《The Duke And His Four Wards》Chapter 9.3 (Part 1)

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The Fleming sisters attended the opera later that week. It was the first time they had been inside the ornate structure that was the Opera House; their progress to the box organized for them by their guardian was perforce slow as they gazed about them with interest. Once inside the box itself, in a perfect position in the first tier, their attention was quickly claimed by their fellow opera-goers. The pit below was a teeming sea of heads; the stylish crops of the fashionable young men who took perverse delight in rubbing shoulders with the masses bobbed amid the unkempt locks of the hoi polloi. But it was upon the occupants of the other boxes that the Flemings' principal interest focused. These quickly filled as the time for the curtain to rise approached. All four were absorbed in nodding and waving to friends and acquaintances as the lights went out.

The first act consisted of a short piece by a little-known Italian composer, as the prelude to the opera itself, which would fill the second and third acts, before another short piece ended the performance. Margaret sat, happily absorbed in the spectacle, beside and slightly in from of her guardian. She was blissfully content. She had merely made a comment to Felix a week before that she would like to visit the opera. Two days later, he had arranged it all. Now she sat, superbly elegant in a silver satin slip overlaid with bronze lace, and rebelled in the music, conscious, despite her preoccupation, of the warmth of the Duke of Twyford's blue gaze on her bare shoulders.

Felix watched her delight with satisfaction. He had long ago ceased to try to analyze his reactions to Margaret Fleming; he was besotted and knew it. Her happiness had somehow become his happiness; in his view, nothing else mattered. As he watched, she turned and smiled, a smile of genuine joy. It was, he felt, all the thanks he required for the effort organizing such a large box at short notice had entailed. He returned her smile, his own lazily sensual. For a moment, their eyes locked. Then, blushing, Margaret turned back to the stage.

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Felix had little real interest in the performance, his past experiences having had more to do with the singer than the song. He allowed his gaze to move past Margaret to dwell on her eldest half-sister. He had not yet fathomed exactly what Sophia's ambition was, yet felt sure it was not as simple as it appeared. The notion that any Fleming would meekly accept unweeded solitude as her lit was hard to swallow. As Sophia sat by Margaret's side, dramatic as ever in a gown of deepest green, the light from the stage lit her face. Her troubles had left no mark in the classical lines of brow and cheek but the peculiar light revealed more clearly that daylight the underlying determination in the set of the delicate mouth and chin. Felix's lips curved in a wry grin. He doubted that Daniel had heard the last of Sophia Fleming, whatever the outcome of his self-imposed exile.

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