Then she smiled at him again. “You played Vivaldi,” she said softly.
The moment broke when Mrs. Garen said, “Yes, quite nice.”
Suddenly it was as if Bayard could breathe again. He had never played an instrument like this one, and he himself owned a Stradivarius violin. He cleared his throat, taking a few seconds to compose himself, then sat and handed the instrument back to Lady Alethea without looking at her.
“I can understand why someone wants to take it from you, my lady,” Ian said, his voice almost back to his normal drawl.
Ian had said that to goad Bayard, who wasn’t entirely convinced the thief had been after Lady Alethea’s violin. Although now he began to doubt.
“Is this instrument so valuable?” Mrs. Garen said. “It has a remarkable sound, to be sure, but is it old? Rare?”
“That is what Lord Dommick is intending to ascertain,” Lady Alethea said.
“It is a Stradivarius, but I have never heard of any made with unusual wood,” Bayard said. “The famous violins Stradivari made were of normal spruce and maple.”
“And if this is not famous, it isn’t as valuable,” Ian said.
“But that’s even less reason for anyone to want this violin,” Lady Alethea said.
“I don’t suppose there might be something hidden inside?” Mrs. Garen asked.
Bayard, Ian, and Lady Alethea all shook their heads at the same time. “Any foreign object in the violin would affect its sound. Its value must lie in its history,” Bayard said.
“How did anyone know you owned it?” Mrs. Garen said to Lady Alethea. “Did you or Lady Arkright perform with it in a drawing room or for friends?”
“Never. Lady Arkright was well-known for her pianoforte playing and I often played harp. Neither of us played her violin except with each other or for Sir William.”
“Would he have talked about his wife’s violin to any in your social circle?” Bayard asked.
“We were in the country—our social circle was very small. Sir William knew people would gossip about his wife playing the violin, so he did not mention it. My governesses and companions never saw it, for I always played with Calandra or alone in the music room at Trittonstone Park.”
“Are you certain that the intruder was looking for your violin?” Bayard said. He would likely be bringing Lady Alethea’s wrath down upon him again. “The thief wouldn’t look in the drawing room after the family had gone to bed?”
Lady Alethea’s eyes flattened and she pressed her lips together for a moment before she answered. “No, I do not know that the intruder was looking for the violin. Whoever knows that I own this violin perhaps would also know I do not keep it in the drawing room.”
Bayard thought he ought to leave before he made the hedgehog more prickly. He rose. “I will no longer take up your valuable time, Mrs. Garen, Lady Alethea. Have you a case for the violin?”
She stood and looked him squarely in the eye. “I am afraid I cannot allow you to remove the violin from my possession, Lord Dommick.”
Irritation rose up like a rash on his skin. “I cannot help you if I cannot examine the violin, my lady,” he said in a tight voice.
“You are welcome to examine it here at any time.”
“Alethea,” Mrs. Garen said, “think of your reputation if he were to call upon you so often.”
Her reputation? Bayard was more than a little concerned for his own, and more importantly, any negative repercussions to his sister and his mother. Visiting a spinster who played the violin, already an oddity in society, would not improve people’s opinions of his sanity.
“My violin is too valuable.” Lady Alethea looked at Bayard, not her aunt, and she was tall enough that her gaze was only a few inches below his own.
“People will talk,” Mrs. Garen insisted. “If not of yourself, think of Lord Dommick’s reputation.”
“Actually,” Ian cut in, “we should want people to talk.”
“What?” Bayard said.
“We shall tell people that Bayard is helping Lady Alethea investigate the provenance of her violin.”
“Provenance?” Mrs. Garen said. “What does that mean?”
“An object’s history,” Bayard said. “Tracing the proof of an instrument’s creation and ownership.”
“We shall tell your mother, Bay,” Ian said with a grin. “And it’ll be all over Bath by nightfall. Then no one will question why you’re visiting so often.”
But they might still talk about his helping a female violin player. Unless . . . “Are many people aware that you play the violin?” he asked Lady Alethea.
Her eyes glinted and her jaw tightened. She knew why he was asking. He was suddenly ashamed of himself. He could not blame her for being upset, because his question—and his concern for his reputation—was insulting to her. She could not know his worry about how his reputation impacted his sister and mother.
“Only my sister, Lucy,” she said.
Ian stood and bowed. “Thank you for your time, ladies.”
“I will walk you to the door, gentlemen.” Lady Alethea’s smile was frosty.
In the entrance foyer, after the butler had returned their greatcoats and hats to them, Lady Alethea turned to Bayard, who immediately steeled himself. Ian was quick to move to a far corner of the foyer so he could not overhear—or, more likely, be swept up in the ire of—Lady Alethea’s conversation.
Her voice was low but calm. “I understand your hesitation to believe how anyone could want my violin, but my concern is that since you do not take my assertions seriously, I do not trust you to be as careful with my instrument as you would if you believed me.”
He saw her reasoning, although her distrust of him stung. But there was also some emotion throbbing underneath her words that he sensed had nothing to do with him, which fueled her defensiveness. Someone, or perhaps many people, had been the root of her distrust.
However, he was to bear the thrust of it.
She continued, “Your carelessness might allow it to be stolen. You would not deliberately allow that, but I cannot know that you would be as conscientious as I would like you to be.”
The hedgehog was forever pricking at him. “I understand your concern, Lady Alethea.” His voice was clipped. “I will not undertake this charge lightly.”
She hesitated, then stepped back and curtsied. “Thank you for calling.”
Bayard could not leave the house quickly enough. Since Ian had sent his carriage back, they walked to the other end of Queen Square to head back to the Crescent.
“Lady Alethea certainly does not think highly of you, my friend,” Ian said quite unnecessarily. “What did you do to provoke her?”
“Why is it my fault?” He had only stated the normal societal opinion about women and violins, for goodness’ sake.
“Because it’s often the man’s fault,” Ian said sagely.
“But it was eleven years ago.”
“Was it, now? You must have made quite an impression on the lady. And she on you, apparently.”
“I barely remembered her.”
“Indeed,” Ian said in a voice that clearly indicated he would be more likely to jump in the Avon than believe Bayard.
Bayard lengthened his stride. The sooner he was able to uncover the provenance of the violin, the better. For his sanity, at least.
“The sooner he uncovers the information about my violin, the better,” Alethea said as she returned to the drawing room after seeing the gentlemen out. “If only for my sanity.”
“And my peace,” Aunt Ebena said. “Was it necessary to argue with him?”
“I might have been a bit combative,” Alethea said grudgingly, “but he stopped short of calling me a liar about someone trying to steal the violin.”
“You are entirely too sensitive,” Aunt Ebena said.
Which was ironic since Alethea had needed to become a great deal less sensitive since living with Aunt Ebena.
“I tend to agree with him,” Aunt Ebena said. “W
hy your violin? Surely there are others more famous, or older, or crafted with more—”
They both stopped at the sound of a thump from directly above their heads.
“Is that . . . my bedchamber?” Alethea said.
“You have become overly suspicious,” Aunt Ebena said. “It could very well be mine. Although I don’t know why Brooks would be there at this time of day.”
“Shall I go up to see?” Alethea exited the drawing room before her aunt could object. She had been badly frightened two days ago, but the anxiety of waiting in the kitchen while the butler searched the house had made her feel as though her nerves were on fire. She would not be cowering again while someone else searched the house. “Dodd,” she called as she entered the hallway, but then was surprised to see Aunt Ebena’s dresser heading toward her. “Mrs. Brooks? But we thought . . .”
“I heard a noise in Mrs. Garen’s bedchamber,” Mrs. Brooks said, her hand twisting the fabric at her throat. “I was about to go upstairs to look in on her.”
“Brooks?” Aunt Ebena appeared in the drawing room doorway. “But if you’re here . . .”
Who was in Aunt Ebena’s room?
“Dodd!” Alethea called with more urgency, and the butler appeared at the stairs. “With me, please.” Alethea hurried upstairs.
“Alethea, don’t be foolish,” Aunt Ebena called after her.
The corridor was empty, all the bedchamber doors closed. If one of the maids were in a room, the door would have been cracked open. All was quiet but for soft sounds that floated up from the kitchen on the ground floor.
Alethea was no more than two steps down the corridor when she again heard a thump. It wasn’t from Aunt Ebena’s room.
It was from hers.
Dodd tensed beside her. He took a long stride to place himself between Alethea and her closed bedchamber door.
“How could a stranger have entered the house?” Alethea whispered.
“A window?” Dodd said. “I have made sure all the doors are locked, even during the day.”
A stranger in her room, searching for what he did not find the last time?
They slowly approached her door, careful to make no sound on the rug that ran the length of the wooden floor. As they passed a hall table, Dodd grabbed a heavy brass candlestick while Alethea made free with a bud vase from which she removed the flowers.
Dodd laid his hand gently on the door latch without rattling it, hesitated a moment, then swiftly opened the door.
A squeak pierced Alethea’s ears as she followed Dodd into her room. Margaret stood near Alethea’s dresser. At the sight of the two of them, she dropped the petticoats in her arms, which she had removed from the open drawer.
“Margaret!” Alethea set the vase on a nearby table. “What are you doing in my room?”
“Looking for your treasure.”
Alethea sighed. “I told you I didn’t have any treasure.”
“If you had treasure, of course you’d say you didn’t have any.”
Dodd cleared his throat. He stood correctly near the open door, the candlestick held in his hands as if he’d picked it up to polish it.
“Dodd, could you please explain to my aunt?”
He nodded and headed back downstairs.
Margaret’s eyes gleamed. “Did you think I was an intruder? What were you going to do?”
“If you were an intruder, we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” Alethea said. “And now, you will pick up everything you have messed up.”
“The maids will do it.”
“No, they will not. You created this mayhem, so you will clean up.”
Alethea was perhaps a touch more exacting in her demands as she directed Margaret to folding and replacing the petticoats she’d dropped, and straightening the bedclothes she’d rummaged around in while searching under the mattress. Margaret grumbled the entire time, and by the time they headed back to the drawing room, Alethea had decided to put the girl on bread and water until she was twenty-five. Or thereabouts.
Aunt Ebena was more sanguine. She had rung for a pot of tea. When Margaret reached for a jam tart, Aunt Ebena gave a decided, “No,” and a look that would have curdled milk.
“But I didn’t intend to upset anyone,” Margaret said.
“You violated your cousin’s privacy,” Aunt Ebena said.
Margaret sulked and slurped her tea loudly.
Alethea bit into a jam tart with exaggerated relish. “I apologize for alarming you, Aunt, but what was I to think after the frightening events of two days ago?”
“It wasn’t frightening . . . ,” Margaret began, but was stopped by her aunt’s harrumph as she cleared her throat.
“Indeed.” Aunt Ebena, who rarely ate sweets, picked up a jam tart and took a small bite.
Margaret sighed and stared longingly.
“Such a violation to have someone going through my things.” Alethea polished off her tart and took another.
“Really, what were you thinking?” Aunt Ebena sipped her tea.
“I’m-sorry-I-won’t-do-it-again-could-I-please-have-a-tart-before-Alethea-eats-them-all?” Margaret said in a rush.
Aunt Ebena tilted her head toward Alethea.
“I’m sorry for entering your room and looking for your treasure,” Margaret said.
“For the last time, I do not have a treasure.” Alethea set a tart on Margaret’s plate.
Margaret bit into the tart. “If I had known someone was in your room, I would have used one of Mrs. Dodd’s knives and stabbed him through the heart.”
“I had no idea you were so bloodthirsty,” Alethea murmured.
“That would be extremely foolhardy and dangerous,” Aunt Ebena said.
“It would be brave. We have no man to protect us.”
“We have male servants and that is quite adequate,” Aunt Ebena said.
Was it adequate? “At the time Mr. Golding spoke to me, I did not know I would be putting you and Margaret in danger. If he should approach me again . . .”
“For a moment, let us consider the highly improbable notion that your violin is valuable enough for someone to acquire it by any means necessary.” Aunt Ebena sniffed. “When men covet a particular item, possessing it is not always adequate. Could you guarantee that the thief would allow us all to live with the raging injustice of having it stolen from us? Would he not imagine us to be scheming to get it back?”
“Wouldn’t he rest in the belief that he has escaped detection?”
“Not if he plays the violin in public.”
“So he would try to harm us even after getting the violin?” Margaret licked jam from the corner of her mouth. “I might still get to stab him with Mrs. Dodd’s knife.”
“You will stab no one. That is not my point. Use your napkin,” Aunt Ebena added. “My point is that bullies never stop.”
Alethea had never considered Mr. Golding in light of a bully. Her experience with bullies had been the village boys. She had promptly started a fistfight with the largest one, and they had all become fast friends.
Aunt Ebena took a sip of tea, then said to Alethea, “I had never thought you to be so weak that you would allow someone to bully you.”
Alethea’s neck and ears grew hot.
“We should never allow someone to bully us into doing something against what we know to be right, simply because it is easier to give in.” For a moment, there was a tightness around Aunt Ebena’s eyes and in her tone, but it was quickly gone, and Alethea did not feel comfortable asking about it.
“Even if my decision puts others in danger?” Alethea said.
“I am not fully convinced we are in danger,” Aunt Ebena said. “Was the thief indeed searching for your violin? Even if there were proof, I would advise you not to allow someone as vulgar as Mr. Golding to bully you into doing anything.”
Alethea could not see Aunt Ebena allowing anyone to bully her. “Lord Dommick made an observation about the violin belonging to an Italian nobleman because it was a custom or
der. You would not possibly be acquainted with any Italian noblemen, would you?”
Alethea had been half joking, but Aunt Ebena stared off into the far corner of the room.
“Aunt?”
“Tania, Lady Fairmont, is descended from an Italian count on her mother’s side,” Aunt Ebena said. “I would not have recalled that were she not holding her ball in a few days’ time.”
“Would Lady Fairmont be familiar with other Italian noble families and recognize the initials from the violin?”
“You will have to ask her.”
“Could we visit her?”
Aunt Ebena frowned. “Tania is planning the ball right now and probably would not be at home to visitors.”
“After the ball?”
“Unfortunately, three days after the ball she will be removing to her country estate for a few weeks. If she is preparing to move her household, she may not see me then either. You shall have to speak to her at the ball.”
Alethea chewed her lip. “A ball is not an ideal place to have a conversation.” She attended very few balls since Aunt Ebena disliked them and Alethea preferred listening to music rather than dancing to it, especially if the musicians were indifferent. However, Aunt Ebena would never miss an event by Lady Fairmont, one of her close friends and one of the most respected residents of Bath, so they were already expected.
“Your only other option would be to write,” Aunt Ebena said. “Do you want your answer or not?”
“Yes, you’re right.”
“You should copy the initials and show it to her,” Margaret suggested.
“That’s a good idea. I shall send a copy to Lord Dommick as well.”
“Tania may not know many Italian noble families or anyone with those initials,” Aunt Ebena said. “If she doesn’t, do not press her.”
“Or she may immediately know whom the initials refer to. Perhaps my problem will be solved before next week.” To not see Lord Dommick again, except for brief, cold exchanges at private parties and the assemblies, should cause her rejoicing and relief, but . . . that was before he’d played Vivaldi for her. And she had to admit that a part of her longed to see the expression on his face when she played a particularly difficult violin piece of his own composition as brilliantly as himself.
Prelude for a Lord Page 8
