He could hear Eleanor questioning Prince Lazzara about opera music-no doubt following the advice of that damned book on how to capture a husband. Her encouragement allowed his highness to boast about the superior nature of his country's contribution to world culture.
“I confess astonishment,” the prince eventually lamented, “that some of your operas are sung in English. The effect will be ruinous.”
Leaning forward, Damon interjected himself into their discussion. “On the contrary, your highness,” he said mildly. “Being able to understand the words makes opera more appealing to the common Englishman.”
Lazzara glanced dismissively over his shoulder at Damon. “What would you know of it, sir? You do not strike me as the sort who would appreciate good opera.”
“You would be mistaken. I enjoy opera greatly. As it happens, I had the pleasure of hearing Rossini's debut of Barbiere di Siviglia in Rome last year.”
Lazzara's eyebrows rose in surprise. “Indeed?”
Damon smiled. “Yes, and since it is just the sort of comedy we English enjoy, I would not be surprised if it were soon to be performed here in London in our language.”
Lazzara gave a delicate shudder, clearly looking down his royal nose at this violation to his sensibilities, while Eleanor frowned at Damon.
He caught her reproving glance, but sat back satisfied that he had at least made her think about the vast divide between their two cultures.
Beside him, Tess watched him with curiosity, but then her attention was diverted by the commotion across the theater in the opposite gallery. The audience was rising to acknowledge the arrival of His Royal Highness, the Prince Regent. Damon could almost feel his cousin breathe more easily once Prinny's entourage was finally settled and the performance began.
On her part, Eleanor sat stewing during the first performance, deploring her powerful physical awareness of Damon behind her. Mercy, he looked stunning in a black evening coat, with the crisp white lace of his cravat a perfect foil for his sun-bronzed skin. It had required a valiant effort to tear her gaze away from him.
At least her efforts to ignore him were helped by her frustration. The vexing rogue kept appearing during her outings with the prince, making an utter nuisance of himself and driving her to distraction.
Yet she couldn't deny that his very presence set all her nerves and senses humming. Admittedly, Damon was the most enlivening, stimulating man of her acquaintance, if one admired clever, well-informed minds, which unfortunately she did. She would have liked to ask him about his recent travels on the Continent… but under no circumstances would she encourage such familiarity between them.
She was genuinely glad, however, to meet Damon's friend, the preeminent physician, Mr. Geary. She'd heard much about Geary's successes in bringing patients with serious illnesses back from death's door. Reportedly, his hospital was unique in that he insisted on immaculate cleanliness-a demand that was scoffed at by many of his peers but that was gaining credibility in the medical field. Eleanor admired scientific genius, particularly anyone who succeeded in going against the grain of society.
She also admired Damon's cousin for her charitable works. Eleanor had met Tess Blanchard several times during the past few months, due primarily to the lady's close friendship with the three Loring sisters. They all taught classes at the sisters’ Academy for Young Ladies, along with Jane Caruthers, who managed the school's daily operations.
And just recently Eleanor had approached Miss Blanchard to ask how she might contribute to her valiant efforts at reducing the poverty and misery of the less fortunate.
Thankfully Eleanor was better able to ignore Damon when Madame Giuditta Pasta stepped onto the stage to sing an aria from Rossini's Barber of Seville, “Una voce poca fa.”
The Italian soprano had recently made her London debut, and although the reviews thus far had not been particularly favorable, from the first liquid notes Eleanor found herself spellbound. She sat rapt as Madame Pasta's voice soared with exquisite brilliance, and when the last beautiful note faded, Eleanor had tears in her eyes. Then when she wiped surreptitiously at the moisture, Damon reached over her shoulder and silently handed her his handkerchief.
As Eleanor glanced back instinctively in gratitude and murmured “Thank you,” she made the mistake of meeting Damon's eyes. Her heart gave a small leap at the hint of tenderness she saw in the dark depths. A tenderness that was reminiscent of the private moments they had shared during their betrothal.
He had been watching her enjoyment, Eleanor realized, flustered and dismayed at the thought.
Quickly, she averted her gaze and faced forward. She had difficulty paying attention to the music that followed, yet eventually she rallied to applaud the dramatic readings, to smile at the comedic skits, and to laugh with delight at the antics of the pantomime.
When the concert ended, Eleanor's composure had steadied somewhat, and she felt as if she could actually face Damon with equanimity.
That is, until they exited the gallery with the large crowd of theatergoers. Lady Beldon had insisted upon leaving at once, not wishing to wait until last for their carriages to be brought around.
As their party made its way along the corridor and down the wide staircase, Prince Lazzara shielded Eleanor from the jostling while Signor Vecchi saw to her aunt's defense.
They had nearly reached the lower landing when suddenly the prince lurched forward into the throng below. With a surprised cry, he tumbled down the final three steps, nearly dragging Eleanor with him.
She was only saved because Damon caught her arm and hauled her back to safety.
“Merciful heavens!” Lady Beldon exclaimed in alarm while Eleanor gasped.
After a stunned moment, she broke free of Damon's grasp and rushed down the last steps to kneel beside the prince, who lay prone on the carpet, his breathing harsh.
“Your highness-are you hurt?”
His answer was a groan as he rolled onto his side and clutched his left knee in obvious pain.
However, when he followed with an obvious epithet in Italian, Signor Vecchi said something sharply to him in the same language, and the prince looked chastised.
“A million pardons,” he said, grimacing up at the ladies.
A space had cleared around him, while the crowd had quieted at the spectacle of a splendidly dressed foreign nobleman sprawled on the floor. Thus, Elea nor had no difficulty hearing Damon when he turned to his physician friend.
“Otto, can you be of assistance?”
“I will do my best.”
While Prince Lazzara's injured limb was being examined, his elder relative shook his silvered head sadly. “I fear Don Antonio has extremely ill luck,” Signor Vecchi commented.
“It was not ill luck, Don Umberto!” Lazzara retorted rather peevishly. “I was pushed, most definitely.”
Eleanor gave a start at the revelation, and her gaze immediately went to Damon. Was it possible he had precipitated the fall? He had been directly behind them, after all, with Signor Vecchi adjacent to him. It would have taken only a slight shove to topple the prince…
She moved to Damon's side, frowning up at him. “Did you cause his highness to fall just now?” she asked in a grim whisper.
Damon stared at her for a moment. “I beg your pardon?”
“He could have been badly hurt, being pushed down a flight of stairs.”
A muscle flexed in Damon's jaw. “Indeed. And you could have been hurt as well, since you were clinging to his arm. But no, I did not cause his fall,” he stated, fixing her with a stern look.
Eleanor's frown deepened. “It seems strange that the prince is beset by mishaps whenever you are around.”
Damon emitted a low, incredulous laugh. “You don't honestly believe I had anything to do with this one?”
“Why not? His troubles did not begin until you returned to London. And you have been present for all three incidents thus far.”
“As have you,” Damon pointed out coolly. “You could have orchestrated his misadventures yourself so that you could come to his rescue and prove your resourcefulness and compassion. Isn't that what your book tells you to do?”
“No,” Eleanor snapped, longing to set him back on his heels. “In fact it advises just the opposite. I am supposed to appear helpless whenever possible.”
His mouth curling, Damon glanced down at the injured man. “Lazzara is the one who seems helpless just now.”
“A state that you obviously relish.”