Three Original Ladies 02 - Lord Trowbridge’s Angel

by G. G. Vandagriff

  “I have nothing scheduled that cannot be ignored. I anticipate that after I hear you perform, you will not be able to tear me from your side, Angel.” He squeezed her fingers, which were still in his hand.

  She smiled. “Good afternoon, my lord.”

  Perkins had opened the front door and she moved through it, limping hastily into the library so that she could watch Lord Trowbridge mount his curricle and drive away.

  “Is that you, dearest?” Fanny called from the top of the stairs.

  “Yes, coming!”

  ~~*

  Sophie found her sister in the nursery, preparing to nurse Alexa and put her to bed for the night.

  “So how did you enjoy Hyde Park?” Fanny asked, bringing Alexa to her breast to suckle. To Sophie, her sister looked like a Flemish Renaissance painting with her vivid auburn hair piled carelessly on her head and her beautiful, clear-cut features focused on the child at her breast.

  Sophie loved the nursery, wallpapered with sprigs of cherries, furnished in cherrywood, and curtained with cherry-and-white-striped hangings. “It was entertaining,” she said.

  She told Fanny about the young men she had met, as well as Lady Frampton.

  “And how was Gorgeous Frank?”

  “Gorgeous as ever. He has come up with an intriguing idea. He is going to coach me in archery!”

  “Splendid! You will cut a bold figure, Soph. I can just see you holding the bow and taking aim. Then, ‘Ppft!’ So you had a good visit, then?”

  “I am afraid he is a little put out with me.”

  “With you? How could that be?”

  “I am not certain. You see, Melissa has developed a tendre for someone called Lord Oaksey. I ventured to ask Lord Trowbridge about him. He nearly bit my head off. Told me Lord Oaksey was badly dipped and then asked me straight out if I had a fortune!”

  “Bad manners, surely, Sophie. But I merely think he was trying to warn you off Oaksey. It shows he has a proprietary interest in you, dearest.”

  Sophie laughed. “How could that be, Fan? He is a Corinthian and I am lame. I cannot so much as go walking or riding with him!”

  “Hence, the archery scheme. I cannot believe you are so blind, Soph. He is taken with you.”

  Sophie batted a hand at Fanny in dismissal. “How can you think so?” Thinking of Lady Manwaring, she said, “I am not at all the type of woman he admires. I am as inexperienced as a newborn filly, and he is always offering me outrageous compliments. But they are too outrageous to be believed, even by a country bumpkin. Plus, he openly acknowledges that he is a master at flirtation. I think it is just his instinct where females are concerned.”

  “Well, let me tell you what I know of him through Buck. He has a serious streak, believe it or not. He is a devout Whig, very concerned for the poor. I do believe he has political ambitions, though for some reason, he chooses to act the part of an empty-headed sportsman most of the time.”

  “He told me about his sister. She sounds a lot like you, Fan. And like Elise—she’s an enthusiastic rider.”

  “I have never met his family. But Buck says they are solid people. Not at all pretentious for all that his father is an Earl.”

  “Fan, he must have faults. Everyone has faults.”

  Her sister bit the inside of her cheek, a habit while thinking. After a moment, she said, “I have always thought that Frank was a bit divorced from his feelings. He hides behind those beautiful manners of his. I do not know if even he knows what his feelings are. He is so … dispassionate. That is why I think his bad humor over the mention of Lord Oaksey is meaningful.”

  Sophie thought about this. “I bury my feelings, as well.”

  “You, me, Elise, we all do. And beware your heart, Sophie. Elise once told me, and I have found it to be true in my case, that we are all vulnerable because of our lack of motherly affection. It is as though we have this yawning hole inside. We bury our feelings to protect ourselves from snatching at fulfillment and being hurt again. That said, Buck thinks you could be the making of Frank.”

  Sophie laughed. “Oh, Fan, you must not count on that. We are not even true friends yet.”

  “And how do you measure true friendship?”

  “My standards are a bit high. But a friend is someone you can trust without reservations. With your faults, your secrets, even your life.”

  “That is a tall order, Soph.”

  “That is how I feel about you and Elise. And about Buck and Peter, Anna and Melissa.”

  “I do not think that trust can be had for a man outside of family or marriage, my love.”

  “Why not?”

  “I do not think you should trust a single man that much. Only when he has married you, and oftentimes in today’s society, not even then.”

  “That is grim,” Sophie paused, thinking. “But it is true that I have a difficult time with trust. When did you begin to trust Buck?”

  “After we were engaged. He revealed his deepest secrets. I vowed never to share them with another person. And I knew that he trusted me completely. That made it easier for me to trust him in return.”

  Fan had finished nursing. They discussed her plans to take Sophie to the modiste the next day.

  “Ah, I see it now, Fan. You are not contented with the roles of wife and mother. You have a sudden desire to take on a new role, that of matchmaker! Spare me, please.”

  “No, I will not spare you a new wardrobe. You cannot continue to wear mine. And you are so very beautiful, my dear. We cannot have you hiding your light under a bushel.”

  “Well, it will have to be after I practice. My music comes first. It is what gives me what courage and wit I have.”

  “I understand that, Soph. I truly do.”

  ~~*

  Sophie dressed carefully for the evening ahead. Fortunately, she had commissioned a black evening gown from Elise’s London modiste by post when she was still in Derbyshire. It was black silk chiffon over black satin, high-waisted, with a square neckline and long sleeves that were puffed at the shoulder to give her ease of movement. The neckline, hem, and high waist were all trimmed with narrow black velvet ribbon. Black was de rigeur for performances, but Sophie was aware that it looked a bit stark on her. Taking a swath of black velvet ribbon, she arranged it tightly around her neck and fastened it in front with an antique cameo broach that Elise had given her when she had worn this dress for the first time at Ruisdell Palace. She had said that Sophie had a face fit for a cameo herself. Remembering that, Sophie smiled through her nerves.

  What in the world had possessed her to invite the accomplished Carstairs and Gorgeous Frank to hear her play? Now she realized she would have infinitely preferred an anonymous audience for her first real performance. Flexing her fingers, she stood at her bedroom window, looking out at the twilight. What did she expect to happen tonight? Did she think she would suddenly forget everything she had learned? All the thousands of hours she had spent in practice? There must be a technique for distancing herself from the audience, but she could not think of what it could be other than losing oneself in the piece. That is what she must do. She would excuse herself from the table before the last course and go to the music room to prepare her mind and heart.

  ~~*

  Frank was the first to arrive. As with the night before, he looked splendid in his evening clothes.

  “You look lovely,” he said to Sophie in a low voice, shaking his head slightly as though to dislodge a vision. “Like you have been performing for years.” He handed her a bouquet of fragrant gardenias. “Perhaps you could put one of these in your hair.”

  “Thank you. That is a wonderful idea. Maybe you could do it?”

  He plucked a flower out of the posy. “Let me see. I think we want it on the side, toward the back.”

  Her breath completely stilled as he came close.

  “You’ll have to anchor it securely, or it will fly out while I am playing.”

  She felt him loose a pin. The flower slid into place and was fixed s
ecurely.

  “Thank you so much. What a very dear idea.”

  They stood smiling at each other until suddenly the Carstairs, Fanny, and Buck were upon them. They went into dinner.

  { 6 }

  WHEN FRANK ENTERED THE MUSIC room to see Sophie standing by the piano on top of a small dais, she looked different from the girl he knew. She had left the dinner table before the last course, she said to prepare; Frank wished he had been able to do the same. Her face had a lofty, removed look. Her head sat differently on her neck, which now seemed swan-like.

  Conversation hushed as the small audience sat in the prepared chairs, facing the dais. Sophie waited a long moment, then put bow to strings, and bowed her head. As she lifted it, she drew the bow full length across the strings. A pleading note sang through the air, characterized by restraint.

  As she continued playing, swaying slightly, eyes closed, Frank knew a gradual feeling of deepest humility and wonder. The music captured the love and awe of a sublime act of worship. Her bows were drawn out long and gracefully, her face incandescent. The melody went from a rich volume to whispering and back again. The piece, he realized, was really very simple; it was Sophie who gave it such dynamism.

  Each note met him somewhere near his heart, murmuring a message that stretched him inside. His cynicism was being hollowed out, and the hollow was being filled with authentic feelings, some of which he had never felt before. His heart was ruling his head. It was liberating.

  For once, he was fully present in his body, in the moment. Sophie was touching him everywhere, and he yearned to touch her back with the same poignancy. The intimacy he felt with the music and with Sophie enchanted him.

  When she was finished, she held her violin to the side and bowed from the waist. He rose to his feet. “Brava! Bravisima!” he shouted, clapping with all his energy. The others were doing likewise.

  She stood with such simplicity, a broad smile on her face, as though she had just given them a gift. Which she had. His ennui was blown away. Sophie had pierced into his depths. Depths he had ignored since feeling small moments of bright joy as a child—studying his collection of carefully chosen rocks, composing a tale of valor and adventure with himself as the hero, smelling his mother’s sweet lavender scent as she hugged him before bed. Eton had proved the end of those brilliant moments, until Sophie had excavated below his public school/London gentleman persona.

  Frank knew not how to express this to her. Stepping up onto the dais, he put a hand on her waist with the lightest touch and whispered into her ear, “You are magnificent. Words cannot express how you have affected me.”

  She looked up at his face, returned his grave look, and said, “I am glad the music reached you.”

  “I am alive with awe,” he said.

  Buck and Fanny joined him, the latter embracing her, and his moment alone with Sophie was ended. Stepping off the dais, he sat and stared ahead of him, holding his chin in his hand and drawing his index finger across his upper lip. His future no longer looked gray. It was brilliant. As long as his angel was in it.

  ~~*

  He was vaguely aware that the Carstairs were enthusiastically consulting Sophie on the choice of music for their performance together. Arrangements were being made for a rehearsal the very next morning. Bella was exclaiming over Fanny’s piano, playing bits and pieces, laughing.

  Frank supposed that musicians must be used to this feeling he was experiencing. But maybe not. For him, it was as much about Sophie as it was about the music.

  When the Carstairs at last took their leave, he remained seated in the music room, knowing she would come back to him. Fanny and Buck had gone to the door with Sophie and the musical couple, and Frank hoped they would now consider their hosting duties done.

  Apparently, they did, for only Sophie returned to the music room.

  “Lord Trowbridge, you appear to be in a brown study. Is everything all right?” She sat down next to him and put a hand on his arm.

  “Will you give me a private performance?” he found himself asking. “Will you play it again?”

  “My lord, I am afraid I am quite spent. My arms are like jelly.”

  He took her hands in his, studying first their backs, then turning them over to study her palms. There were calluses on the fingertips of her left hand. He brought the hand to his lips and kissed each fingertip and lastly her palm. “What priceless hands.” He looked into her curious face. “I feel we have been on an intimate journey together. You must call me Frank. May I have leave to call you Sophie?”

  “If you like,” she said. “The music seems to have touched you deeply.”

  “It was seeing and hearing you perform that touched me deeply, Sophie. That was a miraculous performance. I wish Mozart himself could have heard you play.”

  She put a hand to his face, stroking his cheek. “I am very glad it affected you so deeply. I am no witty flirt. Music is my language.”

  Her hand on his face was gentle, but it ignited him like fire. Turning his mouth into her palm, he kissed it and then brought it down to clasp with its mate between his own hands.

  “May I see you tomorrow?” he asked.

  “I am to be with Fanny’s modiste all afternoon. It seems I must have a wardrobe, whether I like it or not. Perhaps you could come to tea? If we have not yet returned, you may visit with Buck.”

  “Hopefully, I will have a surprise for you.”

  “That would be lovely.”

  He took his leave regretfully, giving Sophie’s knuckles a fervent kiss. “Good night, my angel. Sleep well.”

  { 7 }

  SOPHIE LAY IN BED THAT NIGHT, pleasantly exhausted and full of delicious wonder at the change in Frank. Tonight, she had believed the words he had said. She knew they were not empty flattery, but were spoken from a heart that had been touched. He was an entirely different man than she had supposed. Those elegant looks concealed a nature far more sensitive than she had suspected.

  Wrapping her arms about her breast, she hugged to herself the sweetness she felt until her exhaustion claimed her and she fell asleep.

  The following morning, Sophie slept late. She was awakened by her sister, who entered her room with a large bouquet of pink roses mixed with daisies, and a dazzling pink and purple orchid in a pot.

  Sitting up in bed, she said, “Oh, how lovely they are!”

  “I think this orchid is a very rare variety. I have never seen it before,” Fanny said. She placed both offerings safely on the mantel of the fireplace across from Sophie’s bed.

  “Who are they from?” Sophie wondered. She reached for the cards her sister was holding out. Her heart pounded as she opened the first that had come with the roses.

  I missed seeing you at the Feversham ball last evening. I hope you are well.

  Your servant,

  Everett Elliott

  It took her a moment to recall the young madcap she had met in the park. It seemed as though the world must have rotated at least twice since that meeting.

  “Are they from Gorgeous Frank?”

  “No. They are from a young man I met in the park yesterday. He does not know I am lame, and says he missed me at the ball.”

  The next envelope had an embossed family crest. She pulled it open with her thumb.

  I have not words of my own, so I quote:

  “She walks in beauty, like the night

  Of cloudless climes, and starry skies;

  And all that’s best of dark and bright

  Meet in her aspect and her eyes:

  Thus mellowed to that tender light

  Which heaven to gaudy day denies.”

  Byron, of course.

  Angel, you have given me a gift so rare I cannot find the phrases to describe it. But Byron almost has the words to define you in your black silk and cameo. The orchid symbolizes your rarity.

  With my heart,

  Frank

  Sophie read it through twice. “Do I believe this?” she asked, handing Fanny the note.

/>   Her sister read it through, “I think so, dearest. Frank is honestly smitten. He read English Literature at Oxford and no doubt feels his own words insufficient. But in fact, his own words are the most eloquent. And the flower is exquisite. We must put it by the piano so that you can see it when you rehearse today.”

  “Oh, Fan.” She hugged her sister close. “I am moved, but frightened at the same time.”

  “Believe what he says, dear. He means it.”

  “But it has happened so fast.”

  “And you are feeling vulnerable from head to toe, I know.” Her sister hugged her back.

  Sophie panicked, “What time is it? The Carstairs are coming to rehearse this morning!”

  “I woke you in time, dear. And had Sally fill a bath for you.”

  ~~*

  When the Carstairs arrived, they were once more effusive in their praise of Fanny’s new piano.

  “How I shall love to play on such an instrument!” Bella said.”Mine is not nearly so fine. Your sister must be a wonderful pianist to have such a piano.”

  “She plays only a little. They bought it mostly for me, I think. My brother-in-law is all that is kind. And if the Marquis does a thing, he does it well, so I am not surprised that it is so fine. Now, the two of you must have had something in mind for us to play.”

  Joseph produced a bundle of sheet music. “I purchased this just this morning. Have you heard of the Archduke Trio?”

  “Mr. Ffolkes told me of it! He had played it with a trio in London last year. He said it was very elegant. It is Herr van Beethoven, is it not?”

  “Yes,” Bella said. “The Piano Trio in D major. It shall be a challenge, and I am always excited by a challenge. But I think with this short period to rehearse, we should just prepare to play the fourth movement. It is challenge enough for now.”

  Sophie agreed. After looking at the music, she felt the same way herself.

  “Well. Let us begin,” Joseph said. “Bella, play us the melody, so we may get it in our heads.”

  Sophie enjoyed the rehearsal intensely. How right Fan had been to encourage her to come to London to play with other musicians! Playing alone with her master had been lovely, but it was nothing to enjoying Beethoven with this pair of excellent musicians.