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At first there seemed danger of Lydia’s engrossing him entirely, for she was a most determined talker.

—Pride and Prejudice

KITTY WAS COMPLETELY exhausted. How had she followed Lydia around for years, chasing officers and flirting and laughing and drawing notice at every turn?

She’d only been channeling her youngest sister’s character for a couple of hours, and she’d never felt so tired.

Her throat actually hurt from the effort of so much hilarity.

Only after Augustus told her the opera was being sung in German did she release Lydia’s persona and allow herself to respond to her own silliness.

She’d been awful. Ridiculous. How could Augustus bear her company?

The thought made her want to laugh again—not loudly, not for show. Only to herself.

Goodness, she was a foolish girl. Tonight was a disaster. Every effort to behave like her boisterous sister had been a strain, both against her natural inclination and against good sense. Maybe her older sisters had been right—Lydia had taken her bold individuality too far.

At least it was too far for Kitty.

The thought was disappointing. This was supposed to be the easiest of all the sisters’ manners to adopt. After all, behaving this way had been the everyday habit of her youth. But the wild, reckless, frivolous attitude was like an ill-fitting dress.

She couldn’t do it. Not even for the rest of the operatic performance.

Augustus probably wouldn’t notice if she simply watched in silence, which was good because she had nothing else prepared. She was in no way ready to take on Lizzy’s character.

How was it possible she was running out of sisters to imitate so quickly?

Her whole life had been sisters. Far too many sisters.

Sisters in her room. In her way. In her dresses.

In her business. Growing up one of five girls, Kitty thought she would never find her way out of the flood of hatboxes and ribbons, muslin dresses and suitors, laughter and tears and silk slippers.

Now that she was hours away from any of them, she wished nothing more than to be rendered invisible once again by the overwhelming, wonderful women who had been beside her all her life.

Her laughter in check, she once again gave her attention to the stage.

A man in a great deal of face paint sang something Kitty couldn’t understand, but she kept her eyes on him.

Another joined him, and the two men sang, one high and one low.

They seemed to be yearning, both of them, for something they couldn’t have. Kitty wondered how she could know that.

She leaned toward Augustus and whispered, “What is it they want?”

He turned to smile at her, pointed to the side of the stage, and waited.

A moment later, a woman arrived. Her corner of the set was a forest, trees painted onto a backdrop and a few placed on the stage as if they’d grown there.

She didn’t interact with the singing men, didn’t even act as though she heard them.

The woman’s costume shimmered in the stage light, and she made motions as if attending to the trees. Kitty was transfixed.

“They’re both in love with her?”

Kitty knew the answer before Augustus nodded. Of course they were; she was miraculous. Her gestures, both strong and gentle, must draw every eye. Did the men know the silent and lovely woman had completely upstaged them even as they sang?

“Which one will she choose?”

Augustus tilted his head close to her ear. “You must watch and see.”

Coming from someone else, the words might have been a rebuke, but his gentle whisper seemed to hold a promise.

Kitty watched. All thought of fitting herself to one of her sisters’ personalities washed away in the majesty of the music.

The beautiful woman, appearing and disappearing from the forest section of the stage, remained silent throughout the performance.

The men seemed to age, one going to battle and one to sea, but they’d come back to the stage to repeat their longing song.

In the final scene, the woman emerged from the trees, held out her arms to the men, and began to sing at last.

Her voice poured like water from a vase, smooth and cool and lovely. Her open arms seemed to embrace the entire audience. Then, like a miracle, she held a final note and began to rise from the stage.

Kitty gasped.

There must have been ropes or wires to lift the woman, but Kitty didn’t try to see them. Instead, she let herself be transported as the glorious woman floated up to the sky. When the curtain closed, she felt tears on her cheeks.

Had the character died and been lifted to heaven? Was she a goddess, returning to her throne? Did she symbolize a star, or the moon? Kitty didn’t know, and it was all right with her to hold the questions in her mind. Simply allowing the feelings of amazement and wonder to wash over her was enough.

Only when her hands stung did she realize she was clapping loudly with the rest of the audience as she stared at the closed curtain.

“Will they open it again? Will they come back and sing some more?” Surely it was a foolish question, but Augustus didn’t laugh at her.

“I imagine by now they’ve all shed their costumes and wiped off the makeup and gone back to their regular lives.”

He must be right. Without the amazing costumes and the heavy face paint, these people must go on doing mundane, everyday things.

The thought made Kitty sad. Whatever the performers’ lives were like, they must be bland and disappointing.

How could an ordinary life hold any meaning after creating magic on stage?

Around them, the audience stood and left the theater, conversing and discussing and planning.

Kitty stayed in her seat, hands clasped to her chest, seeing through the crowd.

Seeing past the curtain. Reliving the glory of the performance she knew she’d see in her dreams that night, and maybe every night thereafter.

Only when the room had emptied entirely did Kitty come back to herself. She looked around, embarrassed that she’d been thoroughly transported.

She began a stammering apology, but Augustus shook his head. “There is nothing to be sorry about. I’m glad you enjoyed the performance so completely.”

Wiping her eyes, she nodded. Still attempting to find her voice, she whispered, “It was magnificent. I’ve never seen anything like it. I’ve never felt anything like it.”

“Whatever it is you’re feeling, I hope it’s pleasant. I must say, however, you seemed more amused by the tragedy earlier.”

Kitty didn’t understand what he meant for a moment, and then she remembered.

How she’d laughed and joked all through the first show.

How loud she’d been both in word and gesture.

How inattentive to anything but her own performative wildness.

How silly. No, that wasn’t strong enough a word. How foolish.

“I’d like to apologize for that. I was . . . not myself this evening.”

Kitty felt a rush of relief at the truth of the statement. No, this boisterous, noisy, jolly, thoughtless woman was not who Kitty wanted to be. It was not who she was.

“How about now? Are you yourself?” he asked, his whisper matching hers.

She didn’t answer. How could she, when she didn’t have the slightest idea? The woman who sat here beside Augustus in an otherwise deserted theater, feeling emotions she’d only known because of a transcendent performance, knew she was an empty vessel.

Her heart had soared during the show, but only because there wasn’t a thought in her mind. She felt transported only because she was nothing without a motivation.

“I confess I do not know. And I fear I don’t know how to know.”

Augustus looked confused at her words, and well he might be. She tried to explain.

“How does a person truly know herself when she is expected to behave in certain ways due to the circumstances? I know I ought to be joyful and entertaining at a ball, silent and respectful in church, wise and thoughtful during lessons. In company, I must be charming but not overbearing. Even if I knew who I wanted to be, I’d need to adjust for every situation and for each other person present. ”

Kitty forced herself to stop speaking. This was not a useful conversation, and it must be uncomfortable for Augustus.

He didn’t answer, and she couldn’t blame him.

She hadn’t asked a question, but her words must have surprised him.

Probably dismayed him. Surely he was thinking of a way he could escape her company.

She ought to make this easy. How would one of her sisters suggest it was time to go home?

Her mind blank, she couldn’t think of a single way any of the Bennet girls might have handled the situation she got herself into. Of course, none of them would have found herself in such a state. Each would have known herself and have acted accordingly. This was no solution for Kitty.

However much she wished to wallow in her foolishness, now was not the moment to sit in the semi-darkened theater and ponder her past and her future.

She had Augustus to consider. He sat silently, and she was afraid to see the expression he wore.

She hadn’t seen him angry, and she had no wish to.

Would it be worse if he was bored? Annoyed? Frosty and aloof?

After several long moments, she dared a look at him again.

He sat with his upper body turned toward her, a smile across his face.

She felt herself blush immediately. Was he laughing at her?

Augustus must have read her expression, because he covered his mouth. His hand did not hide the spark dancing in his deep brown eyes. And those blasted, handsome eyebrows quirked in amusement.

How was she supposed to feel now? Sorry, of course.

Remorse was the hallmark of any bad behavior.

And repentance should be simple. An apology and a return to company manners.

Or perhaps she should laugh with him. Play off her confusion as a jest. If she could produce tears on demand, maybe she would cry.

No.

None of those would do.

She must simply ask him.

“Why are you laughing?”

He shook his head, his hand still over his mouth. “Not laughing.”

“You are. Your shoulders are shaking. There’s a tear in your eye. Tell me what’s so funny.” She pulled his hand away from his face.

Before answering, he resettled himself and drew his face into a neutral expression. “You say you have to adjust for every situation and location. I recommend you spend the rest of your life in an empty performance hall. This is the best I’ve seen of you yet.”