“Why, of course, Mr. Carstairs, if you wish. You know Herr van Beethoven’s work? I agree that it is not suitable for this company.”
They smiled at each other, in perfect sympathy.
Harry felt an unexpected dart of jealousy. “Have you chosen something, Rosalind?” he interrupted. “I confess I have no great ear for music, but I like a good tune, and there is no sight so picturesque as a beautiful girl seated at the pianoforte.”
Rosalind laughed. “I shall play a sonata by Corelli,” she told him. “I hope you will think it a ‘good tune,’ Harry, though that is not how I should describe it.” She looked up at Richard. “Will you turn the pages for me, sir?”
Harry had to admit that Richard had won that round, as his rueful look acknowledged. He went to sit with the rest of the audience and bore the performance with what patience he could muster. When the piece was finished, there was a scattered round of applause in which he joined enthusiastically. Rosalind did not notice. She was listening with bowed head to Richard.
“Charles did not exaggerate,” he said warmly in a low voice. “I suppose we must give the others their turn now. Until tomorrow?”
She raised her eyes to his. “I think you are a true music lover, Mr. Carstairs. Until tomorrow. Do you join the hunt?”
“No. I shall not go out, as my mother and Lucy should arrive early. After breakfast, Miss Stuart? We are as likely to have peace then as at any time.” And with any luck at all Harry will be chasing a fox around the countryside, he thought savagely.
Rosalind agreed to his suggestion. As they talked they had been ceding their places to the next performer. Somehow Rosalind found herself sitting next to Lord Harry, while Richard was forced to find a seat on the other side of the room. How the devil did Harry do it? he wondered.
The performances that followed were uniformly mediocre, and received just as much applause as Rosalind’s. The last in line played a lively polka with a verve that reminded Richard of Lucy, though his sister had by far more accuracy. He caught Rosalind’s eye, and she directed his gaze at Harry’s foot, which was tapping in time to the music. Their eyes met again, and they exchanged looks of amused despair and hardly perceptible shrugs.
Richard retired to his chamber far from dissatisfied. Considering that Harry had had two days advantage and that, as far as she was concerned at least, he had only known Rosalind a few hours, he felt he had made progress. And he had an assignation in the morning.
Rosalind went to bed perplexed. Everything indicated that she had never previously met Mr. Carstairs, yet she felt a curious bond between them, had felt it even before being attracted by his smile and his evident appreciation of her playing. Her last fling promised to be even more interesting and exciting than she had expected. She looked forward to the morning.
The next day, Lord Harry proved recalcitrant. His brother tried to send him off to the hunting field, even offering him one of his own hunters when he protested that his own horse needed a day of rest.
“Dash it, Tony, you cannot expect me to go out every day!”
“Why not? You usually do.”
“You do not usually provide such devilish attractive entertainment at home. I must study my part. Sir Roderick must be word-perfect,” declared Harry.
“Then here is Miss Davis to study with you. And I believe she mentioned a wish to go into the village later to make some small purchase, did you not, Miss Davis? There, Harry, you may escort her,” proposed Lord Denham, smugly. He did not often exert himself to outwit his brother and succeeded still less often.
Harry had no choice but to submit gracefully and watch in annoyance as Richard and Rosalind left the breakfast room together.
The omniscient butler, who had miraculously provided a roaring fire in the Long Gallery the previous evening, had done likewise today. It was a chilly, grey day, and Richard and Rosalind were glad of its warmth. The keys of the Instrument were icy, but a few minutes’ practice loosened Rosalind’s stiff fingers.
“What would you like me to play?” she asked shyly. This morning Mr. Carstairs seemed a complete stranger once more.
“You know the
Pathétique?
That has a slow start, to let you warm up.” He smiled at her, which did more to warm her than any amount of playing could have. He found the place in her book and moved his chair close beside her so that he could reach to turn the pages.
“I know it well, sir,” she said hurriedly. “I do not need the music.” He realized that his nearness, when they were alone together, disturbed her.
“Then I shall be able to listen without distraction.” He took a seat at a little distance. “I believe this will be the best place to hear the Instrument to advantage.” And to see the performer.
She played brilliantly. Absorbed by the music, he forgot to watch her. The sonata came to its dashing conclusion and there was silence. Rosalind, with no false modesty, knew she had played well and accepted the silence as a tribute more meaningful than any number of words.
Richard sighed. “Thank you,” he said simply.
“One wishes it did not end so soon, does one not? Shall I play something more? It is a difficult piece to follow.”
“There is a piece by Mozart of which I am very fond,” he suggested hesitantly. “Quite different in character. I forget its name but if I hum it, perhaps you will recognize it.” It was the dainty minuet she had been performing the first time he heard her play, when he had arrived at Toblethorpe from London to fetch her.
“Of course,”‘ agreed Rosalind, “it is the very thing to
come after Beethoven’s grandeur. I have not played it for some time, but I think I remember it well enough.”
Nothing distracted Richard’s attention from her face this time. The glint of firelight on her hair seemed an attribute of the music. Thinking back to that evening, he recalled the delightful days that had followed it, marred only by “Miss Fell’s” discovery that she could not ride his horse.
At the end of the Mozart, he applauded. “I have heard that piece many times, Miss Stuart,” he commented, “yet never so well played. The way your performance transforms it from the commonplace is as great a testimony to your talent as any more difficult music. May I ask who was your teacher?”
“I studied in Edinburgh under a French émigré, Monsieur Rameau. A descendant of the composer, he claimed. At any rate, he made me play so much Rameau that I never touch his music now!”
“You spent a great deal of time in Edinburgh?”
“Oh yes. That was where I made my début in Society. My Grandfather Stuart supported the cause of Prince Charles and would not hear of any of the family going to London. He died long before, but my father was acquainted with everyone in Edinburgh, so we continued the custom.”
“It is much closer to your home, also.” They were discussing Edinburgh’s social life and musical activities when Charles joined them.
“Had a devil of a time escaping that Allington wench,” he announced cheerfully. “Richard, I hope you will allow Lucy and me to make our betrothal public at once, or I shall be constantly fighting her off.”
“Hark, what modesty!” jibed Rosalind. “Mr. Carstairs, you must know that Charlie finds he is irresistible to a certain type of coy, empty-headed young female that he cannot abide.”
“Perhaps that is why I fell under the spell of Lucy,” pondered Charles. “Like you, Ros, she has no trace of coyness in her. When are we to expect her, Richard? Did you not say they stopped in Nottingham? That cannot be above twenty-five miles.”
“As the crow flies,” Richard replied. “However, the way is mostly by narrow, winding lanes. Nor do I think they would have started early. It is not so far from Toblethorpe, and we spent two days on the journey, but the roads were appalling. My mother was greatly fatigued yesterday when I left them. I was on horseback most of the way and escaped the worst of the jolting. I’d not look for them before midday.”
“Patience, Charles, patience,” counseled Rosalind. “And that reminds me. If I am to play Patience Allgood well enough to preserve my self-respect, I really must make a start on learning my part. Charlie, will you hear me in a while?”
“Not if Lucy is here,” said her cousin ungallantly.
“Well, I daresay I should try it over with Harry,” admitted Rosalind, before Richard could offer his services. “Pray excuse me, Mr. Carstairs.”
“You will play for me again?” Richard begged hurriedly.
“I am always happy to play for a truly appreciative audience.” The warmth of her smile denied the impersonality of her words.
Richard looked after her wistfully as she left, then turned to Charles. “You have known Harry a long time, have you not? Has Miss Stuart met him often?”
“Only very briefly, in London, just before I found her at your house. She did not remember him when we came here.” He took pity on Richard’s long face. “I do not believe there is anything serious between them. I’ve never known Harry dangle after any female for longer than three weeks, and Rosalind… I am not at liberty to discuss her position, but I think I may tell you that she has come into Leicestershire determined upon enjoying herself. She is not hanging out for a husband.”
“I see Lucy has been talking.” Richard was poised between gratitude and annoyance.
“She is a little chatterbox, but she told me nothing I had not already guessed,” Charles defended his sweetheart.
“Am I so obvious?” asked Richard with some bitterness; then added grudgingly, “If you and Lucy are still of the same mind when we leave Disford Wood, you had better come straight to Toblethorpe and be married. I’d prefer that you do not announce the engagement until Lucy has had a chance to reconsider. She has seen so little of you since the spring, and she is still very young.”
“Richard, you cannot suppose that I should hold Lucy to a match that had become distasteful to her! Not that I think for a moment that she will have changed. You do not understand what it is to have the certainty that the one you love loves you as much as you could hope or desire.”
“I have not had the experience. Charles, have I any chance of winning Rosalind?”
“Who can tell? There’s no understanding women!”
With that sentiment Richard was forced to agree.
Only a few dedicated souls had ridden out with the hunt that day, so most of the party assembled at the luncheon table. They had scarce sat down after filling their plates at the buffet, when a footman entered and murmured something to Lord Denham, who rose.
“Richard, Charles,--Lady Annabel and Lucy are arrived. Do the rest of you excuse us, please. No, Aunt Catherine, do not bestir yourself. I am sure Lady Annabel would not wish to interrupt your meal.”
A glance of appeal from Charles brought Rosalind to her feet to accompany the three gentlemen. Harry, seated beside her, would have followed if he could have thought of an excuse to leave the other guests.
The butler was ushering the ladies into the hall as they reached it. Lucy uttered a squeal, dropped her muff, and flung herself into Charles’s arms. Rosalind decided with amusement that it would be some time before she could be introduced to her future cousin-in-law.
Lady Annabel was looking far from well. Richard hurried to her side.
“Mama, are you ill?” he asked anxiously.
“No, dearest, but very tired.” She managed a faint smile. “The wretched inn last night was excessively noisy, and after the shocking roads from Yorkshire I fear it has given me the headache. Lord Denham, how delightful to see you again.” She carefully did not greet Rosalind.
“I am sorry you are not in good frame, Lady Annabel,” said Tony. “Your chamber is prepared. I expect you would like to rest for a while.”
“Thank you, I should, if Lady Catherine will forgive me.”
“Let me present Miss Stuart to you,” his lordship suggested, “as Charles seems to have quite forgot his duty. Charles’s cousin, ma’am. Miss Stuart, this is Lady Annabel Carstairs.”
Lady Annabel, in spite of her headache, wished she could embrace Rosalind. She had every expectation of being as fond of her as she had been of her
alter ego,
Clara Fell. Rosalind’s first words confirmed her expectations.
“Charles has told me how kind you have been to him, my lady. Pray do not let me keep you from your rest. May I take you to your room and see that you have all you need? Lord Denham will not mind if I act as Lady Catherine’s deputy.”
Richard gave her a look of gratitude. “Shall I help you upstairs, mama?” he queried.
“Miss Stuart will assist me, thank you, Richard. I shall be quite well after a rest.”
As she supported Lady Annabel up the staircase, Rosalind said to her, “I trust you will not think me forward, ma’am. Miss Carstairs was so very…occupied, and I hope soon to be your niece-in-law, if such a relationship exists. I daresay your maid is busy with the luggage.”
“Oh, Vane is useless when one is not feeling quite the thing. She tends to dissolve in tears.” Lady Annabel wondered nervously whether the abigail would remember her strict instructions in regard to Miss Stuart. “Indeed, I shall be happy to gain a niece as well as a son when I lose my daughter.”
“Here is your chamber. The maid is not here yet. Let me make you comfortable.” Rosalind helped Lady Annabel divest herself of her outer clothing and slip into the ready-warmed bed. “Should you like a glass of wine, or something to eat? It is so difficult to take proper meals on the road; your headache may be partly due to hunger, may it not?”
Lady Annabel already felt better. She was sure that worry over the effect on Rosalind of seeing the Carstairs again had been responsible to some extent for her discomfort.
“I expect you are right,” she acknowledged gratefully. “Perhaps a cup of tea and a snack. Won’t you join me? I should like to become acquainted with my new niece.”
Rosalind rang the bell and ordered a light luncheon. She also sent for her own maid, since Vane had not yet appeared, and asked her to fetch some lavender water, with which she bathed Lady Annabel’s forehead.
Vane at last arrived, followed by two footmen bearing a trunk, which she would have had them carry into the chamber had Rosalind not instructed them to leave it in the passage for the present. Lady Annabel sent her servant to find herself a meal.