A Michaelmas Wager

The opera house in Covent Garden was a familiar sight to Juliana, but it was not an entranceway that she had ever passed through. Now, with Audrey on her left and the rather dashing Rufus Lovell - who knew that he could scrub up so well? - on her right, she felt as though she were floating on a cloud.

  Surrounding her were the very essence of society; duchesses, baronets, men and women who did not know what it meant to go hungry or be cold, to whom opera was a necessity rather than an indulgence, and who knew absolutely everyone in these hallowed halls. Shouts of welcome and halloes of recognition fell around her on every side, but she was too busy drinking in the d?cor of the opera house than people spotting.

  The ceiling was high, higher than any other building that she had ever seen - and the gentle stencilling and plaster work was truly exquisite, and even at the very tops of the walls where few would ever see the artwork closely, it was clear that great time and care had been taken over every facet. Red was the chosen colour for this opera house. Velvet lined all seats and floors, with gold thread and tassels around each curtain in every bay. The opulence was almost overwhelming.

  "Does it suit?"

  Dragged back to earth with a bump by Mr Lovell's remark, she saw by the light of his eyes and the smile, hesitant but warm, that he was genuine in his question.

  Juliana replied in the only way that she knew how when faced with such beauty: with stark truth. "Suit? It's heaven itself; how do any of you drag yourselves away?"

  Mr Lovell chuckled. "I am glad that it pleases you."

  "Pleases . . . to see such a place, and to know that it is a temple to the arts, to music, to the best costumes and the greatest talent that has walked across a stage: I know my father may consider this blasphemy, Mr Lovell, but I cannot help it. This is heaven!"

  You're saying too much, Juliana told herself even as the words were coming out of her mouth, you're saying too much: and yet who could help it?

  "Tis not much better than the one in Bath," said Lady Audrey, and Juliana started, having almost forgotten that she was there.

  Before either she or Mr Lovell could give her a response, a bell rang out.

  "Is it beginning - is it time to take our seats?"

  Rufus Lovell laughed kindly to see such excitement. "Yes, Miss Honeyfield, we are being called to our seats. Do not fear, we shall not miss a single second."

  Juliana flushed, and was glad that the candlelight hid some of the pinkness that had come to her cheeks. "Am I that transparent? You must allow me to thank you again, Mr Lovell, for your incredible kindness in procuring these tickets for myself, and for Audrey. I have not experienced anything like this before, and I am . . . well, I am grateful to you."

  "To see it through your eyes is to see it anew, afresh, and that is more than enough thanks for me." Rufus surprised himself by finding that he was completely genuine in his remarks; it could only be six months since his first visit to an opera house, but its joy was already starting to fade, and seeing her face light up, those eyes like deep pools of water getting deeper and deeper as they drank in as much as they could as fast as they could - it was something akin to pleasure, just being with her.

  It took but moments for them to be seated, and Rufus sat back and watched Juliana Honeyfield see more splendour and beauty in three minutes than she had probably done in her lifetime. It was strange, this effect that wealth could have: some he had met were astonished by him, still others by the reach of his coffers now that he had inherited, but Miss Honeyfield was the first to take simple and unadulterated joy in what money could simply do. It was strange.

  Lady Audrey, on the other hand, seemed rather unimpressed. He had not expected her to be so impressed by the opera, having probably attended herself for years, but he had hoped that she would not be so wary of him. The result of the Lovell name, undoubtedly.

  "Who is that man, waving at you?" She asked as more people started to take their seats. "There, in the box opposite ours . . . yours, I mean."

  Rufus looked over to where she was pointing, and saw a close friend, his blond hair completely unmistakable, from the other side of the opera house.

  "That young gentleman is Jonathan Brodie, along with Sir Roger Brodie and Lady Elizabeth Brodie, his parents," replied Rufus in a low tone, smiling and returning the wave to his childhood friend. "My father's business has a large part of in Maplebridge, where they reside, and I have known the family for many years."

  Juliana nodded, and turned to say something to Lady Audrey, who sat on her other side, but the curtain twitched and the chatter below their box immediately dissipated.

  "Oh, it's starting!" She could barely help herself, and leaning forward, she placed both elbows inelegantly on the ledge before her, desperate to be as close to the action as possible. "These really are the best seats in the house, aren't they?"

  Rufus nodded in acknowledgement, but his pocketbook winced for him. It had already cost him over five guineas in courting Miss Juliana Honeyfield, and it seemed likely that it would require at least that sum again to win this wager - and yet, what money could buy such a response from such a woman?

  The stage was set, and it was soon populated by talented singers and actors that even Rufus was impressed by. The opera was one that was known to him, but the aptitude of those who graced the stage were more than enough to keep him diverted. Or at least, they would have been, if it had not been infinitely more diverting to watch the woman beside him.

  All attempt at elegance was gone. She was leaning forward, mouth open, eyes as wide as he thought it was possible to go, completely transfixed.

  Though she seemed to be the only one. True, it was many a week that the opera had been open, and many of the attendees this evening were there to be seen themselves, rather than to watch an opera that they already knew. The chatter started off quietly at first, but eventually full conversations were being had in normal voices, almost crowding out the solitary lament that was taking place on the stage.

  Miss Honeyfield turned to him, outraged. "Mr Lovell, people down there are actually talking! Talking, whilst that poor lady is pouring her heart out! Cannot something be done?"

  He could not help himself. Leaning forward so that his ungloved hand brushed across hers, he whispered in her ear: "You would be astonished I think, Miss Honeyfield, if I told you that for most of the audience here, their own private lives holds far more drama than they could ever watch on a stage."

  The shock in her eyes was more than worth the censuring look that he received from Lady Audrey.

  "I am indeed astonished!" Miss Honeyfield, rather than moving away from him as he had thought she might, instead leaned into him. He could feel the warmth of her even through his shirt and jacket. "To think that for some, this display is as sedentary as watching the carriages go by on Henrietta Street!"

  Rufus shrugged, and smiled at the way that it meant his arm brushed past hers. "And yet, this is the world we live in. True art can be ignored if it means getting the last bit of gossip on Lord Byron."

  "Your friend Mr Brodie and his parents, at least, have their priorities in the right place," whispered Miss Honeyfield, "and yet . . ."

  Rufus raised an eyebrow. "And yet?"

  She was clearly about to say something, but then thought better of it, and she held back. "It is of no importance."

  "On the contrary, anything that you say is of utmost importance Miss Honeyfield!" Rufus said quickly. He was aware that he was starting to receive glares from the box next door, but he could not help himself. Here was a woman that he would ignore an opera for.

  And yet Juliana - he must think of her as Miss Honeyfield, he really must remember - seemed torn. He had only known her for six weeks, however, and he knew that her ability to hold her tongue would give out sooner or later.

  Or sooner. "I was just thinking," she whispered, her lips almost not moving as she tried to keep her voice down, "that although this is the only opera that I have ever been to . . . and it is likely that this will be the only opera th
at I will ever be able to attend . . . I find myself more intrigued by the man sat beside me than the opera before me."

  It was impossible not to smile at such a statement. "Miss Honeyfield, I am flattered."

  "Well you are not meant to be," she shot back, with a smile, her eyes now turned and riveted back onto the stage. "Especially as I should not have said it, let alone thought it."

  "Nonsense," breathed Rufus. "I cannot tell you how refreshing it is to actually meet a woman who speaks her mind."

  Miss Honeyfield laughed, and received a glare herself from the guests in the box beside their own. "Tis not seemly for a woman to speak her mind, Mr Lovell, that is no secret of society. I have spent many a-year taming my tongue, and yet just like any other tiger, it does sometimes escape its keeper."

  Rufus' eyes widened. "Tiger?"

  She laughed again. "Forgive me; we - my father and I - are in correspondence with a friend of ours, a Mr Leonard Tyndale, who is a missionary in India. His letters are most entertaining."

  He had not expected to feel jealousy, but its sharp fangs seemed to have sunk deep into his stomach, and he felt almost nauseous. Leonard Tyndale? He had not heard of the man, but he was clearly a close enough friend of the family to be writing to the only daughter. Leonard Tyndale, what sort of a man was he?

  "Just an old student of Father," replied Miss Honeyfield. Dear God, had he asked that aloud? "I barely know him really, I've never met him. I read his letters to Father."

  It may have been the tutting that he could hear behind him, it could have been the mention of this Tyndale chap, but it was probably Juliana Honeyfield's beauty as she tilted her head back to the opera. Whatever it was, it took a hold of Rufus and made him say something wild.

  "Miss Honeyfield, would you care to take the air with me? I feel inordinately hot, and I think I would gain great relief from the stuffiness here."

  Her eyes beheld him for a moment, a long moment, and Rufus was sure that she would decline; that she would see the impropriety; that she would want to stay with Lady Audrey, ostensibly her chaperone.

  But he had not accounted for Juliana Honeyfield.

  "Mr Lovell, I would be delighted. Audrey, I shall be but a moment."

  "Wait, what?" Lady Audrey, not a party to their previous conversation, was lost. "Juliana, where are you going?"

  To Rufus' relief, Miss Honeyfield did not seem in the mood to explain. "I shall return presently - hold my programme for me, won't you?"

  "But - "

  "I shall be but a moment." Juliana tried to communicate with her eyes to her cousin, but clearly she did not do a very good job; never needing to do so before, it was an impossible task before she even started, and she was not entirely sure whether she had calmed Audrey or merely made her more concerned.

  After all, what on earth was she doing? Here she was, seated in the best place at the opera, guest of Rufus Lovell - and everyone knew what his brother was like - and she was about to leave with him for . . . what? A breath of fresh air? This was madness, this was something that even she knew was scandalous, but there was something about him. Not just his looks: she was not immune to them, especially up close, but there was something deeper about Rufus Lovell. Something that she couldn't quite make out.

  They rose, and ignoring Audrey's whispers that become more frantic the further they were from her, left the box. Juliana took a deep breath as they reached the stairs, and tried to fathom exactly what it was that she was doing - and a hand slipped around hers. Warm, and strong, it was completely unexpected, and it belonged to a man that she was fast considering: what? A friend?

  "Come on." Those were the only words he said, and yet they contained so much promise. Hurtling down the steps, almost running, they flung themselves out of the opera house and the cool June air hit Juliana's face like a cool breeze in September. The street was almost empty, and Juliana had a moment of panic. What if he - well, did anything to her? Who was to stop him? Her hand was still in his, and -

  "The stars are bright tonight," said Rufus Lovell. "Even the Plough can be spotted through the lights of London."

  Juliana looked up, and saw the twinkle of countless stars smiling down at them. "The Plough? I have to admit ignorance in all matters of the stars; their knowledge is not something that I have ever learned."

  "Oh, but you must!" Mr Lovell stopped them in their tracks, and with one hand pointed upwards. "You see there, the North Star. 'Tis the one that always burns brightest, and it heralds the dusk of evening each day."

  Juliana tried to look upwards, but was all too conscious of just how close Mr Lovell was to her. He was tall, and her eyes skirted along that sharp jawline as he pointed out the different stars.

  ". . . and when brought together, they become the Plough," he finished, and Juliana started, tearing away her gaze from Mr Lovell himself to his arm, still pointed upwards.

  "They are beautiful," she said, and she saw in him a gleam of pleasure. Here's a man who loves to teach, she said to herself. Who would have guessed it all those weeks ago, at the May Day party?

  "So," he said, his hand still encircling his, "apart from the opera, what else is on your list?"

  Mr Lovell started walking, and Juliana fell in step with him, almost unsure where to look. "My list?"

  "Your list!" He smiled at her, and Juliana felt a strange squirming at the base of her throat that threatened to spread to her stomach. "Your list of things that you have never done, and you want to do. What else is there?"

  Juliana laughed, and unconsciously squeezed his hand - and received an answering squeeze. "I suppose . . . lots of things! I have never been abroad, and travel is something that I would love to do."

  "Never been abroad?" Mr Lovell sounded surprised. "Where would be first on your list?"

  She shrugged, and felt happier than she ever had before. The moment of panic had subsided, and all that was left was calm, and peace. She had not felt this safe with a gentleman . . . well, ever. But it was not just safety that she felt; there was something sharper there, and whatever that emotion was, it was tying her insides in knots.

  "I suppose, France," was Juliana's reply. "Even to journey as far as Dover would be an achievement, to be frank; I have never even seen the sea!"

  They reached a turn in the road, and now the street that they were on truly was empty.

  "Never seen the sea?" Mr Lovell sounded amazed, and Juliana blushed. Was it embarrassment at her parochial nature; or was it something else?

  "I surely sound most na?ve to you, but truly, those are next on my list," said Juliana, her hand now burning at the contact with Rufus Lovell's. Why had she left her gloves in the opera box? "What is your list?"

  "My list?" Mr Lovell considered, and smiled at her again. Juliana could not help but answer the smile, though it was a shy one. "Well, I suppose I do not have a list of things to do, or places to go, as such. My list is of a different nature."

  Juliana shivered, and she did not think it was because of the temperature of the evening air. "What kind of nature?" She had not realised just how personal their conversation had become until she saw Rufus swallow. "Please, I do not mean to pry - "

  "And you do no such thing," Rufus Lovell assured her. "My list is more a catalogue, a collection of my favourite memories. The best meal that I ever tasted, the most hilarious joke that I have ever heard."

  She did not know what overwhelmed her, but it was impossible to prevent herself from speaking the words that next escaped her lips. "And do I make the list?"

  Rufus Lovell stopped dead in his tracks and, not releasing her hand, turned to face her. There was a beat, a few unsteady heartbeats that seemed to pound in her ears before he spoke - and when he did, it was in a low voice. Such a low voice that Juliana had to take a step forward, closer to him, to even hear him.

  "You do," he said slowly, his eyes unflinchingly affixed on hers. "I will admit that I have never enjoyed anyone's company before as much as I do yours. Not in all my life."

&nbs
p; Juliana stared at him. Rufus Lovell, enjoy her company? But she was the background to most gatherings, the one invited as a courtesy to her cousin, never the focus of anything.

  "In fact," said Rufus, his other hand now finding hers and forcing her to lean slightly closer to him once more, "I have a feeling that this next moment is going to be going right onto my list as well."

  She had no idea that it was coming, even when it was happening. His lips touched hers delicately, reverently at first, and then as his fingers pulsed and brought her even closer, his chest touched hers as his kiss strengthened. And for Juliana, the stars shone.