step on to the stage and be a part of it, to raise her voice with the others in the beautiful music they created.
Instead, a footman brought in some cakes and fruit and other delicacies.
‘At intermission one often calls upon others in other boxes,’ Tannerton told her. ‘But I have asked the footman to stand outside and explain we do not wish to be disturbed.’
That was kind of him. The last thing she wanted was to have the magic of the performance interrupted by curious people come to see who sat next to the marquess. She was desperately trying to hold on to the music, replaying it in her head, silently singing, wishing she could sound like those wonderful performers.
They took refreshment around a small table. Flynn, sitting directly opposite Rose, poured more champagne.
‘How do you like the performance, Miss Green?’ Tannerton asked.
Katy grinned. ‘It is fun, is it not? Don Giovanni is a clever rogue. I hope he escapes.’
‘We shall see,’ said Tanner, eyes crinkling into a smile.
Tanner turned to Rose. ‘And you, Miss O’Keefe. What do you think of it?’
Rose looked up to see Flynn watching her. He quickly averted his eyes. She could barely speak. Words were not enough to convey what she felt. ‘I have never heard such singing,’ she said reverently. ‘I like it very much.’
‘Then I am happy.’ Tannerton grinned boyishly. ‘I have pleased you both.’
The second half of the opera was every bit as magical. Rose felt the music inside her. She was transported by its beauty, affected by its emotion, and invigorated by possibilities she had not known existed. To sing with such power and feeling. She could hardly wait to try to mimic their sound.
Too soon it was over, the music making its last crescendo. Rose felt as if her soul had been dropped from a great height back into her own body. She applauded with all the energy she possessed.
When the performers took their final bow, the only sounds that could be heard were the scuffling feet and muffled voices of people leaving the theatre.
Lord Tannerton put his hand on her arm. She had forgotten him, forgotten her purpose for being there.
‘Time to go, Miss O’Keefe,’ he said.
Chapter Seven
Flynn watched Tanner touch Rose’s arm. His own hand tingled, as if it were he, not Tanner, who touched her. He stretched and flexed his fingers, trying to dispel the illusion, but it did no good, because Tanner touched her again, escorting her out of the box on his arm. He had known it would be difficult to see her with Tanner. He had just not anticipated how difficult.
There was no doubt in Flynn’s mind that he’d chosen well when he’d picked King’s Theatre as the place for Tanner to meet Rose. Tanner had grumbled—the man hated opera—but Flynn knew that this place would be more precious to Rose than a whole cask of emerald rings. She would never forget the man who gave her King’s Theatre.
Flynn ought to be congratulating himself all round.
But every time Tanner had looked at Rose or leaned towards her or spoke to her it was like daggers were being thrust into Flynn’s flesh. He was surprised that the champagne he’d consumed had not spurted out of him like from a water skin poked with holes.
They found Tanner’s carriage among the line of vehicles outside. Tanner lifted Rose into it, holding her by the waist. He assisted Katy in the same manner. Flynn was the last inside, taking his seat next to Katy. His gaze met Rose’s, and she smiled, gratitude shining in her eyes.
He would not regret giving her this evening, no matter that it signified the loss of a brief, fanciful, mad dream.
The carriage made the short trip to Bennet Street in good time. As it pulled up in front of the gaming-house, Katy said, ‘You must all come up for some supper. Madame Bisou has arranged a nice treat.’
‘But—’ Rose glared at Flynn.
He shook his head. He knew nothing of this.
Tanner gave the answer, agreeable as always. ‘Of course we will. Very generous of the madame. ‘
So they all entered Madame Bisou’s house and were escorted to a private parlour. The Madame was there to greet them.
‘Good to see you, chérie.’ She offered her cheek for Tanner to kiss. ‘You have not favoured us with your presence in an age.’
‘That is so.’ He smiled apologetically. ‘I must rectify that, mustn’t I?’
Like two old friends, Tanner chatted with Madame Bisou while she ushered the others into chairs, joining them herself.
They were served cold meats and fruits and cakes and more wine. Tanner began to mellow from the drink.
‘And what do you think of our Rose?’ Madame Bisou asked him.
Rose stared at her plate, a blush staining her cheeks.
Tanner gazed at her. ‘I think she is as lovely as her name.’
The words twisted in Flynn’s gut.
Tanner continued to gaze at Rose in frank admiration. ‘Do you sing at Vauxhall tomorrow night?’ he asked. He gestured to the clock on the mantel. Dawn was not long away. ‘Tonight, I mean.’
‘I do, sir,’ she responded in a quiet voice.
Tanner continued, ‘Would you do me the honor of sharing a meal with me at the gardens tomorrow? We can arrange something, can we not, Flynn?’
Flynn nodded. He could arrange whatever Lord Tannerton wished. That was his job.
Rose glanced at Flynn with a silent panic he did not comprehend. She turned to Tanner. ‘I hope you will not mind, sir, if we include the others present in that invitation? Miss Green, Mr Flynn and Madame Bisou?’
Flynn admired her skill in turning the invitation around, making it appear as if chiding Tanner for poor manners. Her reticence towards Tanner still bewildered him, however. Now that she’d met him, she could have no further objection to him.
Flynn noticed Katy flashing her eyes at Rose. Apparently Katy did not understand such behaviour any better than he did. Rose gave her a plaintive look in return.
Tanner’s face showed dismay, but he answered in his typical affable tone. ‘They shall be included if you wish it.’
Katy rolled her eyes.
Madame Bisou put a hand on Tanner’s arm. ‘Sweet of you to include me, chérie, but I have a business to attend to.’ She stood. ‘In fact, I must check on the gaming room now. I wish I could accept your invitation.’ She smiled at Rose. ‘I miss hearing our Rose sing.’
The connection between Rose and this mistress of a gaming hell was not lost on Flynn. Rose must not always have been under her father’s thumb. The whole thing was a mystery,
