Prelude for a Lord (27 page)

If Clare performed to Lady Whittlesby’s standards, she would
feature Clare in her concert in London this spring. “Our concert will be dangerous. You of all people know that.”

“It will be dangerous for Alethea, but not for me. And I will have Lucy with me at all times.”

Lucy had paled at the comment about the danger to her sister, but she gave Clare a firm nod.

“I heard rumours while we were at the milliner’s shop today,” Clare said. “Mr. Morrish is saying terrible things about me.”

“You shouldn’t listen to the likes of Miss Herrington-Smythe—”

“It was Mama’s friends. They did not tell me to distress me, but they were concerned.”

Bayard snorted. “I’m certain they were.” The way they were distressed for Mama this past spring and raced to tell her the rumours about her son.

“I
need
to perform for Lady Whittlesby,” Clare said. “You cannot control what others say about us. Lady Whittlesby’s concert will counteract all those lies, not just about me, but about you as well. You know this.”

Silence settled amongst them. Bayard shuddered. All he had ever wanted to do was protect his family, yet no matter what he did, things worsened day by day.

“I’ll watch over Clare,” Ian said in a low voice. “You and Raven and Ord can keep watch over Lady Alethea.”

“There, you see? I shall be well protected,” Clare said.

Bayard rubbed his hand over his forehead. “Very well,” he said reluctantly.

“I take it you were not able to follow the footman?” Clare asked.

Ian related what had happened.

“Simon may not bother to return,” Bayard said. “He clearly saw us as we passed the inn.”

“Then you needn’t dismiss him,” Ian said. “One less thing to do.”

“One less servant to worry about,” Bayard said.

There was a sudden commotion from downstairs, and the sound of a familiar voice floated up to the music room.

“Is that—?” Clare headed out of the music room.

Bayard and Ian followed her down to the entrance foyer, where new, unfamiliar servants in the livery of the Marquess of Ravenhurst carried in parcels, trunks, and portmanteaus. In the midst of the chaos stood a tall woman with fine, flyaway brown hair in a loose style that framed her fine-boned face. Her lady’s maid was removing her hat, a grand affair with copious flowers and trailing ribbons. She caught sight of the three of them as they descended the staircase.

“Clare, how lovely you look, dear,” she said in her low, musical voice. “You have grown since I last saw you, I declare. And, Bay and Ian, what odd costumes you two are wearing, to be sure. Whatever have you been about?”

The Marchioness of Ravenhurst looked about her home with a happy sigh. “How lovely to be back in Bath again. Where is my son?”

Just when Bayard had been worried about the number of servants, the Marchioness of Ravenhurst had returned, with her entire retinue, earlier than expected. Simon may be one less servant to worry about, but now he had an entire houseful of strangers.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Six days later

A
lethea’s hands were sweating within her gloves, and yet her fingers were cold. She fussed with the lace at the throat of Margaret’s gown until the twelve-year-old pushed her hands away. “You’re choking me.”

Aunt Ebena entered the drawing room, regal in a dark brown gown with rich beading along the collar, cuffs, and hem. She studied Margaret in her white gown, then straightened the lace at her neckline.

She turned to Alethea and swept her eyes from the embroidery edging the hem of her green gown, up to the embroidery at her square neckline and edging her puffed sleeves. Aunt Ebena tugged at the embroidered sash just under Alethea’s bodice, smoothing it into place. “Where is your shawl?”

Alethea grabbed the shawl from the chair, a large silk affair in a lighter shade of green but with the same detailed embroidery at each end.

“Your sleeves are too loose,” Aunt Ebena said.

“I had the gown made with more ease in the shoulders so that I could play my violin.” Before now, she had practiced with her old gowns, which were already cut loosely at the shoulder. She’d never had cause to play while wearing an evening gown, and so had this one specially made.

Aunt Ebena sniffed. “It looks odd.”

“It will not be noticeable once I am playing.” Alethea added dryly, “If it pleases you, I shall contrive not to turn my back to anyone.”

“Do not be ridiculous.” Aunt Ebena turned to the door. “I believe I hear Lord Dommick at last.”

Within minutes, Dommick had entered the drawing room. He looked magnificent in evening wear, the severe black coat and white linen a stark contrast to his square jawline and raven-black hair. His shoulders seemed wider and he filled Aunt Ebena’s drawing room.

He blinked rapidly in surprise at the sight of Alethea. He had seen her in evening dress before, but perhaps her nervousness made her more wan and scrawny than normal. She resisted the urge to slouch. Calandra had scolded her, saying that it made her look gawky rather than more petite.

Dommick bowed to Aunt Ebena, but to Margaret he took her hand and bowed over it. “Miss Margaret, you look enchanting.”

Margaret giggled and gave a creditable curtsey.

“Lady Alethea.” When he took Alethea’s hand, his fingers pressed into her palm and his thumb caressed her knuckles in an intimate touch. It was as if they were alone in the room, and her breath came faster. He held her a moment longer than necessary, but Aunt Ebena did not seem to notice.

“Your violin arrived safely at the house earlier today,” Dommick said, although she already knew for he had sent a servant with the same message. “Ladies, shall we?”

Aunt Ebena led the way from the drawing room, her shoulders stiffly set.

Dommick murmured to Alethea, “Your aunt still does not approve of your participation in this concert?”

“She does not approve of my choice of instrument. She says that news of my violin playing has already caused a stir.”

“That is precisely what we desire, in order to lure the villain out.”

“Aunt Ebena says the gossip has reflected negatively upon her, although I have not heard so, even from such knowledgeable sources as Miss Herrington-Smythe and Miss Nanstone.”

They arranged themselves in their cloaks, and once outside, Alethea noted a man on horseback beside the carriage.

“My man, Ord,” Dommick said. “I thought it safest.”

As she stood and waited for Aunt Ebena to settle herself in the carriage, Alethea glanced down the street of the square and caught sight of another man on horseback before another house. A single forefoot on the horse was white, which seemed to glow in the twilight.

Aunt Ebena’s forbidding expression made Alethea choose the opposite seat, facing backward. Dommick sat beside her, and she caught the faint scent of oaks in wintertime. She breathed deeply and the tightness in her chest eased.

The streets of Bath were busy in the early evening as people travelled to and from engagements. But as the carriage turned a corner, she looked out the window and caught a flash of white.

It was the horse with the white forefoot that she had seen in the square. Her stomach clenched. “Dommick,” she whispered, “I thought I saw—”

“I saw that horse in the square.” His voice was tight. He stuck his head out the window and said something to Ord. In a moment, Ord had wheeled his horse around and headed back in a clattering of hooves.

Alethea tried to stick her own head out the window to look behind them, but Aunt Ebena scolded, “Alethea, your hair will become a mass of tangles.”

“What’s amiss?” Margaret sounded excited. “Is it bandits?”

“Do not be absurd,” Aunt Ebena said.

She wasn’t certain how long she sat in the carriage, jostled to and fro while her insides churned. She could sense the tension radiating from Dommick’s stiff limbs.

Then came the drumming of horse’s hooves. Heedless of
his
hair, Dommick looked outside the coach. Ord appeared in the carriage window and shook his head. Where Dommick’s legs touched her skirts, Alethea felt his muscles relax.

“I am overly apprehensive about tonight, I daresay,” she said.

“Yes, be sure you do not make a glaring mistake,” Aunt Ebena sniped.

Alethea’s pulse beat rapidly at the base of her throat. However, she felt Dommick’s hand reach for hers under the cover of her cloak.

They soon arrived at the Ravenhursts’ home on the Crescent, ablaze with lights. It was too soon for guests to arrive, and servants bustled about with last-minute preparations—carrying a chair, or a vase of flowers, or with a dustcloth in hand. Lady Ravenhurst stood in the entrance foyer directing the servants, and she smiled as they entered.

“Mrs. Garen, Miss Garen, thank you for arriving early. Please forgive the disorder. We shall have a cozy tea amongst ourselves while the young people practice. A maid will escort you to Lady Morrish in the sitting room, for the drawing room is not yet fit to be seen, I assure you. I shall join you in a trice, after I have organized these flowers.” She bent to Margaret. “Cook has made her very best cakes for us tonight.”

Margaret grinned, displaying her protruding front tooth that made her look as angelic as she was not.

“Lady Alethea, we are still at sixes and sevens, as you can see. Clare, Raven, and Ian are awaiting you in the music room.”

Dommick led Alethea up the staircase, and Lady Ravenhurst called, “I have had a cold collation laid out for you. Do be sure to eat something.”

“I couldn’t eat a crumb,” Alethea said in an undertone.

“We shall practice, and that will settle your nerves. It is always that way with me before a performance.”

“You? But you have performed in numerous concerts.”

He shrugged. “Ian and Raven are very cool about it, but David and I were always pacing.”

“I shall need new handkerchiefs. I shredded three of them this afternoon alone.”

They had reached the closed music room door, and she could hear the pianoforte. Rather than opening the door, Dommick touched her elbow and smiled at her, and a bolt of something more radiant than nervousness coursed from her head to her toes. He reached into his coat and withdrew a folded piece of white linen, then grasped her hand and pressed it to her. “I am sure my handkerchief will be slightly sturdier than your lace ones.”

Even through their gloves, his fingers were warm and strong. She should thank him and withdraw her hand, but she could not. His touch and his nearness caused a fluttering and dancing in her ribcage.

He swallowed, and his dark eyes gleamed with something that made her pulse leap.

Then suddenly he was leaning away from her, drawing in a shaky breath that matched her own. He turned and opened the door.

Alethea took a second to compose herself before following him into the room. He was a man. She must always remember he was a man. The men in her life who had held closest ties to her had only
hurt her. She ought not to trust any of them, no matter how handsome, no matter how talented and arrogant and kind and distant.

The music room had already been prepared for the evening’s entertainment. Chairs were set up for the guests, with the musicians’ seats ranged around the pianoforte, their music stands set before them. Later, the grand double doors that led from the drawing room would be opened so guests could enter the music room and arrange themselves to listen.

Clare left the pianoforte and clasped Alethea’s hands. “I can’t stop shaking.”

“Keep your anxiety to yourself, for I have ample enough of my own.”

“You are both escalating your hysteria,” Lord Ian drawled. “You have performed at evening parties. This is nothing different.”

For Clare’s sake, Alethea smiled. “You are correct.”

“Shall we begin?” Lord Ravenhurst sat with his violoncello.

They practiced the pieces to be performed—to start, the Quartet with Alethea would play a composition each by Dommick, Lord Ian, and Lord Ravenhurst. After a short break, Clare would play two of Captain Enlow’s older pianoforte pieces, and then a duet between Clare and Ian on violin. Lastly, Alethea and the gentlemen would play two of their most popular concertos from their years in London.

As she played, Alethea’s hands and fingers remembered the music, but the buzzing in her head and the churning in her stomach seemed to worsen as the hour drew near.

As they concluded, Clare said to Alethea, “The embroidery on your sleeve is awry.”

She saw the trailing end of a thread on the backside of her left sleeve. “I shall go to the cloak room to have a maid attend to it.”

She exited through a small door into the connected library, which was where the performers would congregate. Lady Ravenhurst had
sent up a tray of cold meats, but the smell made Alethea’s stomach heave. She hurried out to the hallway. She saw, farther down, guests already making their way into the drawing room, greeting Lady Ravenhurst.

Alethea turned the corner and entered the small room set apart for the ladies, with mirrors, small dressing tables, and combs and cosmetics set out for any emergency. The maid there looked at her embroidery. “The pulled thread has caused the sleeve to pucker. I shall need to slip the shoulder off to fix it, milady.”