Abigail nodded, running her fingers over the keys. So out of use was the room, Abigail worried the instrument may be out of tune.
She pulled out the bench and Lady Cartwright handed over her handkerchief so Abigail could dust if off. She handed it back to Lady Cartwright, who was already working on a stitchery. "Thank you. I should have brought one myself."
"Nonsense. No use both of us having a dusty linen."
Abigail sat on the bench and placed her fingers on the keys. One finger pressed down, testing out the sound. A true sound vibrated from the body of the instrument. She sighed deeply, as she rubbed at the keys with her fingers while she tried to decide what to play first.
She glanced over at Lady Cartwright. "Are you sure this will not bother you? Some pieces tend to be quite loud."
Lady Cartwright glanced up from her sewing. "No, dear. Hearing you play is one of my greatest pleasures and it’s been years since I heard you play as you are capable. I am thrilled you asked me to come along." She nodded toward the piano, indicating Abigail should begin.
Closing her eyes, Abigail’s fingers began to play the first song that came to mind—Beethoven’s Sonata no. 14. Her muscles and nerves relaxed as her brain emptied of all thoughts except the notes streaming through her brain.
Song after song she played, loosing track of all time. Several times she heard Lady Cartwright humming along to the music.
Somewhere in the background, Abigail heard a door open and then close. But she could not pull herself out of the music for a servant. No one else would be in this area of the house without a reason.
Abigail continued to play, hoping the servant would go about their duties and leave her alone.
She finished the piece, her eyes remaining closed while the pianoforte hummed the notes until all the vibrations were spent.
She opened her eyes and turned to ask Lady Cartwright if there was something she would like to hear. Her eyes widened and her brows shot up when Sir Richard and Lord Grayson were sitting next to Lady Cartwright. When had they arrived?
Abigail looked around the room. No servant dusted or cleaned the grates.
Sir Richard rested with his head back against the cushion, but Lord Grayson leaned forward, his gaze intently on her.
The nerves she had so recently quieted suddenly jumped to life, her hands shaking slightly on the keys. A deep breath hitched in her throat. What was wrong with her?
She needed to play, to regain the calm she had achieved only moments ago, but her mind was blank. No music appeared. She swallowed hard and looked over to Sir Richard, who had an eye cracked open.
"Good morning, Sir Richard. How are you today?" Why did a perfectly acceptable greeting sound suddenly awkward?
He lifted his head and grinned. "Quite well, Abigail. And you?"
Her eyes flicked to Lord Grayson and her stomach flopped. Since their discussion last night, she had felt out of sorts. The attraction she had initially felt for him before discovering him at the party swirled in her stomach. She chided herself. Such thoughts were silly. Uncle Rupert would never allow her to align herself, or her family, with a pirate. She would never form such an attachment.
Lord Grayson smiled at her and she felt her ears go warm. Why was everyone looking at her expectantly?
Gah! Sir Richard had asked her a question. What was it again? Think Abigail. "Uh." She pinched her eyes closed, trying to find clarity. Oh yes, he had asked after her. What a ninny she was to have forgotten something so commonplace. "I am well. Thank you."
Sir Richard and Lady Cartwright looked at each other and smiled.
Abigail turned her attentions back to the pianoforte. "I apologize. Sometimes when I play, it takes a moment for me to come back to the present." The excuse sounded like a bouncer, even if it were true.
"You play very well." The deep voice of Lord Grayson washed over her, gooseflesh breaking out on her arms.
"Thank you." She placed her fingers back on the keys, hoping a piece would drift into her mind and help alleviate the awkward tension in the room.
"Why did you not play that piece last night? It is a much better show of your talents." Lord Grayson still leaned forward.
Abigail looked at her hands, unsure how to act toward him now. It was so much easier to talk with him when he had been smelly and dirty in their carriage. With his hair trimmed and his beard gone, it made her feel—she did not wish to think on how it made her feel. Feelings were irrelevant. Mutual respect and trust were important and this man had neither of those attributes to recommend him. Last night the irritation had come more easily and had helped her keep her wits. Perhaps it would be best if she continued on that path. "It was not a competition, my lord."
He sat back in his seat, his golden eyes studying her again. The same look she had noticed the previous night clouded his eyes. Why did he have to study her so intently? It unnerved her. She stood up abruptly and lifted the seat of the bench, revealing a small storage space. Surely there were pieces of music hidden within. Abigail's body relaxed as she saw stacks of scores.
"I didn’t realize I had implied it was a competition. But you could have increased the caliber of the musicale had you played something similar to that piece. Beethoven is not easy to learn."
Her eyes narrowed. "I didn't realize you were well acquainted with Beethoven."
“We are not all uneducated heathens, Miss Marleigh.” His voice was quiet, and Abigail felt her face burn at the gentle rebuke.
Lady Cartwright stood and Sir Richard followed her. "We shall let you talk; Sir Richard and I will be chatting over there.” She motioned to another corner of the room. In such a small room, it was certain they would still hear most of Abigail’s words. Her eyes watched as they moved across the room, suddenly feeling as if this were a house call.
She brought her gaze back to Lord Grayson and her anger flared again. "There are plenty of accomplished ladies here, my lord. The responsibility does not fall to me to raise the caliber of performances."
He stroked his chin. "You are a mystery, Miss Marleigh. I cannot figure you out.”
“There is nothing to figure out, my lord.” Abigail again felt his scrutiny.
“Why did you not play as you are obviously capable? Perhaps if you did, the others would be forced to do their best as well, to make themselves look better." He folded his arms. "You are wrong about one thing—it is a competition. You are the only one who does not see it as such."
Abigail opened her mouth but he held up a hand to stop her.
"Stop. I didn’t come here to argue with you."
"Very convenient for you to call a truce once you have argue all of your points. " She glared at him.
He grinned at her and Abigail stopped breathing for a moment. His eyes crinkled and a small dimple formed just above his scar. He swished his hand in front of him. "Please, Miss Marleigh, finish your argument. I shall keep my mouth closed."
Abigail again opened her mouth, but snapped it shut. She could not remember what she wished to say earlier. She tried to glare, but it felt more like a weak grimace. "I can't remember now."
His grin turned into a full smile and Abigail had to look away.
"If you should happen to remember, I promise to cease whatever I am doing and listen intently."
Her mouth twitched a little also, but she refused to let him see her smile after he had vexed her so.
He shifted his weight, leaning against the arm of the settee. "Perhaps we should try a topic with less vim to it?"
She nodded grudgingly. Why did he not leave? Or stay but cease talking to her. She was no longer sure which she wanted more.
"How do you know Sir Richard and Lady Cartwright?" His voice held a tone of curiosity.
Abigail glanced over at the couple sitting quietly on the other side of the room. They chatted quietly, but Abigail was certain it was an act to make her think they were not listening. They were a sweet couple.
"Lady Cartwright and my mother were childhood friends and Sir R
ichard was a chum of my fathers from their Cambridge days." A warmth settled in her chest. "They stayed close friends until my parent’s passing. Before that, I can’t remember a Christmas without them. Either at our estate in Cornwall or at their estate in Herefordshire. Sir Richard is as close to me as any uncle. And I look on Lady Cartwright in the same way I do my mother's sister."
Lady Cartwright glanced over to Abigail, a soft smile on her lips.
Abigail turned her gaze back on Lord Grayson and a wave of protectiveness flooded over her. "And you? How did you come to impose on them? For I know Sir Richard would never associate with the likes of Captain Stringham."
Lord Grayson grimaced and rubbed his hand over his wounded thigh. "I told you. I met them in Brighton, at the cordwainer’s shop." He looked down at his boots, moving his foot back and forth in the light that streamed in through the windows. "As you must remember, I was in desperate need of clothing and boots." He cleared his throat. "I was immediately drawn to them. You are correct. They are the very best of people."
She stared at him. Something was off about his story. It’s as if he told just enough of the truth to make the story plausible. But Abigail felt certain he had left out the most important parts.
Sir Richard was normally a good judge of character. It was how he had risen to his current government position.
Doubts about Lord Grayson, and Sir Richard for that matter, formed in her mind. Could it be that Captain Stringham had imposed himself on good people like the Cartwrights? Had he fooled them into thinking he was a man of good character? Something about this situation didn’t ring true.
Lord Grayson shifted in his seat. "This subject doesn't seem to be as safe as I originally thought." He nodded to the music in her hands. "Which is your favorite composer?"
She looked down at the music she had completely forgotten she was holding. "Vivaldi," she blurted, without thought.
His eyes lit up. "Really? Why? What draws you to his music?”
Abigail thought back to that night in London. It had been one of the best nights of her life. "My father took me to the theater in London several years ago. The orchestra played Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. He captures the feeling of every season so well. But Spring is my favorite. I fell immediately in love. When I heard it, I knew I had to have it for myself." She looked at her hands and bit her lip. "That was the season before my parents died." Why had she told him of such an intimate moment?
His voice was quiet. "Will you play me the piece?"
She shook her head. "I don't have the music. I've never been able to find it, until…" She stopped.
"Until?" He leaned forward again, his elbows resting on his knees.
He was very close—so close she could smell the rosemary and cedarwood wafting past her nose. He had surely improved in smell since their first meeting.
She stammered. "I, uh, I found the piece in Portsmouth."
His brows rose again, and his gaze intensified. "If you found it, why do you not have it now?"
Abigail scooted to the far side of the bench. "Sheet music is expensive, my lord. I did not have much pin money for this trip. It would have been foolish to spend the bulk of it on a single score."
"But surely, you had enough for the one. It could not cost so much."
Abigail looked at her hands, her thumb rubbing back and forth over the notes on the page.
Lord Grayson cleared his throat, his voice low. "My apologies for making you uncomfortable. I obviously have been at sea too long and do not remember such things."
She raised her gaze to his, wishing she knew what his looks meant.
"If I am not forced to buy too many candles, I may have just enough to buy it on our return trip."
A laugh rumbled out of him. "I am afraid you may be out of luck then. One candle? I thought that very odd. But this is my first house party in years. I thought perhaps it a new trend among the ton—candle rationing." His face sobered and he crossed his injured leg on top of the other. Interlacing his fingers, he placed them around his knee. "And what if you do need to buy more candles—for I am confident you will—" he gave an exaggerated nod of his head—"Then what? Or what if you are very cautious with your candlelight, but the music is gone when you return?"
Abigail shrugged, even as her chest squeezed. She would be devastated. But she could hardly say as much to Lord Grayson. "Then it was not to be. I am sure I will discover it again." She didn't believe her own words and she doubted Lord Grayson did either. Not if his creased brow was any indication.
He scooted to the edge of his chair, putting him again in smelling distance. If she retreated any farther back, she would fall to the floor.
The door opened and Clara walked in.
Abigail let out a relieved sigh.
Clara focused in on Lord Grayson first, her mouth opening slightly, her eyes glaring at him.
"Hello, Miss Martindale." Sir Richard stood, then offered a hand to assist is wife.
Clara turned her head, her shoulder's dropping a fraction when she saw them in the corner.
"I have come to retrieve Abigail. Several of us have decided to put on a play. We have chosen The Taming of the Shrew." She walked toward the pianoforte. "I know you do not normally enjoy such things, Abigail, but I know this is one of your favorites."
Abigail saw the pleading in her cousin’s eyes.
"Mr. Carter and Lord Ainsley have both agreed to participate. We plan to present it tomorrow night."
Abigail felt her cheeks color up. Must Clara use specific names in front of Lord Grayson? He was sure to understand the meaning behind her words.
"I don't believe I will, Clara. I've wanted to visit the conservatory. The rumor is there are many exotic flowers to see."
"Please, Abi? If you do not come, there will not be enough people for all the roles and several of us will have to play multiple parts. It will be no fun at all."
Abigail had difficulty saying no to Clara. Especially when she looked at her with the same eyes as Abigail's terrier.
"Oh, very well. If it will make you happy, cousin."
Clara clapped her hands and hopped several times. "I knew you would agree, Abi. Thank you."
Abigail looked to Lord Grayson. "And what of you, Lord Grayson? Would you be so good as to join in on the fun?"
Clara turned narrowed eyes to him, her head shaking vigorously. "Oh, you will not be needed. I am afraid there are not enough parts."
Abigail stared at Clara. “Did you not say that you were in need of people to fill several roles? I believe Lord Grayson could help out, could you not, my lord?”
"If Miss Marleigh desires it, even though she so obviously does not wish to participate, I shall agree as well."
Clara whispered. “Very well, Abi. But I am not in agreement.”
Abigail walked out from behind the pianoforte and tucked her arm through Clara's, mustering an overly cheerful tone. "Then it is settled. You have two more actors to add to your play."
As they entered the corridor, Clara turned to Abigail. "You must have been playing a very strenuous score, Abi. I can feel your pulse racing in your wrist."
Abigail pulled away from Clara, instead folding her arms across her stomach, where she could more easily hide her pounding heart.
Chapter 11
Alex stood as far away from the terrace doors as possible. Lightning briefly illuminated the room, followed quickly by a loud clap of thunder.
Alex cringed, his eyes closing for a moment. He had never been fond of thunder storms, even as a boy, but after six years on a ship—his muscles tensed as another sharp crack shook the windows.
Lord Ainsley stopped next to Alex, chuckling into his glass of port. "Still afraid of the thunder, Grayson?" He held the glass by the base, twisting it around on his fingertips. "Lud, it still seems odd calling you Grayson."
Alex let out a mirthless chuckle. "It can't be half as odd as it is for me to answer to it." His head and shoulders dropped slightly forward. "I never thought to have t
he role."
He shook his head, pulling his thoughts from that dark place. Narrowing his eyes, Alex glared at Lord Ainsley. "Afraid of thunder? I have no notion of what you are speaking. I have never been afraid of anything, much less thunder."
As if to prove his lie, another pop of light shone in the windows, followed by a boom. Alex flinched. It sounded like cannon fire. He lifted a hand, rubbing his index finger back and forth beneath his nose as the smell of gun powder and smoke filled his nostrils.
"Come now, Grayson, it is to me you are speaking. Before you left for India, we were as close as brothers. I remember you huddling under your bed covers whenever there was a storm."
Alex stared at Lord Ainsley. "I never huddled anywhere. The notion is absurd." Irritation rose in his voice.
Ainsley studied Alex. "What has happened to you? You are much changed since your return—all scowls and gruffness."
Alex tried to relax his features. Was it true? Had he changed as much as his friend was claiming? His brow creased. How could he not be a different man? The things he had seen—how could he ever be the same again?
Alex took a deep breath. Ainsley had done nothing to deserve the gruffness, but Alex was not certain he knew how to be anything else.
"I apologize, Ainsley. I haven't felt like myself since returning. I suppose I'm still growing accustomed to the idea of Patrick's death and my new responsibilities."
Ainsley clapped Alex on the back. "I can rightly understand. Your life has taken a different path than you ever thought possible."
Alex nodded. "I have yet to even see my mother and sister. I am told they are off at some other house party." How he missed them. If not for his concern of endangering them more with his presence, he would have skipped this charade and joined his mother where ever she was.
Lord Ainsley grinned. "I shall make it my duty to rid you of the doldrums." He placed a finger on his chin and looked around the room. "Who else shall I enlist to help me?"
Miss Marleigh's Pirate Lord (Regency House Party: Havencrest Book 1) Page 8
