As Clara prattled on, he finished his roasted capon. This dinner party had been orchestrated between his mother and Lady Winpoole, whose in-person invitation this morning caught him unawares and unable to manufacture an excuse. From the concerned looks and questions he’d fielded all evening, it was obvious they were worried he was no longer a surety. His mother had been more direct this morning when her crony had departed. “When will you make her an offer, Nicholas?”
Sorely tempted to use his quizzing glass for the first time since that initial evening in St. Hampton Heath, he had settled for obtuseness. “Make whom an offer?”
“Why, Miss DeLancey, of course!” She frowned. “You are not thinking of making an offer to anyone else, are you, Nicholas?”
“Surely, ma’am, my plans to make a lady an offer are simply that—mine.”
“You must marry Clara!”
“Must, ma’am?” He raised a brow. “Because she stands to inherit fifteen thousand?”
“It will make managing the estate far easier,” she snapped.
“I’m sure it would. But allowing myself to become leg-shackled simply to make our finances a little easier is rather a hefty price to pay. Do you know, Mother, sometimes I think I would much prefer for you to learn to manage your finances a little better, so such a drastic step as my getting married need not be the only solution.”
“You … you are impossible!”
He smiled. “So I’ve been told.”
To calm his irate parent, he had agreed to attend tonight, but his regrets renewed as Miss DeLancey continued to talk but with nothing to say.
He cleared his throat. “I wonder if you could help me.”
“Anything, my lord!”
“Mother tells me the pinnacle of musical soirees are held at Lady Asquith’s.”
“She is my godmother, you know.”
“Yes. You have played at one of Lady Asquith’s musicales, have you not?”
“Sir! Don’t you remember? You were there a fortnight ago! A wonderfully fine evening, so you said.”
“Oh, of course.” He hurried on. “I was wondering if, as a tribute to your generous nature, you might find it in your heart to encourage your godmother to extend an invitation to poor Miss Ellison to perform.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“I’m afraid some young ladies are forever looking for excuses to share their gifts. Of course Miss Ellison isn’t one to boast …” His words might malign Lavinia, but he wanted these arrogant people to realize how ridiculous their pretensions were in the light of true talent.
Clara’s frown evidenced her struggle to accede to his request. Clearly she believed her talent superior to Lavinia’s, but could she run the risk of inviting a rival? On the other hand, did her credit remain so strong that she could afford to disappoint him?
Eventually she sighed. “Some young ladies would do well to develop their gifts before feeling the need to parade them, but I will see what I can do.”
He smiled. “Your generous nature does you credit, Miss DeLancey.”
And her starry-eyed, voluble response made him wish for the thousandth time he was anywhere else.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
“THIS IS AN honor, Lavinia. I did not think you were acquainted with Lady Asquith.”
Lavinia pulled down the half sleeves of her cream gown as she stared critically in the mirror. “I do not recall meeting her.”
“Yes, well, she would hardly be the type to grace those types of meetings you and Patience seem so fond of attending.” Aunt Constance frowned. “It is most peculiar.”
“I am pleased to have been invited. An evening of good musicianship will be most interesting.”
“Hmm.” Her aunt picked up the letter on Lavinia’s dressing table, looked at it, and then carelessly tossed it back. “Patience has kept busy, hasn’t she? I’ve barely seen her.”
Lavinia smiled. “Lord Danver has been attentive.”
“Yes. I remember …” Her aunt glanced out the window, abstractedly.
“Remember what, ma’am?”
Aunt Constance shook her head. “Enough of the past. I came in here to say I found something you might like.” She handed Lavinia a small velvet box.
Lavinia opened it and stared. A small cross, fashioned from tiny pearls, looped at the end of a fine gold chain. “It is beautiful!”
“It belonged to Grace.”
Lavinia lifted the chain and traced the delicate workmanship. Mama had worn this?
“After Grace left so hurriedly, Mother gave us leave to look through her things. Of course Patience never had any use for jewelry, and although it is pretty, I never could abide crosses—they always make me think of death hanging around one’s neck.”
“Oh, but an empty cross symbolizes life!”
“Life?” Aunt Constance frowned.
“Yes. Although Christ died on a cross, He then rose from the dead. A cross represents life and gives hope for all who believe in Him.”
Her aunt’s face grew tight. “I see you’ve been well and truly indoctrinated by that father of yours.”
“Influenced, not indoctrinated. The truth is plainly found in the Bible, ma’am.”
“Hmph. I don’t require a sermon from a young lady.”
“I’m sorry if my words are unpalatable.” She smiled. “But I cannot be sorry as to their truth.”
Aunt Constance stared hard at her before stepping back. “Well, enough of that. Now you look presentable enough. That shot silk does wonders for your complexion, I must say.”
“It is a very pretty dress.” Tiny apricot rosebuds sewn along the scooped neckline together with the gauze overdress embroidered with more flowers made her feel as pretty as Sophy might in her finest hour. With her hair pinned up with tiny rosebuds and the cross now safely fastened around her neck, she felt confident to face any societal dame’s high expectations.
A sound downstairs drew her aunt to the door. “Here is Patience now. I trust you will enjoy tonight. I am sorry my engagement at the Seftons’ prevents my attendance.”
Lavinia moved to give her a hug. “Thank you for the pendant. It is truly beautiful. And knowing it was Mama’s makes it even more special.”
“Yes, well … ah, good.”
Lavinia smiled and resumed her seat at the dressing table. Before pulling on her gloves, she picked up Papa’s letter and reread it. Papa was getting on well, the curate displaying worthy attempts at playing the organ, although the children did not mind him during Sunday school. Papa was to conduct the wedding of Captain Thornton and Sophy, their banns having been published—she smiled at the excitement that news meant for the Miltons. He had included other news of the village: the apothecary’s wife was in the family way; Eliza Hardy sent her best wishes and had requested Lavinia be told the blacksmith’s son had come calling; the Thatchers’ health and fortunes had improved considerably thanks to Banning’s assiduous improvements.
Her eyes filled with happiness. Tonight might hold its challenges, but at least she might see the earl and thank him for his good work.
“Lavinia?”
She turned to see Aunt Patience at the door. These days she held a light in her eyes that made her glow. Or maybe that was the effect of the simple yet elegant clothes she now wore.
“You’re wearing Grace’s pendant.” The angular lines of her face softened. “I didn’t know Constance kept it.”
“It is lovely.”
“Father gave that to her when she turned eighteen. He was a man of faith, with certain Puritanical tendencies”—she spoke drily—“like the names he gave his daughters.”
“But he died?”
“A few months after Grace’s marriage. If he lived, perhaps things might have been different.”
She nodded. Pensiveness was a new emotion for her to see her aunt wear. “Do you think Grandmother would ever want to see me?”
Aunt Patience sighed. “Mother does not do anything that demands a whit of self-sacrifice. I�
��m afraid your resemblance to Grace would only result in a door shut in your face.”
“But—”
“I don’t know how many times I have sent letters that were returned, or paid calls that went unacknowledged. Grace’s banishment, and my own, seem as fixed as they were decades ago. Now, don’t look like that. We have music to perform, have we not?”
“Oh, I don’t think I will be asked to play.”
“Nonsense. Apparently someone in this town can recognize true talent. Get your music. I don’t want to keep Lord Danver waiting.”
Lavinia asked slyly, “Has he been kept waiting long?”
Her aunt smiled. “Long enough, I believe.”
“Mother, are you ready?” Nicholas leaned against the oak doorframe of his mother’s suite. “You won’t want to miss the Asquith’s musicale this evening.”
Pierce finished dressing his mother’s hair and curtsied as she exited.
“I fail to understand why tonight is so important. Unless …” Mother arched a well-practiced brow. “Will Miss DeLancey be in attendance?”
“I believe so.” He had avoided her the past few days, not wanting to fuel any further speculation about his intentions. When not in Parliament or out with Lavinia, he’d spent time with old army cronies at his club instead.
“Clara did play well, I recall. Unlike that other one, what was her name? Bold as brass.”
“I’m sure I don’t know who you mean, ma’am.”
“Yes, you do. You know, the one who claimed to be sick.”
“Do you mean the reverend’s daughter, Miss Ellison?”
“Yes.” She frowned as she fiddled with a curl. “Do you know Amelia Pennicooke had the nerve to ask me at cards the other day about that young miss.” She eyed him in the mirror. “Apparently you have been seen driving with her. Here. In London!”
“I did not know that was a crime, ma’am.”
“Well it is when you should be driving Miss DeLancey, and when I have people of the likes of Amelia Pennicooke asking about you! I do hope she will not be there tonight. That chit and her aunt hold pretensions.”
Stung, he murmured, “I have never known either lady to claim to be more than what they are.”
“Then she has sadly deluded you, Nicholas.”
He flicked an imaginary speck of dust from his coat but said nothing.
“I am surprised that you’re escorting me and not Miss DeLancey.”
He smiled and offered his hand to help her rise. “But, Mother, who could want to attend a candle when they can enjoy the sun?”
She uttered a rare creaking laugh that was quickly repressed. “That’s enough of your nonsense. Take me downstairs. We will see if tonight holds any true talent.”
With an uneasy sense of foreboding, Nicholas accompanied his mother outside to the waiting carriage.
An hour later, having battled a horrendous crush of vehicles, suffered his mother’s usual lament concerning the lack of sedan chairs, and survived Lady Asquith’s mild inquisition about his sudden interest in musicales, Nicholas hastened them to seats toward the back.
“Why must we sit here, Nicholas?” She motioned to the lady in front whose ridiculous concoction of a hat, complete with madly waving ostrich feathers, screened her view. “I cannot see a thing!”
He leaned close. “Musical appreciation mostly demands the ability to hear, I understand.”
“Hmph.”
He settled back, wondering exactly where in the program the remarkable Miss Ellison was to perform. After several unexciting performances his mother only sniffed at, the short, stout master of ceremonies stood up to introduce the next performer.
“Now we are pleased to invite Miss DeLancey to share her talent with us.”
His mother sat up as the Winpooles led the applause from the front row. Nicholas’s height meant he could see above the heads to catch Clara’s anxious glance across the crowd before she found him. Her smug expression caused more than one face to turn a speculative eye to him—enough to make him long to retrieve his quizzing glass once more.
Her performance was pretty and received demands for an encore from Lord Asquith, but his mother’s forehead only creased.
“Mother? Are you quite well? Would you like to move closer to the fire?”
“No, no.” She waved a hand.
“Did you not enjoy Miss DeLancey’s performance?”
“It was prettily done …”
“But?”
“That woman is here.”
“I must beg your pardon for my obtuseness. Which one?”
“That woman.” She pointed several rows in front. “The one with the ridiculous looking turban on her head, like she’s the Queen of Sheba.”
He followed her gaze to see Miss West—Lady Westerbrooke—seated next to Lord Danver.
“The aunt of that girl we talked of earlier. What is she doing here?”
“I imagine she is here to enjoy the music, too.”
“Hmph.”
The master of ceremonies stood again. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are privileged tonight to witness the return, after many years’ absence, of one of our most accomplished pianists. Lady Westerbrooke, please join us.”
“Westerbrooke?” Mother’s eyes snapped. “Westerbrooke did he say?”
Lavinia’s aunt moved to the pianoforte and commenced a recital that was a lesson to all who had gone before. Although he had often found her musicality to be commanding rather than emotive, tonight he heard a gentle strain that pleased far more than technical excellence.
Amidst the applause that greeted her three pieces—she’d received demands for two encores—he noticed his mother’s face had paled.
“Mother? Are you quite well?”
She waved him away, her expression grim.
The short man stood once more and nodded to the golden head Danver’s girth had hidden before.
Nicholas’s heart leapt. She was here. She would perform. As the master of ceremonies finally introduced her, Nicholas coughed loudly enough to drown out Lavinia’s name—and to draw Danver’s amused glance.
“Who is this?”
Nicholas shushed his mother, unable to drag his eyes from Lavinia. Her coppery golden curls were twisted into a small knot, her poise evident as she smiled briefly at the crowd before lifting her chin in that characteristic way, as if aware of the critics in the crowd.
The music began soft and sweet. He didn’t recognize the melody, but it was evident by nods and finger taps that others did. Then she began to sing: clear, pure, true. Contentment swelled within him at the harmonious pairing of voice and piano, unmarred by the strain of sickness as it had been before.
He glanced at his mother, who wore a rare, pleased expression. She nodded at intervals as Lavinia’s voice soared, matching the exquisite playing. Nicholas smiled in true pleasure, glad that Lavinia was performing so well, but thankful also his mother finally could appreciate something about this unique young lady.
“Now that is true musicianship. Who is that girl?” She tried to peer around the violently shaking ostrich feathers of the woman in front who clapped vigorously. “She must be Italian or someone from the Continent. I haven’t heard such true pitch in years.”
Once the encores had been played, and the applause had finally ceased, a break in proceedings was announced. Nicholas grasped his mother’s elbow. “Let’s go meet the prodigy.”
“Splendid idea.” She looked up at him. “Thank you for bringing me tonight, Nicholas. It was a very kind idea. I’m quite looking forward to meeting her.”
He smiled, wondering if she’d still think so in a few moments.
“Ah, excuse me, Lord Hawkesbury, Lady Hawkesbury.” Miss DeLancey wore a broad smile. “I’m so glad you could come. Have you enjoyed this evening?” She batted her eyelashes in a sad attempt at coquetry.
He bowed. “I continue to find it immensely entertaining.”
Her brow puckered.
As Lady Winpoole rushed to speak t
o his mother he murmured, “I must thank you for your kindness in encouraging Lady Asquith to extend Miss Ellison an invitation.”
“Oh.” Miss DeLancey’s frown became more pronounced. “I did not know she could play so well.”
“I thought you did not. Wonderfully fine, do you not agree?”
“Nicholas.” His mother gestured. “Come, let’s meet tonight’s true sensation.”
He bowed and escorted her to the front, where a crowd of admirers continued to flock around Miss Ellison. He nodded to Lavinia’s aunt, whose glance at his mother widened her smile.
Eventually the crush of bodies moved to reveal Lavinia, her smile as sweet and modest as her cream-and-apricot-beribboned gown.
His mother’s shocked gasp was reflected in Lavinia’s widened eyes as she saw them.
“Lord Hawkesbury! And Lady Hawkesbury.” She curtsied.
“You!” His mother looked at him. “Tell me she is not the prodigy.”
“Mother”—his eyes narrowed warningly—“I cannot tell you that, because that would be untrue.”
With one hand, he stayed his mother and with the other caught Lavinia’s hand. She had not yet had the chance to restore her gloves, and her skin felt smooth and warm. He pressed her fingers gently. “You delighted everyone tonight, Miss Ellison. Indeed, my mother said how much she enjoyed your music.” He smiled, enjoying the soft expression that filled her eyes at his honest compliment.
“Thank you. You are very kind, my lord.”
“Not at all.” He reluctantly released her hand and turned to his mother. “Isn’t that what you were saying, Mother? You think Lavinia possesses true musicianship.”
She nodded stiffly.
Lavinia offered his mother a small curtsey and smile. “Thank you, Lady Hawkesbury. That means a great deal coming from you.”
He caught his mother’s slightly mollified expression at Lavinia’s words before she inclined her head and moved away to speak with Lady Asquith. His attention returned to Lavinia.
Her face was aglow. “Lord Hawkesbury, I’m so pleased to have the chance to talk with you.”
His heart rippled with gladness.
“I simply must thank you for the wonderful news about the Thatchers.”
The Elusive Miss Ellison Page 26
