Prelude for a Lord (13 page)

“Don’t you realize the girl eats reputations for breakfast and spits them out as the most spurious gossip?”

“Oh, she’s harmless.”

The movements of the dance separated them, but she could tell Lord Dommick was trying very hard not to scowl at her. As they came together again, he said, “I can’t determine if you are simply naive or blind.”

She smiled and bared her teeth at him, saying through her tight jaw, “Miss Herrington-Smythe hasn’t an original thought in her brain. She only repeats what she hears with great relish, which makes her useful when I need to know why people are staring at me as if I have a peacock roosting on my head.”

His face remained stern, but the corner of his mouth twitched. If he weren’t so incensed, she was sure he might have cracked a smile. A real one, this time.

“I came to find you as soon as I heard what people were saying,” he said.

She blinked at him. “Why?”

“I have seen rumours ruin a person.” The ballroom wall suddenly fascinated him. “I thought it very unfair that your simple curiosity about your own violin would expose you to such ugliness.”

It had never occurred to her that he would be concerned for her. She had been so busy detesting him and trying not to think about him that she had assumed his heart was an empty shell.

No, that wasn’t quite true. From the assembly, she knew he cared deeply for his sister. That he had extended his concern to her . . . she was not certain what it made her feel. “I thank you, my lord.”

“You should call me Dommick since I made free with your first name in front of those harpies.” He frowned, and at first Alethea thought he was upset about that, but then she realized he frowned because he was embarrassed.

How strange. She had placed him on a pedestal in her season in London, but then later she had set him apart as a cold statue. Yet in both cases, she had made him out to be remote and unfeeling, when in reality, he was . . . human.

Alethea said, “If the rumours only involved myself, I should find it hilariously diverting, but I do regret that the rumour requires people to studiously avoid mentioning your name.”

“It’s not my name I’m worried about. Miss Herrington-Smythe was doing a bang-up job smearing yours all over the floor.”

“Oh, that was nothing to worry about. If you had not extricated me from them, I was going to say something along the lines of, ‘Ladies, your conversation has ceased to be entertaining to me, so I bid you good evening.’ ”

He finally did smile at her. It made his eyes crinkle, and laugh lines deepened in his cheeks. “Can it really be true that you do not care about the rumours?”

Alethea gave a one-shouldered shrug she had picked up from Calandra. “I have had tales told about me my entire life because of living buried in the country. One becomes a figure of curiosity.” An oddity. Fodder for ridicule.

The dance separated them and he looked confused.

“Before I even arrived in town for my season, gossip had painted me as a wild hoyden with no table manners simply because I had never been seen in society. Several servants spread tales about how I forsook a regular schedule when I was practicing my music, and so the gossip expanded to say that I was an eccentric.”

“I never heard those rumours.”

“You probably did, but did not know me at the time and so it meant nothing to you. My Aunt Ingolton was sponsoring my come out and she was appalled, but the tales were so ridiculous I could not help but be amused by it all.” Alethea grinned. “I teased my aunt by threatening to pick up my soup bowl and drink directly from it at the next dinner party.”

He looked at her as if unsure if he should be amused or appalled himself.

“I no longer credit gossip about anyone else after being the object of such imaginative tales.” She could do no less, when the tales had both amused her and hurt her, though she never revealed her pain.

He surprised her with an expression of almost . . . awe. Then his face hardened. “I dislike gossip, but dislike even more being its object.”

The dance partnered her briefly with an older gentleman who was a friend of her aunt. “Lady Alethea, how lovely you look tonight.”

“Thank you, Mr. Pollwitton.”

For the rest of the dance, Alethea and Dommick said nothing to each other, but he did seem to be less disapproving.

And why should she care about that when she didn’t care about the disapproval of Miss Herrington-Smythe?

After the dance, he led her not to her aunt but to his mother, sitting with Lord Ravenhurst and Lord Ian. Lady Morrish greeted her with a smile. “Lady Alethea, how lovely to see you. Bayard has
told me about your violin. I am relieved you have given him something to occupy his time this winter. He has had nothing to do besides be a trifle overprotective of his sister.” She nodded toward the dancers, where Miss Terralton was returning with a ginger-haired man with heavy-lidded eyes. The young lady held herself stiffly and appeared to not want to touch the man’s sleeve.

“Lady Alethea, do let me introduce my daughter, Miss Terralton, and my husband’s nephew, Mr. Morrish.”

Alethea curtseyed, but she didn’t like the way Mr. Morrish’s eyes lingered on her person as he rose from his bow. She had the childish urge to do what she used to do to the boys in her village and poke at his eyeballs with her fingers. She understood Miss Terralton’s distaste.

Mr. Morrish’s smile thrust his large front teeth directly at her. “Lady Alethea, how delightful to meet you at last. I have heard so much about your musical abilities.”

“I’m sure you have,” Alethea murmured before she could stop herself. Possibly things like
absurdly strange
and
such a curiosity
.

“What instrument do you play?” Mr. Morrish asked.

For a man who had heard so much about her, he hadn’t apparently paid a great deal of attention. She picked one of the other least acceptable instruments for an Englishwoman of the peerage. “The oboe.” Which wasn’t a lie, since Calandra had owned an oboe and taught her. Alethea simply hadn’t enjoyed playing it very much.

Mr. Morrish blinked at her in surprise. She wondered if he had even heard of an oboe.

Miss Terralton went into a paroxysm of coughing, which also served to distract Mr. Morrish. He seemed overly solicitous for Miss Terralton’s health, and Miss Terralton seemed overly annoyed by his attentions, so when the coughing subsided, Alethea cut into one of Mr. Morrish’s speeches. “Miss Terralton, I do apologize for
taking your brother for the first dance when he should have been dancing with you.”

The young woman studied Alethea with bright, intelligent eyes and picked up on Alethea’s hint. “I will forgive you if Bay dances with me now.” The young woman smiled at her older brother, who cast Alethea a glance before leading his sister away.

Except that Alethea didn’t fancy entertaining the lecherous young man, which she realized too late. Mr. Morrish asked her with lubricious gallantry, “Would you do me the honour of dancing with me, Lady Alethea?”

“I am fatigued and wish to sit this dance.” She rather abruptly dropped into the chair next to Lady Morrish. “However, I think Miss Herrington-Smythe would be most honoured by a dance with you. Or perhaps Miss Oakridge.”

“I am afraid I am unacquainted with the ladies.” He smiled as if the omission were the greatest delight of his evening. “Otherwise, I should be most pleased to bestow my hand to your friend.”

“I am acquainted with them,” Lady Morrish said. “What a good idea, Lady Alethea. Come, Mr. Morrish, I shall introduce you.” She rose and drew the man away.

Alethea gave a great exhale as soon as he was out of earshot.

“Nicely played.” Lord Ian dropped down to lounge in the chair vacated by Lady Morrish. “How is our dear Miss Herrington-Smythe? Claws recently sharpened?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, sir.”

“Ian . . . ,” Lord Ravenhurst said in a deep voice.

Lord Ian ignored his friend and turned to Alethea in a confiding manner. “In Miss Herrington-Smythe’s first season in London, at a dinner party, she sang abominably after dinner. Other gentlemen paid fulsome compliments. She said, ‘La, my performance was but mediocre. Surely Lord Ian can attest to that.’ I would not prevaricate in order to indulge her conceit, so I said, ‘Yes.’ ”

“You could have said something polite that would not be a lie.” Lord Ravenhurst frowned at his friend.

“When a woman is fishing for compliments, she must not expect to be spoiled. Later that evening she sat with a friend, happily slandering me, unaware I sat behind her, hidden by a potted palm. But then Raven put an end to my fun when he shouted, ‘Ian, come out from behind that palm!’ ”

Alethea laughed.

“And thus ended my brief infatuation with Miss Herrington—” He broke off with a roll of his eyes. “That woman needs to marry someone like Sir Harold Trout, if only to shorten her name.”

Lord Ravenhurst gave him a baleful look. “So it’ll be easier for you to gossip about her?”

“Of course.” Lord Ian raised a hand to flip his hair out of his eyes. “We shall see how disapproving you are in a week. You are the youngest unmarried marquess in a fifty-mile radius, and so her new target. Your residence has enlivened Bath for her.”

Lord Ravenhurst exhaled with a sound suspiciously like a moan.

Alethea was surprised. Her experience with men had been limited to those who were controlling, sadistic, or shallow. Yet here were two young men obviously fond of each other, able to tease the way she did with Lucy. She had seen a hint of it when Lord Ian accompanied Lord Dommick to her aunt’s home, but now she saw the depth of their bond. Almost like brothers. It went beyond their mutual interest in music, for although they were very different personalities, they accepted each other as they were. It chastised her for assuming that all men were as selfish and unfeeling as her father and brother.

“Will you three give a concert this winter?” Alethea asked.

“Yes,” Lord Ravenhurst said. “We are each writing new pieces to perform.”

Alethea clasped her hands together. “How wonderful. Will you be publishing your pieces after the concert? When I was at Trittonstone Park, I had difficulty procuring some of your music when the Quartet was still playing in London several years ago.”

“What pieces would you like? I would consider it an honour to give them to you.” Lord Ian flashed his dimples at her. Even in the depths of the country she had heard about his infamous charm.

“Did you or Lord Dommick ever publish your violin concertos? I should love to learn them.”

The smile Lord Ian gave Alethea now had a gleam as if he understood her more than she wanted him to. “Bay has never heard a woman play one of his violin pieces. I am sure it would be highly entertaining to see his reaction.”

Lord Ravenhurst glared at his friend. “Are you planning what I think you’re planning?”

“A pleasant surprise for our good friend?” Ian said.

“Define ‘pleasant.’ ”

“You haven’t heard Lady Alethea play, Raven. And her instrument is truly remarkable.”

“So, why wouldn’t you simply give her one of your violin compositions to play?”

“Oh, I will give her mine. But she would find Bay’s pieces more of a challenge.” Lord Ian leveled her a glance that dared her to join in his mischief.

And Alethea was more than willing. “If you give me a piece of violin music, I would be happy to master it.”

He grinned at her. “I’m sure you would be.”

“I know nothing, I hear nothing,” Lord Ravenhurst said with a long-suffering sigh.

Lady Morrish returned at that moment, and Lord Ian relinquished his seat. “Whom did you introduce Mr. Morrish to?” His polite curiosity hid his amusement.

“Miss Herrington-Smythe.” Lady Morrish pointed to where Mr. Morrish led the young lady down the dance. “I had hoped Miss Oakridge was available, but she already had a partner.”

“Lady Morrish, could you tell me if Miss Oakridge knows much about her grandmother’s Italian side of the family?” Alethea asked.

“Oh, I shouldn’t think she knows much, but Lady Fairmont is very knowledgeable. Sometimes I wonder if she isn’t related to every noble family in Italy.”

“I wondered if she knew any Italian nobleman with these initials.” Alethea withdrew the scrap of paper she had tucked into her glove and showed it to Lady Morrish.

The two young men peered over her shoulder at the paper. “Ah,” Lord Ian said, “you copied it, did you?”

“You will have a difficult time speaking to Lady Fairmont,” Lady Morrish said. “This ball is a sad crush.”

Lord Ravenhurst cleared his throat. “If I may, I have a dance with Lady Fairmont later and could ask her if she would spare a few minutes to speak to you.”

Alethea blinked. She couldn’t recall the last time a man had offered to do something for her. But perhaps he was merely assisting his friend. “Thank you, my lord. I would be most grateful.”

He bowed, but then added with a half smile, “I would always be at the service of any woman who prefers . . .
challenging
Bayard to fawning over him.”

Alethea smiled. “For shame, my lord. Lord Dommick and I have met thrice this winter and have yet to come to fisticuffs.”

“Alethea, there you are.” Aunt Ebena approached, and Alethea stood.

Lady Morrish said, “Mrs. Garen, how lovely to see you again. It has been many years since I last saw you in London.”

Aunt Ebena sat in Alethea’s vacated seat. “I am pleased to see
you again, Lady Dom—no, you remarried this past year, did you not?”

“I am Lady Morrish now.”

Alethea hadn’t realized until the two women started chatting that Aunt Ebena had spent every season in London with her husband for several years, until his health failed him. This had all been before Alethea’s season. Aunt Ebena was polite to Lady Morrish, who responded with friendliness. By now, Alethea was used to the fact that Aunt Ebena’s civility extended to society but not to her niece. But perhaps that was true for all families. It had been Alethea’s experience with hers, except with Lucy.

She missed her sister now as she surveyed the room. The stares and whispers and Miss Herrington-Smythe’s unkindness had only emphasized how few friends she had. Was she so odd that she could be friendly with no one? It had become clear to her within her first month in Bath that she had very little in common with the people she met. Even the young Bath misses seemed to understand the rules of society better than she did. She only understood the countryside and music, both topics that held little popular interest and only garnered her snide censure.