Who Wants to Marry a Duke - Sabrina Jeffries Page 0,106
aloof as usual. Granted, he was a duke and they were supposed to be like that, but she was related to his half brother. Surely that should have coaxed a smile or two out of Sheridan.
If anything, he’d pulled away from her even more, curse his hide. And that made no sense, if his financial situation was as bad as the gossips said. Despite her family’s own strained finances, Vanessa had a sizable dowry, which he ought to know, since Grey was the one who’d funded it. Still, she didn’t really want him interested in her for her fortune. She wanted him to see the real her, to desire the real her.
She feared that would never happen.
Was he even here? Her mother would surely have told her if he was. If, that is, she’d spotted him. But leaning forward enough to see if he sat in the Armitage family’s box would give Vanessa away.
Then a thought occurred to her. “Mama,” she whispered, “do you have your polemoscope with you?”
With a nod, her mother drew it from her reticule. But before Vanessa could seize it, her mother asked, “Who are you using it to observe?”
“The duke, of course.” Vanessa would have lied—the only time she ever stooped to do so was when she was dealing with her mother—but in this case there was no need.
“Don’t toy with me, girl.” Funny how Mama always assumed other people lied as much as she did. “I know you have your heart set on that playwright, and he is far beneath you.”
“Yes, Mama.”
She took the polemoscope from her mother and put it to her eye as she leaned forward. Her mother had bought it after Papa’s death, but Vanessa had never used it.
Until now. Other people would assume she was trying to view the actors and actresses more closely, because the polemoscope looked exactly like an opera glass or spyglass, which was ironic since it literally allowed one to spy on the people in the boxes to one’s right.
It took her a moment to adjust to seeing things to the side of her rather than on the stage. Once she did, however, she could observe everyone in the Armitage box. Sheridan sat between his half sister, Lady Gwyn, and his mother. The two ladies were clearly chatting, but he wore his usual stoic manner. Like a saint. Or a sphinx.
A sphinx fit him better, given how hard he was to understand. Suddenly, he looked over at her, and she started, unnerved by his attention, even though she knew he couldn’t tell she was watching him.
She dropped the polemoscope into her lap.
“Is he there?” Mama asked.
“Who?”
“Your Mr. Juncker.”
Good Lord, she hadn’t even checked. “Yes,” she said, praying he was. She lifted the polemoscope and scanned the boxes she could see. And there he was, Mr. Konrad Juncker, the supposed object of her affections. He was flirting with some lady whom Vanessa didn’t even know. That was why she would never actually be enamored of him. He was a rakehell, and she wanted nothing to do with such a man. He was too much like her late father.
Still, she wished she’d never started her foolish plan to seemingly pine after Mr. Juncker to make Sheridan jealous. The playwright didn’t interest her in the least. And now she was stuck. If she switched her affections to Sheridan at this late juncture, he would think her fickle. Curse it all to blazes.
She handed the polemoscope to her mother, but Mama seemed fully engrossed in the play. Vanessa was not. She and her mother had seen this one when it was first performed, but Mama had either forgotten or was enjoying the repeat performance. Her mother had only attended tonight in hopes of having Vanessa be able to speak to Sheridan. She despaired of that ever happening. Especially as the play reached the end of the first act, and a quick glance at the Armitage box showed he’d disappeared. No doubt he was flirting with some other—
“Good evening,” said a smooth-as-brandy voice. “I trust that you’re all enjoying the performance?”
Vanessa’s pulse jumped. Sheridan had come to her. He felt the same pull as she did. At last.
“We’re liking it as much as one can, given that it’s not new,” Uncle Theo said from his seat next to Mama. “Still, I’ll take an old play by Juncker to a new one by just about any other author. He knows how to entertain, I’ll give you that.”