Charlotte shrugged and looked out over the edge of the box to the floor where the dandies and ladies of dubious reputation milled about. “To tell you the truth, I doubt if he’s noticed it. No, that’s not fair. Alasdair is a very astute man; I’m sure he noticed that no one had so much as bowed our way—he just doesn’t care.”

Caroline raised her eyebrows in scandalized semaphore. “He doesn’t care? What people think of him? He doesn’t care?”

“’Tis most unnatural, I admit, but alas sweet Caro, that is my lot in life—wife to a man who is indifferent to people’s opinions.”

“But you care,” Caroline protested.

“Of course I do…to some extent.” Charlotte hurried on when Caroline’s eyebrows, newly returned to their normal position, threatened to return to the top of her forehead. “That is, I care what people say—reputation is everything—but I shall never be a slave to etiquette as Society demands. I have ever gone my own way, and it’s too late for me now to learn how to abide by rules. Besides, you know as well as I do that the ton loves an Original. They may fuss and gossip like cats about little scandals, such as my eloping with Antonio, but in the end, they love the very people they claim to censure.”

Caroline didn’t look convinced. “They don’t seem to love you now, Charlotte.” She shot a quick glance over her shoulder to be sure her husband wasn’t within hearing. “In fact, dearest Algernon told me that the betting books are filled with wagers about you and Mr. McGregor.”

“Oh, yes, I know all about that—that was Lady Brindley’s doing. They were taking wagers on when Alasdair would consummate our marriage. As you well know, the wager is now moot. Didn’t your Algernon tell people that?”

Caroline’s eyes grew wider. “Yes, he did…oh, Char, should he not have? I didn’t tell him not to mention it, and you know what gossips men are.”

“No, no, I was counting on you both to spread that particular tidbit, not, I hasten to point out, that it’s anyone’s business. Still, it was the only way to have those ridiculous wagers off the books.”

“But, Char—” The words dribbled to a stop.

Charlotte transferred her attention to her friend. Caroline seemed to be at a loss for words, a condition unfamiliar to Charlotte. “Are you ill? Do you need my vinaigrette?”

“No, no, it’s not that…I…I…” Caroline’s mouth bobbed open and shut like a fish pulled from the water.

“You what? Honestly, Caro, if you’re going to sit and stare at me in that google-eyed way, the least you can do is close your mouth. Only ninnies sit at the opera with their mouths in fly-catching position.”

Caroline seemed to gather her wits. “The phrase is goggle-eyed, and don’t start that ninny business again. I was simply trying to think how best to break the news to you.”

“What news?” Caroline had all of her attention now. Lord Beverly leaned toward his wife and muttered something about calling on an acquaintance’s box for a few minutes. Charlotte waited as patiently as she could for him to finish, then pounced on her friend as soon as the man had left. “Caro, so help me, if you’re keeping something important from me, I shall tell everyone you stuff your zona with stockings—”