An Earl’s Broken Heart by Ella Edon
Chapter Three
For a party with everyone he knew, Levi felt like quite the outsider. The air in the ballroom was thick with the aroma of luxury and liquor. His father stood at the centre of it all like a king at his coronation, waving and greeting guests with a manufactured smile. Even amongst his equals, the Earl of Exeter had a commanding air about him.
Levi was tired of events like this. They always included the very same people with a repetition of conversations that took place at parties from the past week. Worse still, every event of the ton was meticulously observed and taken account of by the most opinionated, odious, pretentious busybodies that one could find anywhere in the civilized world. If it were not for his father’s insistence, he would not have attended the party at all.
The ballroom was buffed and waxed to a spotless shimmer, and the great chandelier cast the room in a powerful yellow-gold light. This was supposed to be a small gathering, a prelude to the week-long affair that was soon to take place at their country estate. However, it felt like much more than just a small gathering. In truth, it had the air of an engagement party.
Levi’s father tried to make eye contact with him, but he immediately turned away, glancing instead at his friend Lord Turnbull.
“There are a lot of people here,” he said, studying the ballroom.
“I’m not surprised,” said Edward. “Your father’s party will be the first of the season, and everyone wants to see what this year will have in store.”
Levi pinched the bridge of his nose. “I think I need a drink.”
As though by magic, a servant appeared with loaded cut-glasses of brandy.
“Thank you,” Levi said.
As he pulled up his glass for a sip, a heavy hand fell on his shoulder.
“Don’t drink the night away, son.”
Levi nearly dropped the glass. He turned to see his father standing with the whisper of a smile on his lips.
“Father…I…I didn’t see you coming.”
His father smiled. “People hardly ever do.”
Edward, ever the pragmatist, made his apologies and left at a single dismissive stare from the Earl.
Levi hated being alone with his father in places like this. Anything could happen.
His father gestured in the direction of the dancing. “There she is.”
Levi glanced up. He was pointing at a young lady dressed in a remarkable red dress.
“Lady Katherine,” his father said knowingly.
Lady Katherine was – he had to admit – a beautiful lady. She had cheekbones that cast a shadow and bright blonde hair swirling down to the shoulders. She moved with the grace of a well-practiced ballerina and always kept her chin imperiously raised. A lady whose every gesture was the fruit of prior instruction.
“Go and dance with her,” urged his father.
It was not a suggestion; it was a command. A command he had no hope of disobeying, not here and certainly not now.
“In a moment, Father.”
His father leaned in close, whispering in his ear. “Now.”
Levi stiffened and then bowed. He forced a fake smile and made his approach to Lady Katherine. She pretended she hadn’t noticed him approach, but Levi could tell by the set in her step that she had posed to cast her face in the best light.
“My lady,” he said with a bow.
She turned, her face a picture of false surprise. “Lord Gatton, I don’t believe I have had the pleasure.”
Levi closed his eyes, forcing the predictable, expected line through his lips. “The pleasure is all mine, Lady Katherine.”
She smiled and offered a hand, her fingertips brushing his wrist in a way that could not have been accidental.
He took the hand and pressed his lips to it. “Will you favour me with a dance, my Lady?”
She smiled. “Of course, my Lord.”
A popular waltz played across the ballroom, and Levi was at his charming best. Lady Katherine moved with the elegance of a true noblewoman. It was clear why his father thought her to be a good match. She was the quintessential picture of a high society lady. Perhaps she was what most gentlemen would want in a wife. There was something about ladies that always unnerved Levi. So many of them made their decisions based on cold hard particulars like wealth and social advantage. Never anything truly timeless.
Lady Katherine, pretty as she was, was not what Levi wanted. He knew from the way she guarded her smile and from the way she made a show of their dance. Her interest was in the spectacle, not in him. In times past, Levi had encountered his fair share of women who would stop at nothing to claim him as their great marital prize. “Husband hunters,” was what Edward used to call them. Lady Katherine could not be described as such; that would be an insult to her expertise and intensity. She was more akin to an architect who needed the materials to build her grand design. Hers was a practical decision, not a romantic one.
His mind wandered, as it often did, to the opera singer and her shape against the spotlight. How much more would he love to be dancing with her. Touching her, his hand on the nape of her neck.
He had never forgotten that moment he first heard her voice and saw her standing in the glow of the stage. The soft pucker of her lips as she sang. What would her kisses be like? He shook the image from his mind.
After the first dance with Lady Katherine, she lingered when the music lulled. It was a sign that she wanted another one. Levi’s preference was to end it after one dance, but he caught his father’s gesture from across the room. A slow, deliberate nod.
He drew in a breath and smiled at Lady Katherine. “May I have another dance, Lady Katherine?”
She lowered her chin slightly. “You may, my Lord.”
They took up a position as the next song began.
This time, he made a more substantial investment in the conversation. He hoped it would add some much-needed sweetness to the dance.
“I must say, you are a wonderful dancer, Lady Katherine.”
She smiled. “As are you, Lord Gatton.”
Levi did not believe that to be true. He was – he thought - a passable dancer, but not wonderful by any measure. Her flattery was imprecise and impersonal.
“You are too kind, Lady Katherine. I am far from your equal.”
She leaned in closer. “I would say we make a perfect match.”
Levi blinked and forced out a smile. “Quite.”
“So, tell me, Lord Gatton, how do you pass the time when you are not dancing at ballroom parties?”
Levi contemplated the question with great care. “I have recently become quite fond of the opera.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Ah.”
Levi noted her reaction, feeling something inside him rise. “Do you also enjoy the opera, Lady Katherine?”
She twisted her lips. “I’m afraid I rarely have the time for such frivolities.”
Levi frowned at her response. “I would regard the opera as a little more than a mere frivolity.”
“I mean no offense, my Lord, only that such places expose one to people of low character and fortune. One often departs such places with little to show for it save for ringing ears.”
Levi leashed every instinct of pugnacity that willed him to defend his beloved theatre.
“I know what you mean,” he said instead.
The talk of opera gave his mind license to wander back to the theatre again and to the opera singer. Diana.
“Are you alright, my Lord?” came Lady Katherine’s voice.
Levi blinked. “Yes, I am, thank you.”
The second dance came to an end, and Levi nodded politely. Cutting off the exchange before another song began, he escorted her back to her family and made his delicate withdrawal.
“Lady Katherine, please forgive me. I have some matters I must attend to.”
Her smile dropped for the barest moment. “Of course, my Lord.”
He bowed and made a hurried escape. His father gave him a questioning look, and he responded with an apologetic bow. Once outside, he signalled to Jasper, his footman.
His mind was far away from the ball, and he felt that urgent desire rise within, pleading with him to hear that voice again. Summoning his carriage, he set his course for the theatre.
* * *
A thick wooden bar lay sprawled across the theatre door. A seedy-looking gentleman stood at the entrance door with a girl who looked half his age.
“The opera is closed?” Levi asked.
The man fixed his spectacles, which hung from a black cord around his neck. He had a single gold tooth and the serpentine swagger of a man who dabbled in unsavoury business. “Closed for the night. Looking for a lady, my Lord?”
Levi wanted to say yes, but the look in the man’s eyes indicated that he should give a firm “no.”
“Not at all. Thank you.”
He climbed back into his carriage and directed Jack, his coachman, to cross over into St. James Square, where his favourite gentleman’s club could be found.
Ackerman’s gentleman’s club occupied a rarefied position in London’s social circle. Situated at the corner of St. James Square, it rested at the juncture between the opulence of Mayfair and the squalor of Whitechapel. Ackerman’s club was famously agnostic about social class. It made no bones about being a place that catered to people from all walks of life, whether butcher or baron, marquess or manservant. The only requirement to gain access to the prestigious club was to be in possession of one golden token of membership stamped by Sir William Ackerman himself. Only a hundred of such tokens existed, and from the day of the club’s establishment, the Cooperfamily had been in possession of two such tokens. Levi was what one would describe as a regular at the club, and that had earned him the privilege of immediate admittance, even when – for one reason or another – he did not have his token at hand.
He nodded to the doorman who opened the door with a bow, and he darted down the stairs. He bit the inside of his cheek as a subtle wave of acknowldgement greeted him as he entered the main room. It was decorated with gilded columns and pilasters, glimmering medallions, and very large mirrors. Paintings of storied gentlemen of ages past stared down approvingly from their perches on the wall. Light was provided exclusively by elaborate cut-glass lusters which carried a soft candlelight glow.
The very finest gentlemen of London had their seats on a red-carpeted dais on the upper end of the room. Edward was there - of course - and welcomed him with an open-armed embrace. “Left your own father’s party early?”
“I had to. If I stayed any longer, the Earl would have turned it into my engagement party.”
Edward laughed. “Lady Katherine isn’t perfect enough for you?”
Levi frowned. “My father wants us to get married. He’s already arranged it with the Duke of Gloucester.”
“Without your consent?”
“When has my father ever concerned himself with my consent?”
Edward stared at him, his face a picture of earnest concern. “Before I ever knew you, I used to envy you. The way women looked at you, the way you stand, the way people talked about your family. I was in awe. Now every time I feel I should envy you, I remember. Your father is…”
He trailed off, leaving the sentiment incomplete and then threw back his drink with a sharp snap of the wrist and winced. “Anyway, enough about our complexities. Let’s get into something sweet and simple.”
A servant passed idly by and filled their glasses.
Levi took a small sip. “Shall we play a round of Whist?”
Edward nodded. “I already have a pair of fine partners for us to play with.”
“Whist it is then,” said Levi, and they threw back their drinks in unison.
Edward ushered him to a near table where they met with two smartly dressed gentlemen he introduced as Lords Hodge and Dagenham.
Together, they beat all good nature out of Lords Hodge and Dagenham, and the other gentlemen had to politely decline another round after the third game had bled them dry of all their coin. It raised Levi’s spirits somewhat, but there seemed now only one true remedy for his low mood. He wanted to see her face again and fill his ears with her voice. He knew then that he was hooked. The next evening, he was at the opera again.
* * *
Lydia bounced into Diana’s dressing room with a schoolgirl’s glee.
“He’s here again tonight.”
Diana raised an eyebrow. “Who?”
“Lord Gatton, who else?”
She smiled at Lydia. “You are a very strange creature by way of a friend.”
Diana despised nobles. She hated the presuppositions of the entire class. The way they revelled in their excesses and treated people as though it was their God-given right to rule and preside over them. True nobility was a practiced virtue and not a gift of birth. She had lived amongst commoner and nobility alike and had long ago determined that the only true distinction between the two was the power to have their sins expunged. Her mother had a wonderful way of putting it: It was easy to posture when another man carries your weight.
Diana had seen Lord Gatton from afar on that first night in the royal box. A peculiar gentleman. Devilishly handsome with a sportsman’s set to his shoulders. So tall his head almost brushed the ceiling when he rose for an ovation. He had spent half the night staring in her direction for reasons she could not completely understand. She knew that the gentleman was a notorious rake, but this look seemed one more of confusion than of carnality.
Whatever the truth was, he was of no interest to her. They lived in parallel worlds, never to intersect on terms that would benefit her. She had seen the sort of lady that captured his interest. Before the last show, she caught a glimpse of a fine lady being escorted to the royal box. An unearthly beauty that walked as though on velvet pillows. Immaculate in every conceivable way. The sort of lady who had never given a second thought to where she would sleep or the cost of a warm meal. Ladies at the very highest rung of the ladder. Diana knew she was invisible to people like them, nameless.
“Aren’t you excited?” said Lydia. “He has been here every night for two weeks now. Perhaps he wishes to become our patron.”
“I very much doubt that. Every night he is up there with a different lady, each one more beautiful than the last. It’s just as likely that he has found some new young lady to commit to ruin and is using the royal box for his amusements.”
Lydia covered her mouth. “Is it true what they say about him? That he’s seduced and utterly ruined over a dozen young women?”
“I wouldn’t hesitate to believe it.”
A gentleman like that was no stranger to a woman’s bed. How could he be? That self-possessed bearing, that roguish swagger, and wealth beyond imagination. His was the very picture of a rake.
Lydia glanced at the latest flower arrangement on her dressing room table. “Before long, you will be fixing to lease a floral shop, Diana.” It was the fourth time she had received a bouquet. Each time, the arrangement contained a completely different collection of stunning flowers.
“Do you not have any inkling as to who this secret admirer might be?” asked Lydia.
Diana shook her head. “No, I do not. Do you?”
Lydia smiled. “I have my suspicions.”
“Pray tell.”
“None other than Mr. Solomon Caney. It would explain the name “Cee.” Cee as in ‘cee’ for Caney.”
Diana felt suddenly sick. In the nights since her first outing, Caney had lingered outside her dressing room with the eager anticipation of a hungry wolf. She knew without the whisper of a doubt that he lacked the wit and prescience to compose the notes she received with every flower arrangement. It was not impossible, however, for the man to have paid someone to write the notes on his behalf. He did, after all, have connections to all manner of poets and artists in London.
The thought of it unnerved her. If her admirer was Mr. Caney, it would pollute everything the flowers had come to stand for to her.
“I hope it isn’t Mr. Caney,” Diana expressed honestly.
Lydia’s face softened. “I hope so too.”
The prospect of her admirer being Caney left an indubitably sour taste in her mouth. It was as though the only candle in her life had been stubbed out, and she was reminded of the darkness all around her. As she stared into the mirror before mounting the stage, Diana felt completely hopeless.