A Courtship to Remember: A Historical Regency Romance Book
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A Courtship to Remember
A REGENCY ROMANCE NOVEL
BRIDGET BARTON
Copyright © 2019 by Bridget Barton
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Table of Contents
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A Courtship to Remember
Introduction
Elizabeth Ramsbury is only interested in pursuing her independence and her musical talent. Unfortunately, the entrapment of matrimony looms over her head like a bad omen. After her father forces her hand, she sees no other choice but to take the only honourable route and find a suitable match to marry. A fortuitous meeting at a ball leads her to make an elaborate plan with the Baron to convince everyone that they are courting. What happens when their scheme paves the way for true feelings to start blossoming? Will Elizabeth realize that she can find the love and passion music has given her in a different place too?
Lord Cavendish, Baron of Bedford has been rejected by his only true love. Dejected and heartbroken, he mourns the loss pitifully. He believes that he can only be whole again when he wins her back. His prayers are answered when a beautiful woman he meets by chance gives him the perfect opportunity to make his lost love crawl back to him. But he soon finds himself unwittingly enchanted by her grace, beauty and pleasant company. What if what he’s looking for is right in front of him?
It may have been pure chance when they met for the first time, but is it fate that will bring them together? Sometimes love can be found when you least expect it, even in the best-laid plans! Will they both realise that their goals, as well as their hearts perfectly aligned?
Chapter 1
Elizabeth's hands glided over the instrument, her fingers feeling each key as though it were a further extension of her body. There wasn't a pianoforte in all of England that was so lovingly caressed as this one, so doted upon by its mistress. Her closed eyes blocked out irrelevant stimuli, allowing her other senses to fully appreciate the beautiful melody that seemed to enter her body and touch her soul in a way that was both magical and familiar. This particular piece was one she had written herself, a melody she had birthed out of the depths of her being.
This is how music should be, she thought to herself. An all-consuming experience that makes all else seem dull and lifeless.
Elizabeth's life revolved around music – performing on her mother's pianoforte, finding music sheets that promised an explosion of sound when translated, and even the practise of copying sheet music into the many notebooks that she favoured above any silly woman's instruction manual on finding a suitable husband.
Cecilia, her younger sister, had a vast collection of books centred upon a woman's appearance, social etiquette, wifely skills such as being a successful hostess, and literature that seemed to force women into a monotony of thought, speech and fashion. If only she would allow herself the opportunity to experience the beauty of music, then she would not concern herself over such superficial activities.
Two years separated the sisters, but there could not be a more different pair. Elizabeth could not bear the frivolity of her younger sister's activities, preferring to confine herself to the parlour where her beloved instrument was housed. She began to hum the melody, her mouth opening to effortlessly form the words that matched the rise and fall of her nimble fingers.
“La la laaaa, do do do, la la laaaa, do do do...”
She fell into a hum once more, the sound sending vibrations throughout her body. If only the world could appreciate music, I believe there would be less evil. It caused her great sorrow to hear the plight of the poor, their quality of life, and the powerful few who, although possessing the resources to help them, neither wished or chose to do so. There had even been word of human slaves from deepest Africa being treated like animals by people who should know better but chose to entertain the darkness in their hearts. Perhaps if I could compose a piece of music that is so profound and moving, I could influence those with an ear for music.
Elizabeth understood the power of music. She knew how it could affect a person's mood and actions. Play a light melody, then you are likely to raise the spirits of your listeners, or play a mournful melody, and the atmosphere of the room would change. I may be an optimist, a dreamer even. But I cannot help but think that music could change the world. Perhaps this is what my God-given purpose is, to influence those in a position to change the world. Or perhaps it is just to bring joy to those who hear me play.
Whatever her purpose may be, Elizabeth did not take her music capabilities for granted. Her skill on the pianoforte had been noticed from an early age by her mother, and it was her mother who had encouraged her to pursue her talent by spending hours at the instrument, diligently practising until the notes simply flowed. Not that Elizabeth had minded, for she had taken to the pianoforte as a baby did to a nursing bottle. She had gone from a daughter raised for marriage to a daughter who shared her mother's love of music.
Mama has not spoken of a possible marriage for me, which is just as well as I do not think that I could be married to a man who would stifle my creativity and skill. I shall not become a wife and sacrifice the one thing in this world that brings me pure pleasure.
Her father may be of a different opinion altogether. I have the strongest foreboding that he may bring up the subject of marriage soon. I am to be twenty in a few mere months, an age when most women are either accepting the shackles of matrimony or having their first child. I pray that Cecilia does not become betrothed to Percival too soon.
Elizabeth immediately felt ashamed for her thoughts. Her sister was indeed in love with her young beau, betrothment would be a natural progression of their courtship. Could she really wish for a delay to suit her own purposes? She sighed. No, far be it for her to withhold her sister's happiness with a heartfelt prayer to the heavens.
I may be obsessing over an event that may not take place in the near future.
Elizabeth noted that her mood had certainly dipped. As the piece of music came to an end, she went into a more jovial piece, one she had learnt from the copied music sheets of her dear friend Emma Thompson. Poor Emma was hopeless with the pianoforte, but proficient with the harp. The crux of the matter was that her father insisted that she dedicate her time to the pianoforte, which was fast becoming a firm favourite in the homes of the gentry. His sudden need for his daughter to play the instrument was likely due to the Dowager Viscountess de Bourgh recently stating that a young woman who was accomplished at playing the pianoforte would make a suitable bride for her nephew, the Duke of Carlisle. It was a statement Elizabeth had found rather silly, as there was much more to being a wife than playing a pianoforte. It was also contradictory as the wife would no longer be able to spend her time playing the instrument. While music was looked upon as a skill for a young woman looking to enter the marriage market, once married, it
was considered socially unacceptable. Any musical skills would need to be replaced with wifely skills, which seemed like a complete waste of talent to Elizabeth.
Better not to marry and be independent than forsake my music!
A sudden movement to her right attracted her attention, but her hands continued to play, so accustomed were they to each key placement. Her mother entered the room and took a seat next to her. Despite her lack of time to play herself, her mother had always enjoyed sitting beside her eldest daughter during when she could, eyes closed, as she allowed the music to wash over her. A little peek to the side told Elizabeth that her mother's eyes were indeed closed, a smile playing about her lips, her fingers moving upon her lap as if playing along. The music ended, earning applause from her mother.
“Simply beautiful, Elizabeth. I could not fault it at any point.”
“Thank you, Mama. I have learned from the best possible teacher in the whole of England, perhaps even the world.”
“Oh hush,” her mother protested, softly nudging her with her shoulder.
Despite the protest, Elizabeth could see that her mother was secretly pleased. She took her mother's hands, bringing them to rest on the keys.
"It is true, Mama. These hands have moulded and shaped my skills better than any music teacher could have. I am thankful to have had a mother whose love for music gave me the opportunity to express my thoughts and emotions in such a magical manner."
Her mother's hands lightly caressed the keys before she folded them in her lap with a sigh. There was a longing in her eyes as she stared at the instrument, perhaps remembering her days when every waking hour was spent honing her skills, a joyous time for her.
“My time has passed, but you can continue the dream for the both of us. You play beautifully, Elizabeth. Hearing you brings me much joy, more than you can ever imagine. What was it that you were playing before I came in? I recognised this playful tune, but the other I did not.”
“Oh, that is something I created myself. It is the first time I have played it in its entirety, but I am pleased with it.”
Her mother's eyes widened slightly. “You composed it?”
“Yes, Mama. It has been my dream to compose my own music according to what bubbles out of me. It is different to what I am used to. But it is my own.”
“That is wonderful, Elizabeth. I had no notion you had this gift within you. Yes, you play beautifully, but to compose is another thing altogether. It takes true commitment and passion for that.”
Elizabeth beamed with happiness. To hear her mother confirm her abilities were a gift was wonderful indeed. Her mother had been a gifted pianist. Not just accomplished but gifted. To walk in her footsteps was a privilege.
“I am glad that you think so, as I have worked increasingly hard to perfect my skills. While I do not consider myself a great composer, I still have a dream to be considered the world's greatest composer to have ever lived.”
Her mother jumped up and paced the room. Whenever her mother got like this, Elizabeth knew that ideas were forming in her mind.
“How fortuitous. I could have never dreamed that my own daughter would carry the same dreams that I had.” She stopped and looked at Elizabeth. “Yes, I was filled with joy when you took to the pianoforte with ease and eagerness, but I could never have thought that you would aspire to be a composer. Could it be that my own daughter will become what I could not?”
She said this sentence more to herself, but it intrigued Elizabeth. While she had always known that her mother had been a gifted pianist, she had never revealed the dreams of her youth.
“Mama, did you wish to be a composer?”
Her mother smiled sadly. “Yes. It was a dream that shone brightly within me, pushing me to new heights of excellence. Of my generation, I was likely the most skilled pianoforte player in the land, and I relished that fact. I surpassed the women of my class and, if I were to be honest, the men as well.”
Elizabeth gave a little laugh and returned to her seat, caressing the keys once more. Why had her mother never informed her of this before? She had a close relationship with her mother, a relationship founded on their mutual love of music. She laid a hand on her mother's hand, stilling her. “You have never spoken of this before, Mama.”
Her mother covered Elizabeth's hand with her other hand, looking at her with eyes that seemed to be filled with old disappointment. “There was no use in speaking of it as it did not come to pass.”
Elizabeth frowned. “But why? You were gifted, Mama. I have heard many other people remark on your abilities, those who once had the opportunity to hear you play. Surely it would have been natural for you to fulfil your dreams?”
Her father did not seem like a man who would stifle his wife's aspirations. She felt her mother's hands slip from her, watching them come to rest by her sides.
"When I turned nineteen, I found that dreams were not attainable, at least not my own. I had a duty to marry the man of my father's choosing and thus forsake my love for music. It is an unfortunate thing for a woman's life to be led by those who do not possess a musical skill, or at least the love of music.”
Elizabeth felt foolish for asking such a question. Was it not obvious? Even I know that marriage kills any dream quicker than the guillotine.
“Mama, I am dreadfully sorry for bringing this to your remembrance. It was not my intention to evoke such sadness within you.”
She wrapped her arms around her mother and laid her head on her shoulder, hoping to bring comfort.
Her mother's head came to lie upon hers, her hand patting the arms wrapped around her. "Do not fret, dear. It is all in the past. My dreams may have died, but there is still a chance for you, if you are willing to forsake matrimony for your dream."
"I do not wish to marry, Mama. I wish to be an independent woman. I have heard of it before, women taking up a house for themselves. Papa will surely give me an inheritance to do so?"
Her mother's head lifted, and she turned to face her, taking Elizabeth's hands in hers. “Even if he does not, I shall help you. I shall sell my jewels if I must, but I shall help you to achieve your dreams.” She pulled Elizabeth to her and hugged her, kissing her head. “You do not know how happy I am to have you as my daughter. My own daughter, blood of my blood, will become one of the greatest composers of her time!”
Her mother released her, eyes shining with joyful determination. Could it be done? Doubt had crept into Elizabeth’s mind as her mother had spoken of her failed dreams. If a woman as gifted as her mother had been kept from her dream, where was the guarantee that she would achieve her own? However, she did not wish to darken the light she saw in her mother, so she merely smiled.
“I would like nothing better than to have you by my side.”
“Lovely. Come, let us sit elsewhere – these chairs are not comfortable for long conversations.”
They moved to the chairs that her mother had recently purchased. They were mahogany with legs of brass that resembled a lion's feet, finished with cushioned seats that were maroon in colour. Elizabeth liked them well enough, but she preferred her furniture without any animal features. Perhaps an ornament, but certainly not her furniture.
If I could independently establish my own home, I would keep it simple and elegant. A touch of the east here and there would be welcome.
It was not the first time she had thought of having her own house, preferably in London where most social events took place, but that remained to be seen.
Perhaps I shall be invited to play in the most prestigious homes of the country, even the Prince Regent himself. She thought twice about that, shaking her head slightly. No, I would not wish to play for him for I do not particularly like him. He seems far more concerned with filling his belly with delicacies and spending the nation's wealth on frivolous parties than taking care of those who are in poverty. At least, that is what she had once overheard about him from a dinner party guest some weeks ago. The man had been talking to her father, who did not seem t
o hold the same opinion. But then, her father was most loyal to the crown. Her thoughts turned to her sister.
“Has Cecilia returned from her outing yet? It seems she has been gone for quite some time.”
“Young love knows no time,” her mother said simply.
She frowned. “Did Cecilia not say she was going to Mary Abbott's home?”
"Yes, but she will not be the only guest there. Mrs Abbott has organised a picnic with some of the most eligible men of our area – she said so herself when I met her in town yesterday. Of course, there will be other young women there, but I guarantee that Percival Hawkins will be there as well."
Elizabeth resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Her sister was far too preoccupied with her young love for Percival. She only hoped that he felt the same way as well. Elizabeth had met him on a few occasions, but not for any extended period. She had nothing to talk about to him as he was concerned with matters that she found rather dull. Cecilia believed that the sun rose and set upon his head, nothing that he did could be seen as wrong. A most peculiar thing, thought Elizabeth. We are indeed as different as chalk and cheese. I would rather we had been cheese and wine, then our different personalities would at least complement each other.