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 a
nd 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.”