Temptation (12 page)

“She likes music halls?”

“Who doesn’t?” Mrs. Bettina smiled. “I’ve been known to go myself on the odd occasion. A nurse’s salary doesn’t afford many luxuries, but the girls make up a party to go the music halls once every few months.”

Just then the tea arrived, and Mrs. Bettina poured him out a cup. She waited until he had taken a sip. “I am only telling you this because I am sure Dr. Hyde is not the man for Beatrice,” she blurted out.

He nearly choked on his mouthful of tea. Clearly he had not been as subtle as he had thought. “I quite agree.”

“She is not in love with the doctor. Not as a young woman ought to be in love with the man she marries. But what can I say to convince her there is more to life than she knows? Every woman needs to find that out for herself.” She paused and took a sip of her own tea. “What’s more, I do not believe that Dr. Hyde is in love with her, for all he has asked her to be his wife. That would be a marriage of convenience on both sides. Nothing more.”

“I would offer her more than such an empty marriage. I would offer her love, too. And I would listen to her.”

She gazed steadily at him, as if she could read his thoughts. “You would offer her marriage?” Her face went a little pink around the edges but she did not look away. “You must forgive me for asking, but she is a good girl, and is very dear to me. I would not have you hurt her in any way.”

“Yes, I would offer her marriage.” He shifted uncomfortably on his chair, but Mrs. Bettina deserved to be told the truth. “In fact, I already have.”

“And her answer?”

He squared his shoulders. An officer in the English army did not accept defeat. “I have hopes she will accept me the next time I ask her. If not, then the time after that. Because I will not stop asking until she says yes.”

“You care for her that much?”

“I do.”

“Then I shall not regret telling you of her love for music halls. Or that her shift finishes early tomorrow, and she would have plenty of time to come back here to dress before heading out for the evening.”

In Mrs. Bettina he had found an unexpected ally in his quest. He rose from his chair and bent over to kiss her hand. “You will not regret your confidence in me.”

She rose, too, to see him to the door. “See that I don’t,” were her parting words as he walked out and onto the street.

Captain Carterton was waiting outside the hospital for Beatrice when her shift finished the following afternoon.

She raised her eyebrows at him as he fell into step beside her. “Do your bandages need changing again already? Or is it something else this time? Your leg, perhaps? Or maybe there is something wrong with your head?”

She wished he wasn’t quite so handsome in his civilian clothes. The elegant cut of his trousers showed off the fine trim of his leg, and his waistcoat buttoned over a broad chest and flat stomach. Not that she should be looking at his chest or his stomach. Or his legs. Or the bits in between. Definitely not those. But he was a fine figure of a man nonetheless, even when he left his red jacket back at the barracks.

Her snippy attitude just made him laugh. “There is nothing wrong with my head. But I thank you for asking.”

“Then what can I do for you?”

He offered her his arm. “I have come to walk you home.”

It was gallant of him, she supposed, but hardly necessary. “I am quite used to walking home by myself.” His company was far more dangerous to her than anyone she could meet on the streets.

“Do you treat all your suitors in such a cavalier fashion? Tut, tut, Beatrice, that is no way to catch a man. We men like to think of you women as hothouse flowers, unable to survive without our protection.”

“Then you men are fools.”

“That is harsh.”

“A man should understand a woman’s strengths as well as her weaknesses. And he should prize her all the more for them.”

“I prize you for your compassion and your forthrightness.”

She unbent so far as to place her hand in the crook of his elbow. “Thank you.”

“And for your skill with your hands, too. I swear my arm feels much better since you rubbed the ointment into it this morning.”

“I am glad of it.”

“And for your honesty.”

That was slightly unexpected. “Thank you again.”

“For your honesty which will compel you to admit that, yes, indeed, you would love to accompany me to the London Pavilion music hall this evening.”

She stopped walking and stared at him. “You have bought tickets to the London Pavilion?” She had wanted to go and see the new music hall for weeks now, but such indulgences did not come cheaply and her salary was not extravagant.

“You work so hard, I thought you might appreciate an evening out. We can dine there while we watch the show.”

“Just the two of us?” It would hardly be proper, not when she had still to give Dr. Hyde an answer to his proposal, but how she would love to go.

“You do want to go, don’t you?”

“I would love to see the London Pavilion.” She could not possibly pretend indifference to such an offer. If she could not be a nurse, she would love to be a singer in a music hall. What a life they had—to hold an audience in the palm of their hand as they crooned a beautiful love song, or danced their way through a sparkling comedy. It must feel almost as good as healing the sick, for they, too, healed people in their own way. They healed people by making them laugh, by taking them out of their gray lives for just a few hours and showing them fun and happiness. He had hit upon the one offer that she could not resist.

“Then it is settled. I will wait in Mrs. Bettina’s parlor while you change out of your uniform, and then we can take a hansom cab to the West End.”

Dr. Hyde had never taken her to a music hall, she thought rather morosely, as she stripped off her nurse’s uniform and gave herself a hurried wash in a basin. He had never offered, and she would never ask him—that was not the sort of relationship they shared. If she were eventually to marry him, she might never go to a music hall again. Which made her all the more determined to enjoy the show with the captain this evening.

She riffled through her wardrobe, hastily picking out her favorite dress. Pale green silk, with more frills and ruffles than she usually wore; it had been a gift from her sister, Louisa, who had insisted on buying it for her on her last visit home. She had not worn it before—it was too good for everyday use. But for a visit to the London Pavilion, to eat a fine dinner and watch a show, it was perfect.

She dressed as quickly as she could. It felt strange to think that Captain Carterton was sitting in the parlor just downstairs while she was walking around upstairs in her underclothes. The thought made her nipples grow hard, as if she had just washed in cold water. It really didn’t seem at all proper, but Mrs. Bettina hadn’t seemed at all worried by the idea so it must not be too shocking.

She glanced at herself in the mirror. The dress was perfect, but she couldn’t go out with her hair looking the way it did. She pulled the hairpins out of her bun and shook her hair down over her shoulders. Ah, it felt good to get the weight of it off the back of her neck for a few moments. There wasn’t time to give it the fifty strokes with the brush it needed to make it shine, but no matter. She tied it up into a loose bun and repinned it carefully.

One last look in the mirror. Yes, she was ready.

Captain Carterton had hailed a hansom cab, and it was waiting outside for them. She climbed into it with a growing sense of excitement. The London Pavilion had recently been given a facelift and fitted out with marble columns in the entryway. It looked fabulous from the outside—she could only imagine what the inside would be like. And the show itself promised to be a fine one. The famous tenor Señor Fratelli himself was singing. She had wanted to hear him forever.

Captain Carterton climbed in beside her and called for the driver to be off.

The drive through the quiet streets was mercifully short. The hansom cab was too small for Beatrice to feel comfortable in, not with the captain sitting next to her with his shoulders touching hers and his legs pressed against her own from thigh to ankle. She tried to move further into the corner to put some distance between them, but there was no space to maneuver. In the end, she sat back on the seat and tried to ignore the feelings that his touch ignited deep in her stomach. She was off to see a show at the London Pavilion and nothing could put a dent in the happy bubble of her mood.

The façade of the building was as grand as anything could be. Tall columns of marble stretched up toward the sky, framing a grand entranceway that had to be three or four times her height. Captain Carterton escorted her inside, where they were seated at a table close to the stage.

“We have the best seats in the house,” she sighed happily, as she gave her coat to the hovering attendant.

“Nothing but the best for my Beatrice,” he murmured, pulling out the chair for her so she could sit down.

The table top was made of marble, and cool to the touch. She leaned her elbows on it and looked at the stage. It was still empty and covered with a thick red curtain, but she could sense the excitement building up behind the scenes. She could feel the same excitement buzzing in the pit of her stomach.

The attendant was back again in a moment. “What would you care for dinner?”

Beatrice could summon little interest in food. “I don’t know. Whatever.”

With an easy smile at her distractedness, Captain Carterton took over and ordered for both of them, checking with her that his choices were satisfactory.

She sat staring at the curtain, tapping her fingers on the table and every so often glancing to the sides of the curtain to see if she could make out any movement.

“Have patience.” He got out his fob watch and showed her the time. “They will not begin for another quarter of an hour or more.”

“I have never been a patient person,” she confessed. “When I see something I want, I want it now. Without having to wait.”

He looked meaningfully at her. “Then we are alike, you and I. For I, too, have little patience when it comes to getting what I want.”

She could not mistake his meaning. It was as clear as the light from the scores of gas lamps that lit up the whole pavilion. He wanted her, and he intended to have her.

She blushed under his scrutiny, not knowing what to say. The attendant bringing out a plateful of oysters for both of them saved her from having to make any reply.

She tucked into them with gusto, wiping her fingers on her napkin. Captain Carterton must have a reasonable income stashed away to afford to take her out to dinner in a place such as this. And he was kind, too. Maybe he would not make such a bad husband after all.

She squelched that thought quickly. After witnessing her sister Emily’s disastrous marriage to a man she barely knew, she had vowed never to make the same mistake. She would not marry anyone until she was quite sure they were utterly respectable, and had no dark secrets they were hiding. Falling in love with a stranger may sound appealing, but she had seen firsthand the results. No, love at first sight was not for her.

Dr. Hyde, she knew, was a good man, who would not beat his wife or be cruel to his children. Charming companion though he was, she was a good deal less sure of the captain’s temperament.

The plate littered in empty oyster shells had just been removed when a man appeared between the curtains. He swept off his hat and gave a low bow to a smattering of applause. “Ladies and gentlemen, it is my honor to present to you this evening, as the first act in our incomparable show, the esteemed, the enviable, the utterly enchanting, Miss Kitty Feathers.”

Another round of applause, louder this time, as a woman dressed for all the world as a man in tails and spats, strutted on to the stage twirling a cane in her hand.

Beatrice drew a deep breath. Miss Kitty Feathers was a male impersonator. She’d never seen one before, not a good one—only a silly girl who’d wiggled her hips in a suit and looked nothing like a man at all. Miss Kitty was something else altogether. She walked just like a man, and her singing voice was deeper than a woman’s usually was. If it hadn’t been for the obvious femininity of her face, Beatrice would’ve sworn she was looking at a man on the stage.

The male impersonator was followed by a man at the piano who sang a pair of catchy ballads, and then by a troupe of dancing girls.

So intent was she on watching the show that she hardly noticed the food that was put in front of her. She ate distractedly, barely taking her eyes off the stage.

The man at the piano sang a comic song, and Captain Carterton laughed uproariously at his risqué jokes. He was enjoying himself as much as she was. She relaxed into her chair a little more, glad that he wasn’t sitting there stiff and unamused, as Dr. Hyde no doubt would have been.

It was a pity Dr. Hyde was such a stuffed shirt. Going to the music hall was so much more fun than listening to a dreary brass band play horrid marching songs on a dull day in the park.

By the time Señor Fratelli came out to sing, she had laughed so hard and clapped so hard she had little more in her to give. But the music hall had one last thrill to give her. His singing was so beautiful it brought tears to her eyes.

Cutting through the enraptured applause that followed his act, came the finale for the evening—“Land of Hope and Glory.” She sang along with the rest of the audience, Captain Carterton’s fine baritone in her ear.

Surreptitiously she wiped the tears away from her eyes. The London Pavilion had lived up to its reputation, and given her a night to remember.

It was with a sense of regret she accepted her coat back from the attendant.

Their hansom cab was waiting for them a little way down the road as the captain had requested. She took hold of his arm, huddling close to him for protection from the biting wind that had sprung up. “Thank you for taking me to the music hall. I loved every minute of it.”

“It was my pleasure. I enjoyed myself even more watching your pleasure.” He sounded as though he really meant it.

He handed her into the hansom cab and climbed in after her. The streets were dark now, with only the light of the gas lamps to show where they were going. The driver cracked the whip and set his horses off smartly.