Lady Adventuress 02 - The Education of Lord Hartley (17 page)

“Then how can I be of assistance?”

She hesitated, then forced herself to say the words. This was no time to be foolish or shy. “I have come to ask a favour…”

Hart inclined his head. “I see. You know that I am at your service, as always.”

She smiled tightly, suspecting that he would not think that once he heard her request.

“If I recall correctly, you know the elusive Miss Cartwell – the celebrated musician. I think I remember you discussing her with my brother.”

“Ah, yes. Frederick was quite taken with Frances in the autumn Season. Her father was a great friend of my mother’s,” Hart replied, visibly surprised that Maggie had sought him out at home merely to ask after a childhood friend.

Relief flooded through Maggie. What incredibly good fortune. She released a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding.

It would be all right, after all.

“Then you could introduce us?”

“I expect so. She is here in Paris. But why do you wish to meet Miss Cartwell? You are not a musici… I see. It’s your composer, isn’t it?”

Maggie wasn’t surprised at the dislike with which Hart spoke of Sir Lucian, but she pressed on regardless.

A part of her thrilled at his obvious jealousy – another part was irritated. What reason had Hart for such animosity? Sir Lucian had been so very good to her, after all. And the very picture of friendly good-breeding to Hart. But he could not conduct his concert without Miss Cartwell.

She didn’t have the time to convince Hart to help the man in spite of Hart’s obvious contempt, and his predictably obstinate nature.

There was one way to secure Hart’s help beyond any doubt.

It would be a very high price to pay. Sir Lucian would never ask it of her if he knew.

That
was why she would do it – because he was too good-natured and would never bring himself to request such a sacrifice from her. And he had become a very cherished friend. Someone who took a risk on a dream, which now hung in the balance. If there was one lesson she had learned during her time in Paris, from Cecile, from Sir Lucian and even from Hart’s aunt, it was that dreams were important.

Terribly, incredibly important, and almost deadly when crushed. And she knew a thing or two about crushed dreams from her own experience. She would not sit back and let Sir Lucian’s aspirations be destroyed.

She kept her voice firm. “Yes, Sir Lucian is in need of a harpsichordist for the concert. His keyboardist has broken a wrist and there is no one else whose skill is equal to learning the music before the concert. But I am told that Miss Cartwell is reclusive and does not like to perform. They say she rarely admits visitors.”

Hart was still frowning. “Frances does not care for public attention. It is a personal preference. But that does not satisfy you, I can see. And I know by now that you never give up once you have made up your mind. Am I then to have more plague on the subject?”

“Oh, Hart! I know very well that she insists on her seclusion. But this time, she must be persuaded to make an appearance. Please help me in this. I…I will agree to go back with you, if you do.”

She watched his face anxiously, but apart from a flicker in his gaze, he remained unmoving, as though carved from stone.

“You would make this sacrifice for him, then?”

“Yes.”

She detected a strong tension in his voice and in his person. What was the matter? Would he turn her down regardless? And why did she think that she’d glimpsed disappointment in his eyes?

Hart appeared to consider her offer, then gave a tight nod. “Very well. I shall speak to Miss Cartwell, though I can make no promises in this matter.”

Maggie looked into his eyes. “Thank you. That means more to me than I can say.”

Maggie did not know Miss Cartwell, but she knew that Hart wouldn’t let her down.

He could always be relied upon to set things to rights.

As she looked her fill on his dear face, she was filled with all the love she felt for him. How she wished he would return her love! More than anything…

All those girlish daydreams of hers seemed ridiculous now, compared to the real Hart, who sat opposite her in his drawing room and watched her so gravely.

“Thank you,” she repeated, hoping he knew the true depth of her feeling from that single phrase.

“It is a trifle,” said the marquess simply.

But there it was again, that peculiar disappointment, and Maggie could not guess the cause of it. Had she done something to let him down? After all, had she not just agreed to do exactly as he had wished all along? To let him take her home to her father?

Yet he was not jubilant, not a little pleased or smug. When they’d been children, he had taken smug pleasure in every victory. Now, if anything, he just seemed tired. She tried to find a trace of the boy he had been in the lines of his face, but soon gave up.

Maggie tried not to think of her promise. The thought of giving up this new freedom left her reeling and deeply heart-sick – but it was for a just cause. She had
that
, at least, to comfort her. She wondered how she would break the news to Cecile.

The shop had only just begun to conquer Paris, and she would miss all the excitement that would soon follow. It was unlikely she would have such a chance again. To live as her heart dictated – that was a freedom indeed. Maggie berated herself for being selfish: it was a grand gift that she had had a chance to experience such freedom at all. There were many who would never be so fortunate.

At least it was unlikely that cousin Kingsley would wish to marry her now. He was far too vain to swallow such an insult as a runaway bride. But eventually her father would find her another match. She had no illusions in that regard – there was always some gentleman in want of a dowry. And Maggie knew how unlikely it was that her future husband would let her design dresses for a
modiste
or visit Paris on a whim.

“I shall be ready to leave after the concert, then. I should like to see it before I depart.”

Hart was still looking at her as though trying to solve a puzzle. “That is acceptable.”

*

When Miss Frances Cartwell stepped into the main auditorium of the
Comedie
in the company of Madame la Baronne, Sir Lucian’s face registered disbelief and shock, promptly followed by the most tangible delight Maggie had ever seen. Her heart glowed with warmth at seeing the composer so happy.

She was certain that her promise to Hart had been entirely worth it.

Looking rather stupefied, the baronet came forward to welcome Miss Cartwell to the
Comedie
. Word spread quickly, and while Monsieur Parny and several other musicians gaped at the new arrival with undignified astonishment, more were already appearing in the auditorium.

“I suspect that you have worked a miracle – I cannot begin to express my gratitude for what you have done,” Sir Lucian said quietly to Maggie while his director of music stepped up to add his own greetings. “I don’t know how you did it, but you are a veritable treasure.”

She smiled at him, her turmoil momentarily forgotten in light of his joy. “Think nothing of it! It was no trouble. That is what friends are for, Sir Lucian.”

“Then you are the very paragon of friendship.”

Maggie laughed and waved him away. “Oh, come now! You’ll put me quite to the blush. Now, I think you’d better take Miss Cartwell to your score. I am very curious to hear the goddess of the keyboards play and I’m sure you must be all eagerness to show her the music.”

The pianist had turned up at Maggie’s door early that morning accompanied by Marie-Josette. The countess was all aglow with delight at Maggie’s plan to save the concert.

“It is so very clever of you to have thought of it. When it comes to music, Frances has no equal,” she declared the minute she set eyes on Maggie. Then she proceeded to introduce the two young women, convinced that they would be the best of friends.

Miss Cartwell, Maggie found, was a very mild-mannered, shy young lady. She was quiet and polite to a fault – not at all the grand diva Maggie had expected from the way everyone had spoken of her brilliance and talent. She had long, slender pianist’s fingers and a pretty face that would have been striking if she were more animated in her conversation. Unlike Maggie, who had always been of an outgoing temperament, Miss Cartwell spoke very little.

Yet the moment Miss Cartwell sat down at the harpsichord, a wondrous transformation happened before their eyes. Her face took on a look of poignant feeling in place of its unfailing serenity as her fingers easily executed the complex runs that made the first movement so difficult to play. There was not a sound to be heard from the spellbound audience. It was as though she had become a conduit for the music, in all its beauty.

Maggie stayed long enough to hear the lady play through the first few pages of the score as even more musicians crowded into the auditorium to gaze at this wonder.

She was sure of it now – sure as she had been about coming to Paris. She had done the right thing.

If what she’d heard was anything to go by, the combined genius of Sir Lucian’s composition and Miss Cartwell’s playing would make the concert a phenomenal success. It could be nothing less.

Just as she was leaving the room, some of the other musicians took up their places and joined in. The music danced and shimmered through the vast chamber, setting hearts on fire. Maggie watched as her friend took up the conductor’s baton.

She left him to it with a smile on her face.

*

With Madame Galois’s gown nearing completion, Maggie and Cecile were much too preoccupied to have a lot of opportunity to speak. Sewing as quickly as they’d had to, to have the gown finished on time, it was a wonder that neither of them had turned their fingers into pincushions.

Cecile was full of the glow of impeding success. Seeing this, Maggie found herself unable to tell her oldest friend that she had promised to return to London after the concert.

Maggie’s mind was occupied with thinking of the best way to break this news and of wondering what awaited her in England. The thought of months spent all alone at Chenefelt Park was utterly unbearable.

Frequently, she reminded herself of the reason why she had made her promise.

She was only grateful that Cecile was far too busy to notice her preoccupation.

*

When the day of the symphony was upon them at last, Maggie felt herself grow more and more nervous by the hour.

Madame Gallois’s gown was finished and ready to be collected that evening – and then there was the concert to attend! And goodbyes to say.

She spent the morning fussing over the dinner gown, getting up to check the trim or the stitching, until Cecile complained that Maggie was making her dizzy. When Madame Galois’s footman came by to pick up the gown, it was almost a relief – until they remembered that they had yet to hear the grand lady’s final judgement on the matter.

Maggie tried to throw herself into work, but to her frustration,
Maison Finette
closed early that day, in light of the evening’s entertainment. Cecile knew her too well.

At home, she finally sat herself down to create some new fashion plates, furiously sketching out collars, hems and matching capes. Yet, try as she might, all of them came out completely dire.

Sheet after sheet ended up in the fire, until Cecile seemed to have had enough of that too and came over to sit next to Maggie, gently taking away her quill.

“You had better stop that, or the household shall run out of paper. Whatever is the matter? You are obviously very distressed. Has something happened, or are you merely fretting over the dinner gown?”

Maggie tried to think up a likely excuse, but the words would not come. She settled for a half-truth instead. “The gown, yes, but even more so the concert.”

“You’ve nothing to fret about on
that
head. Why, Miss Cartwell is the finest musician in Europe. If she does not do justice to Sir Lucian’s music, then no one ever will.”

“Yes, you are right, of course.”

“I am sure of it. And you shall be resplendent. The silver gown will be perfect for a night at the
Comedie
. It will look a sight against all the gilding and red plush. And you will have the sheer bandeau for your hair. I cannot wait to see it! You’ll look like the Queen of the Night. I am sure Sir Lucian will be smitten, for one.” Here, Cecile gave her friend a shrewd look, as if measuring her reaction.

Maggie thought of Hart and her eyes filled up with unshed tears despite herself. Sometimes, the unfairness of it all was just too much.

“But what is wrong, Maggie? Does he not care for Mozart?”

“It isn’t that. Oh, Cecile. You know as well as I that Sir Lucian does not love me, nor I him, because my affection belongs in its entirety to Lord Hartley.”

“Ah.” Ceclie smiled gently. “I do know. But I was wondering if you had forgotten and got yourself tangled in a romantic mess. You have been rather melancholy of late, and all since Sir Lucian lost his harpichordist.”

“Forgotten? No indeed. How could I? I never stopped loving Hart. Not for a moment. But I am certain that he can not return my love – he only wants to take me back to England. And… And I promised him that I would go, the day Sir Lucian’s musician got injured.”