“I told him. I stood up from my stool, held his hard gaze, and specifically delineated how they should fallow the hundred acres to the north, plant wheat on the Richmond’s tenancy, and so on.” He looked at her, pride glowing. “I passed the test. For the next two years, until I went to Oxford, and then whenever I was home, I worked with him as much as possible.”
He paused, expression serious as he continued to gaze at her. When he spoke, it was with a powerful and steady timbre rarely heard. “Music is one of my passions, a great one to be sure, but no more than my love for our ancestral home. I
will
be an excellent Master of Whistlenell Park and Lord Essenton when the time comes, Miss Darcy. My father has no reason to fear that I will not make him, and all my ancestors, proud.”
“So… you resent that he does not trust you? That after all you have shown him, after all the passion of your convictions, he doubts you?”
Sebastian sighed, nodding and finally looking away. “Yes, I suppose that is the crux of it. That, I confess, is where my bitterness lies. But I have accepted that I cannot convince him at this time, or probably ever. I could not choose to relinquish my dream of studying music and pursuing where that path leads me in favor of pleasing my father. That choice would surely lead to my misery. Thus I pray daily to the Almighty that time shall be in my favor, and I will be able to prove my trustworthiness and capability
after
fulfilling my personal satisfaction. I hope that does not make me sound horribly selfish?”
She shook her head slowly. “No. No, not at all. It is wise to know who we are and follow the path of fulfillment. One cannot please everyone anyway and will not be able to please anyone if unhappy.” She thought of her brother, marrying Elizabeth who was considered unworthy by so many yet brought him immeasurable joy.
“Thank you. You are quite sensible, Miss Darcy, and for some reason your approval and understanding is important to me.” He stared into her eyes, another interlude of silent communication passing between them. Sebastian flushed at his private confession, looking away as he continued, “For now, my father is staying quiet. I suppose the wedding and our compromise are mollifying him.”
“Which compromise?”
“That I will assume my title as Viscount Nell while here and return home after a year or two at the Conservatoire to marry and take my place on the estate.”
“He is anxious for you to marry then. Does he have a lady in mind?”
Sebastian nodded, still staring into space and not catching the odd flatness to the question. “Yes. I have resisted, but if he had his way we would already be wed. It is strange, really, since he did not marry my mother until well into his third decade. Rumor has it he enthusiastically enjoyed his bachelor years and was not concerned with thoughts of matrimony and an heir, even after becoming Lord Essenton. For another five years he continued his wild ways, yet he all but forced me to be shackled ere I finished Oxford!”
“Well, perhaps he saw the error of his choices and simply desires you not make those mistakes and find happiness as he did.”
Sebastian barked a harsh laugh and returned his gaze to Georgiana. “How lovely it would be if that were the truth of it, Miss Darcy. My father and I probably have only one trait in common and that is not to rush into marriage, although our reasons for delay are different.”
“What of your compromise?”
“A compromise is not a promise. There is always room to wiggle around. Lord Nell I shall be, and in a few years I will return home, and then I can deal with the properly aristocratic, titled lady he selects for me! Now”—he sat up abruptly, slapping his palms against his thighs—“we are becoming entirely too serious and stuffy. Would you care to accompany me in a walk to the church of Saint-Louis-en-l’Île? I hear it is quite remarkable but have never taken the time to view it.”
“Well, then I shall have the upper hand in this adventure at least, as I have toured through the grounds and structure three times since arriving!”
He bowed with a flourish. “Excellent! I shall place myself into your capable hands, Miss Darcy.”
They strolled casually along the Rue Saint-Louis-en-l’Île toward the classic seventeenth-century church dedicated to King Louis IX, mingling with the varied pedestrians attending to their pursuits. They chatted amiably, Georgiana pointing to the occasional architectural facet or historical intrigue. Sebastian was amused at her role as cicerone, knowing from their talks that she was no more fascinated by history and architecture than he was.
He paused at one point, indicating a blandly carved archway of boring brown stone over a servant’s entrance to one townhouse, asking in a serious tone, “Now tell me, Miss Darcy, in your professional expertise, would this be a Baroque-style portal, or is it more Gothic?”
“Tease! Be thankful you are with me and not my brother. He would ponder your query, launching into a twenty-minute dissertation on the various differences between the two, and would then inform you that this is a perfect example of uniformed simplicity as well as probably giving the history of stonecutting and where this particular rock hailed from.”
He laughed loudly, easily envisioning the prim Mr. Darcy doing just that. “Very well then. I applaud your restraint and will be forever appreciative that I am with this particular Darcy, for many superior reasons.” He said the last with a respectful incline of his head, eyes glittering. Georgiana blushed, shaking her head as she gently propelled him forward.
The Jesuit church, built in the 1620s and much damaged during the Revolution, was greatly restored to its former glory. The collection of stained-glass windows alone would make the building worth visiting, but the round clock of iron that hung suspended from the steepled belfry and the golden-domed transept were additional spectacles.
“I may not share my brother’s passion for architectural aesthetics, nor can I name more than a handful of famed designers,” Georgiana whispered as they passed through the vestibule, “but we both love the peace that pervades such places. Do you, Mr. Butler?”
He nodded. “I do. Although I must say I have not spent too much time searching out unique places of worship as I traveled. Unless, of course, there was a famed pipe organ or glass harmonica to hear.” He paused, gazing serenely at the statues, his voice low and reflective when he resumed. “There is a church in a modest village near Brussels. It is small, fairly nondescript compared to many, but the acoustics are amazing. The organ is rather large for a small place, an eccentric gift by a wealthy local patron some hundred years ago. It is an Arp Schnitger, if you can believe it. They actually allowed me to play it.” He smiled, his face glowing with the memory. “It was incredible. I would love to share such an experience with you, Miss Darcy.” He stopped abruptly, eyes darting to hers before averting his gaze in embarrassment for being so presumptuous. “That is to say,” he stammered, “few I know would appreciate the tones and melody as you would.”
He flashed a smile, walking a pace away to collect himself. For those brief seconds, his mind had readily conjured the image of the two of them side-by-side with their hands moving synchronously over the keys he so vividly remembered, as exquisite music created in unison rose to the heavens. The loss of such an enchanting vision, however unreal and impossible, was poignant and he needed to inhale vigorously to ease the tightening in his chest.
They wandered in silence, exiting the side door to the garden area beyond. A number of other visitors strolled about the grounds, Georgiana and Sebastian unconsciously veering toward a large elm by a small pond where a rope swing sat vacant. Sebastian gestured to the wooden platform, smiling contentedly as Georgiana sat down. Gradually conversation resumed as he pushed her gently, the afternoon shadows lengthening into dusk before they returned to the de Valday townhouse.
Lord and Lady Matlock greeted Mr. Butler with pleasure, quickly extending an invitation to dine with them that evening, but he begged their understanding in declining. “My grandmother is expecting me to dine with her tonight. She needs at least one night settling into town before all know she has arrived. By tomorrow her engagement calendar will be full and she shall no longer require my constant attention, unless it is to be as escort.” He laughed. “She did enlist me to invite all of you to dine with us on a day of your choosing. Was quite imperious about it, in fact, and I would be forever in your debt, my lady, if you and Lord Matlock and Miss Darcy agreed to the offer. Colonel Fitzwilliam and Lady Simone are invited as well, of course. It would be an honor and a delight, as well as saving me from a tongue lashing for failing in my assigned task.”
Lady Matlock laughed in understanding, promising to visit Lady Warrow on the morrow. “Georgiana, Lady Simone, and I will call upon her if she is agreeable, and we can plot our socialization schedules.”
“Excellent! I shall tell her to expect you in the afternoon.” He managed to avoid glancing at Georgiana too often during the conversation, not wanting to betray his happiness in seeing her again so soon, and in the promise that their paths would cross frequently in common pursuits. “Lord Matlock, if it meets with your approval, Miss Darcy has agreed to honor me two days hence in touring the Louvre. I have a friend who works in the antiquities wing, as well as knowing the musical sections adequately myself. Miss Darcy seemed to believe Wednesday did not interfere with any laid plans and my friend is working that day so could sneak us in to the restricted sections. Of course, I would be thrilled to act as guide if you and Lady Matlock wished to join us?”
Lord Matlock glanced to Georgiana. She stood placidly, her hands clasped and still, and her face composed. A faint rosiness highlighted her cheeks, and her eyes twinkled between her demurely downcast lashes, but otherwise she gave no clue to her inner thoughts. At these moments, he was struck by the similarities to her brother, despite the differences in their physical features.
“If she agrees, I have no issue with the appointment. I am not that fond of museums myself, although I appreciate the offer, Mr. Butler, and I know Lady Matlock has a prior engagement.” He avoided looking at his wife, afraid that her face would betray surprise at the deception, since he well knew she had no plans for Wednesday. Yet apparently, they were aligned in their deviousness.
“I would have imagined the Conservatoire top on your list of places to visit, Georgiana,” Lady Matlock ventured, “although I am sure the Louvre’s offerings are interesting.”
“I did not wish to be presumptuous or possessive, and was unsure if you had gone already,” Mr. Butler began.
“I am most anxious to visit the Conservatoire, Mr. Butler, and confess I was awaiting your expertise and familiarity with the facility.”
Georgiana’s hasty interruption and entreating expression broadened his smile. “Name the day and it shall be done.”
“Next week, if that is not too soon?”
“Shall we plan for Monday next?”
“Monday will be perfect.”
He laughed at her giddy enthusiasm, inclining his head. “Monday it is then, with my pleasure.”
Chapter Seven
An Étude from the Choir
Later that night, Lady Matlock entered the bedchamber assigned to her husband. Lord Matlock reclined upon stacked pillows, an open book on his lap, but he laid it aside and smiled as his wife approached. She slipped under the thick comforter, clasping his warm hand and bestowing a tender kiss onto his cheek.
He reached up and brushed a stray lock of her blonde hair away from her face, holding her eyes. “Paris, the city of love, yes, my dear?”
She released a sensual chuckle, kissing the fingertips that rested on her lips. “It appears that any city in France brings romance to the fore.”
“Despite my happiness in this actuality from a personal standpoint, I suspect you are referring to our niece?”
“Partially.” She leaned in for a long kiss, her husband humming his appreciation. “I am curious to hear your thoughts on the subject, especially after your misinformation this afternoon. Are you, Lord Matlock, playing matchmaker?”
“Only giving them the space to allow the natural course of things. You wish for my thoughts on whether Georgiana is falling in love with Mr. Butler and vice versa? Or my thoughts on the match in a general sense?”
“Both.”
He sighed, stretching and leaning further into the pillows. “He is the heir to the Essenton earldom, reportedly worth as much or more than my own estate. The line is an excellent one, with the Duke of Dorset as second cousin. Lord Essenton is well respected in the House of Lords.” He shrugged, looking at his wife. “You know as well as I, my dear, that there could be no impediments. Fitzwilliam could not wish for better.”
“Fitzwilliam is not my concern.”
“Ah. You refer to Lord Essenton’s assertion that his heir is to marry Lady Cassandra? As far as I can tell, there is not a formal arrangement between the two.”
“I know. But he is quite vocal on the choice, even while planting seeds amongst every family of nobility with an eligible daughter. None doubt his insistence that his son marry a lady of high rank, a requirement amenable to dozens I could name off the top of my head. Why, the name of Mr. Sebastian Butler, Viscount Nell, is whispered loudly around the ladies of my circle! I do not believe the earl would be agreeable to an untitled woman, no matter how large her dowry.”
“Georgiana will be a fine wife, possesses a substantial dowry, and is a befitting Lady Essenton. If they mutually wished to be wed, I cannot imagine Lord Essenton denying them.”
Lady Matlock nodded but did not feel the same conviction as her husband. In truth, Lord Matlock was not so sure either, his knowledge of Lord Essenton’s avowals greater than his wife’s.
“As for their romance,” he went on, answering her other request for his opinion, “I fear I am no good at reading such emotions. You are the expert there. But they do clearly enjoy each other’s company and have an incredible amount in common.”
“I have watched Georgiana mature over these past years, especially during these months abroad. In all ways she is a young lady of exemplary character and beauty. Yet, it has been her blossoming as a musician that has astounded me, Malcolm. I truly never foresaw the talent she possesses, nor would have predicted her boldly proclaiming it.”
“Indeed, I agree. And her confidence has grown exponentially just in this short time with Mr. Butler.”
“His gift is formidable, to be sure. I know Georgiana thinks very highly of him, and his encouragement has so inspired her. She expresses great thankfulness and delight in their friendship.”
Lord Matlock was studying his wife closely. “You fear she may misconstrue thankfulness for affection?”
Lady Matlock pursed her lips, eyes unfocused as she mused on the question. Finally, she shook her head. “No, I do not believe so. Quite the opposite is what I fear.”
“What do you mean?”
“From what she has told me, and the interactions I have witnessed with a woman’s perspective, I am convinced there is a mutual attraction. But they are both so determined to learn from each other, support the other’s artistry, be friends who share a mutual passion, that I do not think they are allowing themselves to feel anything deeper.”
“Perhaps there is nothing deeper, Madeline. Remember Mr. Giltenhelm?”
She laughed, squeezing his hand where it rested upon her knee. “Not still jealous, are you, husband?”
He grunted. “I was not jealous then, so shall not be so now. However, I did not appreciate the woman I hoped to marry maintaining a friendship with a man, even if he was nothing but a childhood playmate as close as a brother. The point is everyone thought he was perfect for you, that your long-standing relationship must be one of love. But you both knew otherwise. It took me many years to understand that you could be friends with a man, and I still regret that it was his death that led to full realization.”
She patted his hand, smiling her forgiveness. “Far in the past. But I see your point. We must watch them closely. I hate to see her hurt if either of their feelings turns to love unreciprocated. However, it may never evolve into more.”
“Now that we have hashed out another relationship crisis amongst our children, let us turn to our own relationship, shall we? Kiss me, my lady.”
“As you wish and command, my lord.”
***
The retired Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam was not at all surprised when his wife entered his bedchamber that night. Unlike his parents, who held to the tradition of separate sleeping quarters, Lady Simone welcomed her husband into her bed as a permanent fixture. The only nights they did not sleep together were when she was required to comfort one of her children or care for her stepson, the current Lord Fotherby.
Concern for the latter was the reason she was not already entangled amid rumpled sheets next to his bared body. A letter arriving that day from the eighteen-year-old Marquess of Fotherby, who remained safely ensconced at his estate in High Wycombe, Buckinghamshire, with a house full of servants, three friends from boarding school, and two physicians needed to be read to Harry and Hugh Pomeroy. Her nine- and six-year-old sons worried over the half brother they loved, and reassuring them that he was well took priority.
Richard understood this. Nevertheless, he was impatient for her return. Partly that was out of a desire to pull her onto the smooth sheets of their bed and engage in activity sure to thoroughly rumple them, but primarily it was to read the missive himself! His fondness for young Oliver was genuine and he too would be relieved to read of his well-being. Therefore, he jumped up when the door opened, greeting his wife with a kiss while exchanging a brandy glass for the folded parchment.
“Thank you, dear,” she said, taking a sip of the warmed liquid.
Richard merely nodded, his eyes scanning the bold cursive dried onto the paper even as he encircled her slim waist and steered her toward the plumped pillows on the bed.
“This is very good news,” he murmured. “He says he has not suffered any serious bouts since our departure, has been out riding twice, and attended Lord Farnsworth’s ball. He does not say if he danced…”
“Knowing Oliver I rather doubt it,” Simone interjected with a chuckle.
“Yes, true.” Richard flipped to the next page. “The tonic Dr. Darcy prescribed appears to be working. Even Dr. Lowes has seen no need to bleed him, and that is a minor miracle that speaks for itself. Ah! He beat Trencher at darts! Well done, Oliver, well done.”
“After all the practice he has gotten with you, he should be able to beat Aniston as well.”
“I am sure in time he will.”
Richard continued to read even as they settled onto the wide bed. Simone leaned against his side, daintily drinking the brandy while rereading Oliver’s letter along with her husband.
“How interesting,” Richard said after minutes of silent reading. “He writes that Trencher’s family visited for a fortnight, pointedly mentioning Lady Janelle a good half dozen times. I wonder if he is infatuated with her?”
“Not that he has ever revealed to me.”
“Well, he does a fair amount of appreciative gazing at the ladies, even if he is too shy to ask one to dance. Perhaps Lady Janelle will be the one to spur him into action,” he suggested with a naughty chuckle.
“I am not sure he is capable of being spurred into action, as you delicately put it.”
Richard lowered the letter onto his lap and turned toward his wife. A pall of sadness overshadowed her face, not diminishing her beauty but wrenching her husband’s heart. He kissed her forehead, stroking over her cheek and replying with conviction, “You worry unnecessarily. Yes, he is shy and immature for his age due to his illness, this is true, but in the year I have known him, he has grown taller and wider in the chest. His voice is deeper. And he is much stronger, as evidenced by his successes on horseback and in shooting. Gradually he is becoming a man with a man’s interests.”
“Lord Fotherby was not so convinced,” she countered, referring to her deceased first husband by his title, as she always did in conversation. “His revelations of Oliver’s mother and her difficulties in… the marriage bed, in conceiving and carrying her pregnancies led him to believe their only child may not be able to… react as a man should.”
Richard laughed at her hesitant, oblique way of summing up the sexual act, Simone blushing and hiding her face in his shoulder. They had been married for over a year, neither virgins when they wed and robust in the intimate realms of their life, yet she remained demure with a tendency to blush. He thought it charming and humorous.
“Let me see how far the rosiness has spread this time, Mrs. Fitzwilliam.” He peeled the nightgown off her shoulder, exposing her breasts and lightly trailing his fingertips across them, Simone squirming and goose bumps rising. “Not as yet, ah! Wait! Yes, there it is, that beautiful flush touching your skin.”
He bent to bestow several kisses to her pink bosoms, mumbling words of praise against the fullness before lifting to meet her adoring eyes.
“Erase your worries of Oliver. When we return I will have a man-to-man chat with him, although I am sure your fears are groundless.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “You would ask him bluntly if he… well, if he can…”
“Yes, I will ask him bluntly. I am a soldier, or was, so gritty conversations about manly pursuits do not disturb my sensibilities. Men are not as gentlemanly as they like to pretend, my lady, but I promise to be circumspect if you wish.”
“Thank you. He may not be as willingly forthcoming as you suspect.”
Richard grinned, shaking his head. “If you say so, Simone, but I think you would be surprised. And speaking of blunt conversations,” he rushed on before she could disagree about Oliver, “did you or my mother have any luck with Georgiana?”
She shook her head. “Nothing of any certainty, no. She is fond of Mr. Butler, there can be no doubt of that, and she does tend to gush, but primarily in regards to his musical knowledge and expertise. I sense something more but cannot be sure.”
“You did not simply ask her, ‘Are you in love with Mr. Butler?’ That would have been the easiest way.”
“Richard,” she chided, playfully swatting his arm, “that would have been a useless tactic.”
He shrugged. “Maybe. She may not have answered directly or truthfully, but you would have discerned the answer in her eyes. Do women not have an intuitive sense about these matters? A clairvoyance betwixt the sexes we imperceptive men do not possess?”
“Where in the world did that fanciful idea spring from?” She shook her head and chuckled at his dramatic delivery—he was clutching his chest, his voice lifting into a dreamy intonation. “How ridiculous! Besides, you forget that my time with Miss Darcy has been short. She has barely arrived in Paris after months away, and we had scant time to become deeply acquainted in the month surrounding our wedding. Additionally, Mr. Butler only arrived today! It requires a span of greater length and intensity for the clairvoyant bond to be established.”
“Ha!” He fell against the pillows in laughter. “I knew it!” He kissed her dimpling cheek.
“Really, Richard, if your mother is not sure of her sentiments, how am I to know? You are undoubtedly the best one to read her face in response to Mr. Butler. You can be the judge, since you know her best.”
“When it comes to reading Georgie’s emotions of love, I am clearly not the one to judge.”
“Richard…”
“After all,” he continued, his eyes averted, “I leapt to the conclusion that I felt passion for Georgiana when really I needed and wanted her to drown my grief over losing you, while improperly interpreting your emotions toward me. If I had not failed, many things would have been different.” He returned his gaze to her face, squeezing the warm hands that were tightly clasped within his. “Now I see clearly. I see the fullness of your desire and heart. I see it in your eyes, my love, every time you look at me.”
“How romantic,” she said with a teasing lilt but also with an undertone of seriousness. “But as I have told you many, many times, my dearest, you are far too severe. Deep in your soul you knew I loved you and would never willingly leave. You also knew that what you and Georgiana felt for each other was not a strong passion. You did interpret correctly and that is why you did not force matters with Georgiana and why you came back to London.”