Free Damsel in Distress by Joan Smith Page B

must sleep sometime, like everyone else. I shall have a footman follow him when he leaves. We must get to the bottom of this. It is driving me mad.”
    Lady Georgiana said, “I must own, I rather enjoyed it, Caro. What a lot of fun I have been missing all these years by my caution.”
    “I would hardly call it fun. The fun will come when I learn who the scoundrel is and why he is following me. I do look forward to that. And now let us prepare for the evening.”
    Lady Georgiana’s guests for the theater were all either widows, or spinsters, like herself. A night at the theater was a rare festive occasion for them. Georgiana left in Caroline’s carriage shortly after dinner to pick them up.
    Newt came in a few moments later, shaking his head. “Something deuced odd going on,” he said. “I thought the fellow had let up following me. Not a sign of him all afternoon, but just now I spotted him again, loitering about at the corner of Berkeley Square like a dashed hedge bird.”
    “It is not you he is following; it is me,” she said, and told him of her afternoon’s work.
    Newton did not wipe his brow, but his “That is a relief!” gave that impression. “Thought I had figured it out. Taylor.”
    “You said you are not an dun territory.”
    “Not a coat-maker. Jack Taylor. Had a bit of a run-in with him over a game of cards. Took him for a monkey, fair and square. He wanted a chance to recoup. It was four o’clock in the morning. I could hardly prop my peepers open. I offered to meet him another time. Said he had to rusticate, pockets to let. What have you been up to, that someone is following you?”
    “I hope to shed some light on that tonight.” She outlined her plan of having the fellow followed by a footman after she returned from the theater.
    “Footman!” he exclaimed in high dudgeon. “Dash it, I shall follow him myself. Easy as chopping off a log. I’ll catch the oiler. I can run like a stag if I have to. We’ll get to the bottom of this yet.”
    She put on her mantle and they left for the theater.
     
Chapter Eight
     
    The subtitle of Mr. Sheridan’s comedy The Critic, which Caroline and Georgiana were attending that evening, was A Tragedy Rehearsed. Caroline felt the second title was more appropriate to her situation. Until the curtain opened, it seemed the major drama was occurring in her box on the upper tier. Why else did so many ladies train their opera glasses on her, and so many gentlemen raise their quizzing glasses? Those quizzing glasses could not have aided vision much, but did lend a fine condemnatory air.
    When Newt saw her distress, he said, “Won’t the gawpers stare on the other side of their faces when Dolmain joins us.”
    This finally brought a trembling smile to Caroline’s lips.
    She paid little heed to the carrying on of Dangle and Sneer, the spiteful critics. Her mind was occupied with private problems. She would ask Dolmain to accompany her out to the corridor for wine. They would laugh and joke and show the world they were the best of friends. That should silence her critics.
    When Georgiana attended the theater, it was her custom to have wine brought to the box for the first intermission, rather than leave her seat. When the curtain fell, Caroline sat, waiting for Dolmain’s arrival. Her box was not totally ignored. A few of Georgie’s cronies dropped in, and some of Caroline’s friends came to invite her to walk with them. She explained that she was waiting for a friend.
    But as the minutes dragged on and the audience began straggling back to their seats, she realized that Dolmain was not coming. He had taken her at her word that she did not need his protection — or he had changed his mind. Either way, she felt betrayed. If he had any concern for her, he would have come. He knew how she had suffered last night at Brockley’s ball.
    The second act was agony. Had it not been for Georgie, she would have left early. Newton tried manfully to amuse her by poking her