“Oh, yes? After you walked down the street holding his child and looking at him with your heart in your mouth? Then you are leading him astray, and woe betide the woman who leads that particular man into a blind alley.” She nodded down to their right.

Charlotte watched, fascinated, as Alex strode into the Sheffield box, bowing to his acquaintances. He appeared to be accompanied by a small party; she recognized the Marquis de Valconbrass and his sister. She felt a sudden stab of jealousy as Alex escorted Daphne to a place at the front of the box.

Sophie’s strong, small hand descended on her wrist. “Stop watching him, Charlotte!”

Charlotte settled back in her chair, fanning her suddenly pink face.

“Pooh!” Sophie said. “I can’t trust you for a minute! Even a fourth part of French blood would have stopped you from being so obvious.”

Charlotte glared at her fiercely. Sophie wrinkled her nose at her. “Don’t you carp at me, Charlotte Daicheston!” She lowered her voice. “You want him, don’t you?”

Startled, Charlotte nodded.

“Well, you can’t have him if he isn’t capable,” Sophie said practically. “It would not be a successful marriage.”

“I don’t think, I mean, I think he is,” Charlotte said equally softly.

“Well, you have to find out,” Sophie said. “You have to know, and then you can go ahead and accept him. I assume he has proposed?” She waited, one eyebrow raised.

Charlotte nodded.

“What a woman! You have two earls after you, and what else—a score of mere counts and barons, and a few lowly sirs.”

Charlotte laughed. She was keeping her eyes fixed on Sophie in order to avoid meeting the eyes of all the people who seemed to be staring in her direction. And to stop herself from stealing another glance at Alex.

The noise of tuning fiddles finally stopped and Richard Sheridan, the proprietor of the Drury Lane Theatre, walked out before the red velvet curtain. There was a faint dimming of the audience’s chatter.

Charlotte’s mind wandered as Sheridan talked on, boasting of the wonderful changes he had made to King Lear… now fit for a modern audience … fit for modern propriety, love of gaiety, blah, blah. She kept her eyes fixed on the railing in front of her. She had the strong sense that Alex had no plans to attend the theater until Sophie dropped the name of the play they were seeing. She had never seen anyone in the Sheffield box except Alex’s aunt, Henrietta Collumber.