As it happened, Frank was miserable.
He should have been happy. He’d gotten his entire orchestra good work for the night at the Vauxhall re-enactment of the Battle of Waterloo. After the parades but before the fireworks, he’d secured one of the smaller stages to put on a preview of his new show to an audience far larger than any he could hope to attract in Shoreditch. The night was warm, clear, and beautiful. They would perform under the stars for thousands of people, and that was a major victory.
Except that Andie wasn’t there.
Frank changed his clothes in a small tent set aside for the orchestra. He pulled off the red jacket they’d asked him to wear while conducting and put on his new costume. Though his “character” was much like the undertaker figure he played in his Phantasmagoria, for this one, he’d taken it one step further and played Death, the nemesis to Andie’s Love. Eventually, she was meant to triumph over him and end the show with her foot on his chest—he’d rather been looking forward to that part—but without her here, he was just some tosser dressed in black.
His best chance at love, and he’d ruined it.
Putting on his hat, he checked in with the orchestra and had a last look to be sure everything was where it was meant to be. They didn’t have anyone who could sing Andie’s part, so he was going to end it himself. He preferred to leave the audience on a laugh, but there was nothing they could do about that at this point. He’d depress the crowd, take off his makeup, and go back to Shoreditch.
He just hoped Andie was all right.
She’d wanted it as much as he had, he knew it, but that didn’t mean it was a good idea. Perhaps she had come to her senses. He hadn’t heard from her all week, and now he likely never would.
Being a shortened version of the show, Frank introduced himself as Death, picking up the thread of the story between three acts. The idea was to follow him through different scenes, loosely tied together. Polly and James did a comedic song and dance about the stages of courtship. Alessandra and Cosimo played an abridged tarantella for Nyra and Diana to dance to, and then Frank would be on.
He and Andie were supposed to argue between the acts over who got to keep which performers. The full show was twelve acts, and it would have been a riot.
Would have been, except now he’d probably have to scrap or rewrite the entire thing.
Frank watched the audience from behind the curtain. It was a good crowd tonight. Quiet, if polite. They didn’t really know what to do with him. He didn’t know either. He wished he could enjoy it more, but his heart wasn’t in it. When it was time for him to go on himself, it was all he could do to make himself smile.
Until he saw Lulu sitting in the front row. She always made him smile.
Next to her, however, was an unexpected face. Unless he was very much mistaken, that was Madame Archambault sitting beside—yes, that was Alexandre. Frowning, Frank crossed the stage. Perhaps Alexandre had changed his mind about not wanting to shoot him. Couldn’t blame him, really. If he didn’t, Will might yet do the honors himself.
Frank skipped the small talk tonight. He sat behind the piano and started to play.
“Love is patient, but it’s unkind. It’ll break your heart and rob you blind. She’ll hold you close and drive you mad, make you want everything you never had…”
He improvised a little on the piano, singing through verses that felt spectacularly pointless now that he didn’t have anyone to sing with. He felt it, though. He felt it more than ever, and it was all he could do to keep the shake out of his voice as he reached the end of the final verse.
An unexpected voice came from the other side of the stage. “Before you go—don’t yet depart! You know Love has a woman’s heart…”
Frank stopped playing, stunned into stillness. Andie crossed the stage before him, looking like his first vision of the Queen of Night in a gown of navy-blue velvet and stars. She raised her eyebrows as if asking if she could continue.
He picked up the melody and nodded enthusiastically.
Andie faced the crowd and projected. “Since life, long last, began at sea, they cry, they beg, ‘move Heaven for me!’” She turned to Frank, growing serious. “But never once has anyone heard, my own lament, a single word.”
He stopped breathing as she drew closer, his heart in his throat.
Andie stopped not a yard away from him, holding his gaze. “The sun itself, the skies of blue, I’d give it all, Frank, to be with you.” Sotto voce, she added with a smile, “And Lulu.”
The seconds after she finished were quiet. Too quiet. Once again, all the noise in his head had stopped. All that remained was a single thought.
She came back to me.
Frank stood so quickly he almost knocked the piano bench over. He reached for her hands, but she wound her arms around his shoulders and kissed him.
Andromeda Archambault had made her decision and didn’t care who knew it. Two thousand people saw it, many of them members of the ton, and all two thousand leapt to their feet and cheered.
“Marry me,” he said when they finally pulled apart. “I can’t live without you. I love you, Andie.”
Andie smiled against his lips. “I asked you first.”
The End