabaster shoulders gave Will an undeniably familiar ache.

He wanted to reach down and touch her. Her face was turned away at the moment as she was conversing with an older woman to her left. Her gloved hand came up to brush away an errant strand of hair…how delicate her fingers were.

Who was she?

And then she turned her face toward the stage and a beautiful profile was revealed. Stunning indeed, thought William. Perhaps the duchess could wait, and he could turn his attention to this new tempting pursuit…there was something about her that was endlessly mysterious...and at the same time absurdly familiar. And then, the slow realization settled in…and Will couldn’t help but smile.

Emily Summerset...

“Well?” asked Rupert impatiently. “Do you see her?”

William suddenly realized that he had been holding his breath all the while he had been looking at Emily. He quickly exhaled and gave John the opera glasses.

“I know her,” he said in a half-whisper.

“What? You know her? Who is she?” demanded Rupert. But the music had started and it was time for the first act to commence.

“I will tell all during the entr’acte,” said Will turning his attention to the stage.

The voices of the singers coupled with the melodious movements of the orchestra drifted across the theatre and many were enthralled with the power of the beautiful sounds. Not William. Since the moment he recognized Emily, he couldn’t bring himself to enjoy the music. Instead, a restless tremor of excitement and an accelerated thumping of his heart dominated his senses.

What was she doing here? He hadn’t heard from her in years, and now she was so close. His childhood friend…his Emily. Only now it was different. She was a grown woman, and a beautiful one. Would she know him after all these years? Would she recognize him immediately or look on him as though he were a stranger?

Will couldn’t wait for the blasted first act to end. Of course he would have to slip out before the interlude; otherwise he would be barraged by questions from Rupert and John.

--#--

During the entr'acte Emily left to go to the powder room and was walking unhurriedly down the corridor humming the melody from the opera, when suddenly she was grabbed by her gloved arm and pulled into a private box. She didn’t scream, but was in quite a shock.

“What is the meaning of this, sir?” she screamed in an assertive tone. She couldn’t quite make out the features of her assailant for the curtains of the box were pulled shut, obliterating all but a shred of visibility.

Clasping her beaded purse with both hands Emily was starting to panic.

“Be not alarmed, Miss,” a velvety voice spoke. “I had only meant to get your attention.”

“Well, you’ve certainly gotten it; however, one must advise you that attacking a lady is not the best way to get her attention,” said Emily, feeling something strangely familiar in the timbre of his voice.

“I saw you sitting with your aunt, Mrs. Varnes, and I couldn’t help but admire how you’ve grown into such a beautiful woman.”

His voice was soft and caressing, sending a frisson of unfamiliar sensations down her back.

“Who are you? How do you know my aunt? How do you know me?” asked Emily overflowing with curiosity.

The man stood very close to her, towering a full head over Emily.

“If you do not declare yourself I’ll…I’ll…”she couldn’t think of anything threatening enough.

“You’ll what? Will you run into the street, find the nearest tree to climb, and refuse to come down until I take you to Rome with me?”

“Will!” screamed Emily and promptly embraced him.

William was a little taken aback by her sincere reaction. She felt good in his arms as he marked the svelte curve of her waist and the soft warmth of her breasts pressed against his chest.

“It’s been ages!” she continued to scream with excitement. “You scared me out of my wits!” she yelled and hit him with her purse.

“I’m sorry,” said William laughing. “But your reaction was priceless.”

“I can’t see you at all in this darkness, open those drapes,” she ordered.

“You might not like what you see,” said Will, all the while confident in his good looks.

Emily opened the curtains and stared motionlessly for what seemed like an eternity to William. He was beginning to feel uncomfortable under her scrutinizing gaze as her expression was difficult to read.

Emily was struck by how masculine he looked. This was no longer the twenty-four year old young man who irritated her with his self-assured pomposity and teased her about her scrawny physique. Here stood a true man. His eyes seemed a deeper shade of green than she remembered and there was a certain seriousness to him that wasn’t present before. His mouth was as perfect as ever. Oh how many nights had she lain awake at night picturing herself kissing those beguiling lips.    Unable to control herself, Emily raised her gloved hand and gently brushed his cheek with her fingers.

As if under a spell, Will could not bring himself to move. Her touch was electrifying. He felt his face burning under the kid leather of her glove.

“Emi, please…don’t,” said William feeling that a moment longer and he wouldn’t be able to suppress the suddenly overwhelming desire to pull her back into his embrace.

“I’m sorry,” said Emily, recovering instantly and jerking her hand back as if burnt.

The lights of the opera house were dimming once more, signaling the beginning of the next act.

“I should return to my aunt,” said Emily nervously. “I don’t want her to worry.” She smiled at him and curtsied.

“May I call on you tomorrow?” asked William, hating how desperate his tone sounded.

“Of course,” said Emily happily. “Come early for tea. At two o’clock. We’re at 26 Dover Street in Mayfair. I’ll tell my aunt, she’ll be glad to have you.”

“And you, Emi. Will you be glad to have me?” he asked with an ironic smile.

Emily flushed as she remembered just how much she used to want to have him…and not just for tea.

“Enjoy your evening, Mr. Burton. I shall see you tomorrow.” With that she was gone.

William stood in the box for some time not moving, as if trying to make an imprint in his memory of what had just transpired.

The music of the opera seemed miles away. All that Will was aware of was her scent, the feel of her small frame in his embrace, and the burning mark her fingers had left on his cheek.