Read Online Beyond Innocence by Emma Holly - Free Book Online

glad.
    * * *
    Freddie, Florence , andthe duchess stood in a courtyard behind a big Palladian building on Piccadilly, waiting for Edward to arrive. For the last four years, this brown and white mansion had housed the
Royal
Academy
of the Arts. According to Aunt Hypatia, the private viewing of the spring show, for which they had come, was the first great event of the Season. The look of the crowd upheld her claim. All around them, the cream of London society filed slowly towards the entrance, their clothes exquisite, their demeanor impossibly proud. Always an object of attention, the duchess nodded at many who passed, all of whom seemed pleased to be acknowledged. Surprisingly, many nodded at Florence as well. Florence did her best to smile and bow, but was far too agitated to attempt more greeting than that. To her relief, she did not see the Misses Wainwright.
    "Don't fidget," said Aunt Hypatia, softening the order with a pat.
    Florence barely heard her. She did not know if she was glad or sorry Edward had chosen to see the show. The duchess could use his arm, of course, and Freddie was always happy to have him, but Florence was finding Edward's company increasingly oppressive to her nerves. She could not seem to catch her breath when he was near. If he should chance to touch her, her hands would begin to
shake. The mere sight of his shoulders in one of his conservative black coats caused a peculiar
palpitation of her heart.
    Today, his top hat did her in. It was perched with perfect straightness on his head, its gleam no richer than that of his wavy hair, which was clipped so close to his neck the locks didn't dare curl over his collar. What drove a man to treat his hair as if it were in danger of running wild? And what, she wondered, would happen if he let it?
    The question was nonsensical, of course, and the answer not her concern. Determined not to pursue it, she folded her hands at her waist and composed herself to greet him.
    He met them with his usual stiff bow and frown, a frown that deepened as he took in her long-waisted apricot gown. She wore one of her new French corsets beneath it, laced today a little tighter than she was used to. The color was flattering as was the ecru lace that spilled from its neck and sleeves. The bustle was modest, the sweep of the polonaise no more extravagant than any woman her age might
wear. Her hat was a marvel of simplicity: a tilted satin chip with a single white feather in its brim, so
small it perched atop her upswept hair like a saucer to a teacup. Freddie had gone into raptures when
he saw her; said she'd outshine anything the painters could devise. And Freddie knew fashion. Because
of this, Florence refused to believe Edward was frowning at her outfit.
    Which meant he had to be frowning at her.
    " Florence ," he said, no more than that, and turned to escort his aunt.
    The deflation she felt once his eyes had left her was completely inexplicable.
    "Are you sure he wanted to come?" she whispered to Freddie as they, and the rest of the crowd, crept up the double staircase in the hall. "You didn't bully him into it, did you?"
    "Me?" Freddie's eyes widened in surprise. "Lord, no. Couldn't keep him away. Edward's a true patron of the arts. You watch. Everyone else will be gossiping about who's wearing what and who's wooing whom and old Edward will be looking at the pictures."
    Freddie, apparently, belonged to the gossiping set. She lost him to a group of laughing men as soon as they entered the hall. He waved at her to join him but she didn't want to go, not only because his companions looked a trifle fast, but because she wanted to see the show. This, to her, was the lure of London . Not parties, not cartes de visites, but plunging into the heart of art and culture. When she couldn't spot Edward or the duchess, she resigned herself to touring alone.
    Happily, no one paid the least attention as she wandered from room to room. Each wall took a good deal of study, for the