by May Burnett
Rook wanted to shake the exasperating translator, but that would have betrayed that he understood her language. How did she expect the Princess and him to get on once she was not there to cater to Gisela’s prejudices and love of protocol?
“I have a dog myself, who follows me everywhere when I’m at home,” he said mildly. “His name is Jarl.”
For once the translation was correct enough.
“You’ll have to get rid of him when I’m in residence,” Gisela said. Her tone conveyed absolute certitude that her command would be obeyed.
He derived an unworthy satisfaction from seeing the Komtesse falter.
“Well?”
“The Princess expressed the hope that you will remove the dog when she is present.”
Interesting – so the younger woman realised that the Princess was being unreasonable. Possibly she had a soft spot for animals herself. She was trying to spare not only the Princess’s feelings, but his as well. Maybe she was not such a bad sort. In fact, if she’d been here as a guest on her own account Rook would have found her intriguing. That stiff spine and composure hid passion and intelligence – qualities he had always valued in a woman. If only Gisela had half of her companion’s looks, brains and temperament…
“Sorry, could you repeat that? I am afraid I was inattentive.”
“The Princess enquires as to the entertainment for the evening.”
“More music, I imagine, or card games. I suppose charades are not appropriate when we are worried about Miss Prentice’s fate, though they can be fun.”
“Music is acceptable,” Gisela said graciously.
“I sometimes sing – what about you, Princess? Do you play an instrument?”
“I play the pianoforte, but do not perform in public. Only in a family circle, at times.”
“Have I mentioned that Amberley is related to me – his paternal grandmother was second cousin to my mother. Lady Tembley is also distantly related to the Bretons. For me, or my wife, this is in effect a family setting.”
“For the time being, the Princess prefers not to perform,” the reply came back, faithfully translated. “My companion has a good voice, she can sing if you want another performer.”
“And how do you yourself feel about this offer, Komtesse?”
“I have sung in company often before. It is one of the duties of young ladies, and I like music.”
“Please tell the Princess that I look forward to hearing you perform. Perhaps we could sing a duet?”
The Princess did not have any objection to this mischievous suggestion, in fact she enumerated her favourite duets with unusual animation.
***
After dinner the guests congregated in the music room once again. It was the Princess herself who suggested that Rook sing a duet with Fräulein von Rosenfels. They settled on a Scottish ballad. Mrs. Ellsworthy offered to accompany them on the piano.
As the pianist began to play, Anna was uneasily conscious of the Marquess at her side. He was so overpoweringly virile – she should have brought a fan to cool her cheeks. Were they very red? How mortifying, if so … but it could be ascribed to the warmth of the many wax candles.
He began to sing, and she joined in with her soprano, trained in regular lessons since she was twelve years old. His technique was less professional, but he made up for that in range and timbre. And his expression was excellent too, for an amateur. The deepest notes went through her whole body, in an invisible wave that put every particle of her being at high alert. She nearly shivered at the profound sensation.
She knew herself to be in good voice and performed to the best of her ability, and was satisfied to see astonished appreciation on the faces of the audience when they ended the sad ballad on a minor note.
“That was extraordinary,” Lord Pell said. “Far above the general standard of our little performances. You two could apply to the opera house.”
“Indeed, I have rarely heard two voices that went together so well,” Lady Amberley said. “We must have another performance of this remarkable duo.”
“Duets between basso and soprano are fairly rare,” the Princess said with interest. “Most are written for tenor and soprano. Let me think …what about Don Giovanni’s duet with Zerlina? It is for baritone and soprano, but should be well within Lord Molyneux’s range.”
“La ci darem la mano?” Anna looked at the Marquess doubtfully. Would he know the Italian text?
“I think I have the score somewhere,” Lady Amberley said. “You can read it as you sing, Rook.”
Anna saw her wink at the Marquess. What was going on here? “You read music, then?” she asked.
He shrugged carelessly. “Yes, in my early youth I even played the flute.”
She translated, and the Princess nodded approvingly. “A most civilised instrument. I like its bright sound.” The Marquess did not appear unduly flattered when Anna translated again.
“Here is the music – you can both look at it,” Lady Amberley said, after rummaging in a chest close to the pianoforte. “Ah, Charlotte, you will need to see it too and we have only the one sheet…
“I know the song,” the Marquess said, to Anna’s surprise. “I think I can remember the lines, more or less.”
Charlotte received the notes and they sang again. It was a song of calculated seduction – a dizzy, naïve young farmer’s bride and an experienced, heartless rake proffering sweet but empty promises. Mozart’s song made the girl’s ultimate surrender as beautiful as it was inevitable.
As the Marquess’s deep voice combined with her own much higher timbre, Anna felt an illicit thrill. Was it the song? But she was no naïve Zerlina, she was a young lady who prided herself on common sense, devotion to duty and maturity. Exactly the opposite of the character she represented. Yet for the first time – and she had sung this aria a dozen times before, not counting practice – she had an inkling of how Zerlina must have felt. Overpowering attraction to the wrong man, when she was already promised to another – what could be more inconvenient or pointless?
A good thing that the Princess was not perceptive, and put little stock in the feelings of anyone of inferior rank. Some of the other members of the audience were looking from her face to the Marquess’s with dawning speculation. Was she so transparent? Surely not.
It did not help that when they finished, her partner in song raised her hand to his mouth for a dramatic kiss. It went with the performance - sealing the promised seduction – so why did it feel so real? Anna quickly pulled her hand back as the music ended, and the small audience applauded loudly.
“I feel my throat getting dry, no more singing tonight,” she said prosaically, and escaped back to her chair next to the Princess.
“Will you play the harp for us, Lady Chloe?” Lady Amberley asked, and that lady came to the front with a flounce and a glitter in her blue eyes. She played well, her face trained on Lord Pell for the entire performance, but he only applauded politely, much less enthusiastically than at her own contribution – and the Marquess’s.
Anna felt uneasy for the rest of the evening. It was not right that a man should be so ridiculously attractive that one girl ran away on his account – if not worse – and she, firmly promised and close to marriage, felt this silly shiver whenever he was close, or used that deep voice. He was betrothed to the Princess. Music was at least one interest Gisela and he had in common, maybe they could build on that. As for herself, though she could not help her foolish heart speeding up in his vicinity, she would not betray her reactions to anyone, especially to him; she must remain completely cool and impervious to all outward appearance. For a young lady trained by a professional diplomat, that should not prove too difficult.
Chapter 16
The next morning, at breakfast, Rook received a letter from his brother Jack. He sliced open the envelope with faint surprise. Though they were fond of each other, in their undemonstrative way, his brothers were not in the habit of writing to him.
“Dear Rook,” he
read, “Harry and I received the news of your engagement at Father’s hand with dismay; you will excuse us if we do not proffer felicitations, which you probably would not welcome in any case.” Rook glanced at the bottom of the page, and saw that Harry had also signed.
“We are convinced that the plan to sacrifice you in order to ennoble young Colin was hatched and promoted by our stepmother, who has always resented the fact that her only child was a fourth son, and thus could never inherit. I cannot believe young Colin would want to buy his grandfather’s title in such a fashion, were it up to him.
Except in the unlikely case that you should be enamoured of this German princess, we both urge you to reject the betrothal on some legal pretext, and assure you of our full support. This support includes the independence I have inherited from our late uncle, and the funds settled on us through Mother, should you be cut off by our father in consequence.
We are sure you will do the right thing, and stand ready to assist you in any manner you find useful. With best wishes, your brothers Jack and Harry.
Incredulously, Rook re-read the last two paragraphs, alternately touched and irritated at the implication that he might need to borrow money from his younger brothers. It was the natural order that everything – well, almost – would come to him as the eldest, the heir. He had always considered it his duty to look after his younger brothers, in case they ever needed it. This reversal of their roles, though still hypothetical at this point, was as ridiculous as it was unlikely.
Was it, though? His brothers were familiar with the duke, and knew his stepmother rather better, having spent more time in her household. Rook’s mother, the first duchess, had died of pneumonia when he was twelve. The Duke had re-married two years later. Rook had already been at Eton, and after college he had moved to his own lodgings in London. Neither he nor his brothers had particularly taken to their stepmother, though there had not been any open confrontations.
Could it really be she who was behind his unwanted betrothal? Rook could not imagine any woman having that much influence on his father. Yet she had also managed to keep Colin at home, when family tradition demanded he go to Eton. This bore looking into.
If Rook was cut off by his father, he might indeed need to borrow money – either from his brothers, which he was determined not to do, or from elsewhere. The studs into which he had thrown his energy and planning, the estates he already helped administer, even the London house in which he lived were all part of the ducal estate. They would come to him eventually, the Duke could not prevent that; but in terms of actual ownership and independence, right now, he was worse off than Jack, who had inherited a small fortune from his godfather, and even Harry. Their late mother’s handsome dowry had been settled on her younger children, as was only fair. Had the Duke considered this circumstance, when he had so callously signed his son’s hand away? If he thought that monetary concerns would make Rook give in meekly, he had much mistaken the matter. The need to safeguard the family honour, and the desire not to publicly humiliate a lady, were far more serious obstacles to rebellion.
As he methodically chewed his food, Rook did some hard thinking. His brothers, it could not be denied, were looking further ahead than he had done so far. If he were cut off from home, from the studs, his London place - could he live like that? Of course, even though he would miss the horses, the work, and Jarl.
He would need to find something useful to do with his time. Rook could simply flit from one month-long house party to the next, but that would not be enough for his energetic nature, and humiliating to boot. He could stand for parliament in the House of Commons, since his was a mere courtesy title. Anthony or George would surely give him one of the seats they controlled, or he could stand in some city district, make a real fight out of it – not until the next election, however. He might borrow money to start a stud farm of his own, though that was a risky prospect; you needed plenty of capital as well as a modicum of luck to make a go of it.
Why had he never thought to put by a part of his generous allowance, for such a situation as this? It would never run to buying a stud farm, but a reserve of some months’ worth would have been useful.
All of that could wait, as he did not see a way to break his unwanted engagement so far. There was one thing he’d do just in case, however. A message ordering Jarl to be brought to him in Amberley would go out that same day. Technically the animal was also part of the ducal estate, but possession was nine points of the law. Though he might demand the return of a valuable horse like Charger, the Duke would not make a fuss over a six-year old dog. And if Rook had to marry Princess Gisela, she’d better get used to his dog from the outset. Maybe Jarl would help tip the scales against the match.
“You look unusually thoughtful,” Anthony interrupted his reflections. “Not more bad news, I hope?”
“No, on the contrary, my brothers are writing to assure me of their support, whatever I decide to do.” He could speak freely as none of the Princess’s party was present.
“If you write back, give Jack my regards,” Anthony replied. They were the same age and had been friends in Eton.
“If you were suddenly to find yourself without your estates and seat in the Lords, what would you do with yourself, Anthony?”
“Depends on how much money I still retained. Unless I found myself a pauper I’d enjoy the sudden freedom from responsibilities, and travel around the world, at least for two or three years.”
“I see.” That was one option Rook had never considered. He loved England too much to want to leave it for such protracted periods, though he did not mind the occasional trip to Paris.
“Since I don’t see any chance of losing my title and estates, it remains only a daydream,” Anthony went on. “Though I suppose I could find someone reliable to administer things in my absence, and the country’s politics would somehow totter on without my contribution. I’ll have to think about it.” He was looking at Rook thoughtfully.
“Marianne would not want you to travel before assuring the continuation of your line,” Rook pointed out, before his young friend decided to go off on some dangerous jaunt overseas. Lady Amberley would not forgive him for the suggestion, if anything happened to her beloved brother.
“We have cousins aplenty who would not mind stepping into my shoes,” Anthony replied blithely. “And Marianne has travelled more widely than I; remember her journey round the Mediterranean last year, when she and George were stuck on that Greek Island.” He stirred his tea with a far-away look in his eye. “I’ve always wanted to see India.”
Alarmed at what he had started, Rook quickly changed the subject. “Is there any news regarding Miss Prentice?”
“That tiresome girl – sorry Rook, I suppose it’s not your fault she fell in love with you and ran away. No, I have not heard anything more. I suppose we have to wait for James to report back from London. That seems the best hope at this point.”
“Has anyone found out where the shabby cloak came from, if it was indeed her boarding that mail coach, and if she had enough money for the ticket?”
“I suppose George would know, if anyone does. How did the Princess take the matter, may I ask? It cannot be pleasant for her, that her betrothed is involved, if peripherally, in the disappearance of a young lady.”
“She has not reproached me for it. In fact she places the entire blame on Miss Prentice, I gather.”
“At least she’ll be a tolerant and discreet wife, if you do end up marrying her.” Anthony took a sip of his tea, put the cup down. “Rather you than me, if you don’t mind my frank speaking.
“Not at all. But don’t buy us a wedding present just yet.”
“Now if it were that pretty Komtesse with the lovely singing voice, it would be a different matter.” Anthony looked wistful for a moment. “Too bad that she’s also engaged, or I might try my luck there. As the daughter of a diplomat she would be used to travel.”
Rook had finished and stood up with an energetic movement. “Why not tr
y anyway? Engaged is not yet married, after all.” Though he doubted that Anthony was the right man for Anna von Rosenfels. That young woman needed someone far more masterful, or she would ride roughshod over her spouse.
Chapter 17
Anna was walking up and down her room, unable to sit still. She had received a letter from her father in St. Petersburg, and her whole future depended on her reply. For two long years now, she had been planning her life as the Countess von Gorten, wife to Rudolf, a career officer in the Obernberg Guard. The fine linens in her hope chest had already been embroidered with the initials AvG, and the first cakes for the wedding had been baked, when she had countermanded them a few short weeks ago.
Did she want to throw away that carefully established future for renewed uncertainty?
I fully understand that under the Prince’s direct command you had no choice but to postpone your marriage to Rudolf, her father had written. Personally I think it may have been for the best. I regretted that I would have to miss your wedding, as the leave I asked for was granted too late, and now perhaps it can be rescheduled at a time when I can personally give you away – if it goes ahead.
I was distinctly displeased to receive a letter from Rudolf, two days ago, which suggested that in view of the delay, your dowry should be augmented by another five thousand gold thalers. It is not the money that gives me pause – we can easily afford it – but the timing and the manner of the renewed demand, when all settlements and papers are already signed. Moreover, I have received reports from several correspondents at home of Rudolf’s current conduct, that raise serious doubts about his suitability as my only daughter’s husband.
That must be her father’s oblique way of referring to Rudolf’s opera singer. Anna had been taught by her aunt that gentlemen considered that sort of affair entirely normal, but apparently her father’s view of Rudolf’s behaviour was stricter than her aunt’s. Was it not all well-born men, then, who kept mistresses? Or were others just more discreet?
