Julia White’s performance had been scheduled last, as Georgette had concluded that her enchanting performance would be difficult to follow, and would moreover make any deficiencies in the earlier entertainment forgotten by her guests. But something unexpected happened.
After Lord Paxton’s poetic recitation, very affectingly achieved, it was the turn of Portia to play. Lord Paxton gallantly stayed to turn her pages. Georgette settled comfortably, for she knew that her sister played creditably, and she was prepared to enjoy it. However, the piece she chose was not a schoolgirl’s composition practise piece. It was Mozart’s Piano Concerto 24 in C minor. The complex, dark and tragic notes held all the audience spellbound, and Georgette was newly shamed. To be so far from knowing this depth in Portia, when she was the nearest in the place of a mother to her, was shocking. There was a piano on the third floor, where Mama had practised away from them all, and Georgette now remembered that she had occasionally heard the distant piano music after Mama’s death, glad that one of the girls was keeping themselves amused in the depths of winter. Of course, for two of those winters she had been in London, and she had not noticed the incredible advance in her sister’s talent.
She was too enthralled by the music at first, the forward angle of Portia’s slender body, the otherworldly look on her face, to notice the stunned and entranced look on Lord Paxton’s face. But he bent forward to turn a page — and she suddenly saw it. Saw his face so close to Portia’s shoulder, saw him turn to regard her profile, his gaze lingering too long. The pattern continued, and Georgette, now aware, looked towards Jocasta, at the edge of her row with the two empty seats beside her vacated by the performers, sitting straight in her seat. Georgette slid over beside her.
‘Do not refine too much—’ Georgette whispered.
‘I shall not marry Lord Paxton, Georgie. He bores me,’ Jocasta said, quite calmly.
Georgette looked over her shoulder at Papa, seemingly involved with his brandy glass on the side table in the corner, rather than his daughter’s amazing performance. This was why the practice, compact pianoforte was housed upstairs, because Mama had known that her husband found her playing annoying. He was deeply indifferent to music, which had been Mama’s (and now Portia’s, Georgette had discovered) passion. How angry he would now be if he discovered that the purpose of this visit, always speculative Georgette had considered, might now be unsuccessful. Georgette could only hope that he did not discover it until the guests had departed.
She gazed once more at the pianist and page turner locked together by the tragic music and by something much bigger. It was almost indecent to watch, and Georgette wondered how many other guests now noticed, and what the first row understood.
Was Portia aware of the strange attention of Lord Paxton? She finished the movement, and took her hands slowly from the keys. Paxton said audibly, his voice a thrill. ‘Do not stop! Play the Larghetto, do!’
The passionate tone was too pronounced, and Georgette gasped, only for the moment to be saved by an unlikely source. ‘Oh, no more of that tiresome stuff,’ her father said to the brandy, but audible to at least two rows, ‘Which one of them is playing that gloomy stuff? Why she needs make us all miserable, I don’t know.’
Thankfully, it had not carried to the pianist, who Georgette was concentrating upon feverishly. Then saw it — Portia turned to Paxton and shook her head in refusal, standing up. She was blushing, and Georgette, for the first time, saw that she was a young woman now, not just a child dressed in her sister’s second-best evening dress. Portia stood and she and Paxton exchanged a few lowered words, then Georgette was relieved to see that the pianist moved back to her seat, and Georgette quickly vacated her space.
Even as her oblivious brother George came to announce Colonel Bellamy’s Indian performance, Paxton still stood beside the pianoforte, as though in a reverie. As Bellamy approached, however, he bowed and returned to his seat at Jocasta’s side. Jocasta bent over and whispered to him and he nodded to her, his skin flushing. Portia, on the other side, sat stiffly and as far from Paxton’s side as the close proximity of the chairs permitted. “She is fifteen,” thought Georgette. “What has just occurred?”
Over dinner, many eyes moved covertly between her two sisters and Paxton. It was clear that the Baileys, the Uxtons, Julia White and even Lady Sarah Alderly had understood the import of the occasion and had seen something in Paxton’s demeanour that gave them cause for speculation. Onslow and Faulkes were too well mannered to display interest, she believed. She only hoped that the Alderlys, the Bucknells, the Viscountess and Mrs Hardy were all as oblivious as they seemed. Georgette thought back desperately: there was no overt break in manners that she could have thought of, and perhaps those sticklers for genteel behaviour were not gifted in the nuances of feelings. She fervently hoped not. But after all, the viscountess for one would not have scrupled to verbally criticise if she had cause, not even to appease the Earl of Alderly. Georgette breathed a little easier, especially as Paxton had behaved like a stuffed pig at their late supper, looking nowhere but at his plate, and Portia appeared to be quite unaware of any undercurrents at the table, only to chat to gentlemen on each side of her, (who were, thankfully, Lord Bucknell and the Marquis of Onslow) and also, improperly, to her sister Katerina at the other side of the table. Georgette noted that Katerina answered more fully than usual to her sister, and even continued the conversation, which made Georgette observe her narrowly, suspecting that, as she had done once before for Georgette, she was being helpful. There would be no sense in mentioning such an idea to Katerina, for she would deny it utterly.
Jocasta too, behaved beautifully. Georgette was proud of her mother’s daughters this evening.
Jocasta Fortune, wearing a particularly becoming morning gown of white gauze and her mama’s best paisley patterned shawl against the chill, sat in the ancient summer house with a calm look upon her face. As Lord Paxton nervously approached her, he could not but admire the fairy-tale look of her, the fair hair gathered by twin white ribbons in a top knot from where curls fell.
‘Miss Jocasta—’ began Paxton, beyond confusion and embarrassment, but trying for a normal tone.
Jocasta Fortune sighed. ‘Don’t try that, my lord.’ Paxton stopped, unable to think of a reply. She continued in a removed tone. ‘You came here at my father’s bidding to further our acquaintance, I believe.’ Paxton was only able to bow his head at this, the frankest interchange they had ever had. ‘You brought me here day after day to listen to you read,’ this last was said with particular force, ‘and we have walked and ridden in a carriage together several times.’ She smiled at him. ‘I think, don’t you, that we do not suit.’
Paxton sighed in relief, and then guilt made him hang his head. ‘I—’
‘Do not think that this is anything to do with the — preference — you showed last evening for my sister Portia,’ the self-possessed little fairy added. ‘I have been wondering for days now whether I could force myself to accept you, if you should offer for me.’ Paxton raised his head and looked shocked. ‘I concluded that however advantageous the match, and however anxious I am to leave home, I could not.’ These words sounded calm, not spiteful, but Paxton’s face showed that he felt the insult just the same. It was some time past that he had felt his fairy princess did not conform to his dream of her, but these words were beyond his imagination. ‘I would not have been so frank in my refusal, or have answered you so precipitately, if you had not behaved as you did last night.’ She got up and passed him regally, and he bowed once more as her dress brushed his boot. When she got to the steps she turned back. ‘Portia said that you wished to hear the whole piece. She told me she will practise at ten of the clock. You will find her on the third floor.’ Paxton’s mouth opened, but no words came. Jocasta’s smile was a little satisfied now. ‘One of my sisters will be with her, so do not fear for the conveniences.’ Still smiling, she walked back to the castle, flitting through the long grasses like the fairy of his dreams.
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It was some time before Paxton could move. But shocked and embarrassed and guilty as he was, the chords of Mozart, and the passion of the young girl who played them, drew him forward to the castle.
Lady Bucknell lowered her considerable bulk onto the chair in her chamber, letting go with reluctance the support of her son’s arm. A fire was lit in the grate, with many coals since Lady Bucknell’s complaints to the maidservant had been loud and decided the first evening of their stay. Her son bowed in preparation of taking his leave, but his parent’s strident tone delayed him.
‘I cannot say the entertainment was successful. I am wondering why I agreed to come to this dreadful party.’
Bucknell simply waited, face unchanging.
‘Why some people must insist on playing when they cannot is beyond me.’ Her son said nothing. ‘Moreover, I considered the behaviour at supper of some of the younger members to be quite undisciplined.’ She began to remove her jewellery. ‘Viscountess Swanson has remarked upon it. Especially the young ladies. I find them all far too forward.’
Bucknell’s precise voice responded at last. ‘You cannot say that Miss Maria Bailey is forward.’
‘The pale little dab? Perhaps not, but she will be influenced by her sister who talks and talks and says nothing at all.’ She looked sharply at her son. ‘It is the quiet girls, such as the younger Miss Bailey, that hide a manipulative spirit.’
Bucknell met her gaze for a second, but as if she had not spoken, he continued in the same tone, ‘and I consider Miss Fortune and her sister Katerina very well behaved. As is, of course, Lady Sarah.’
‘Lady Sarah shows the exquisite taste of her breeding, I concur.’ Again, she cast a glance at Bucknell. ‘But she is a strong character, and I pity the man who is épris in that direction!’ Bucknell’s face was still and his mama continued. ‘You are not, I trust, Geoffrey?’
‘I am not.’ He turned to leave, then turned back to her. ‘You ask me such questions at every social event, Mama. I have told you before that there has been only one lady that I saw in that light, and I regret the advice you gave me to wait. We might have been suited.’
‘You could never have been happy with such a loud and forceful young woman. I was right to object.’
It seemed, from the veriest flicker on His Lordship’s stern face that he might take issue with this, but he merely said, reflectively, ‘Perhaps you were, Mama.’
Lady Bucknell, who had wished to hear this admission from her son these many years, found she could not enjoy the words. For upon her son’s face there was, only fleetingly, an expression she could not read, and it enraged her.
Chapter 19
On the morning ride, Georgette knew that Paxton’s display last night was there with them all, but relieved at the good manners that kept the conversation light.
‘The musical evening went well, I think, Miss Fortune,’ said Sir Justin, when they slowed down a little. ‘I think all your sisters are very talented, though we did not hear Miss Katerina grace us.’
‘Is she as talented as you, Miss Fortune?’ asked Onslow with a raised eyebrow.
She gave him a dampening look. ‘You suspect incorrectly, sir. Katerina can play, though not with the facility of Portia. I am ashamed to say that even I did not know of the extent of my younger sister’s talent.’
There was a slight pause as Portia’s performance and the energy surrounding it was recalled, and Georgette mentally castigated herself for raising the name, but Onslow added, to change the consciousness they all suddenly felt, ‘If I were to choose favourites, which is an ungentlemanly thing to do, I particularly admired Lady Bucknell, with Miss Amethyst Bailey’s Handel a close run second.’
All three of them laughed, breaking the tension, and Georgette’s eyes reproved the marquis for his wickedness, and he laughed anew.
‘It was not, at least, the worst musical entertainment that you have ever suffered?’ she asked lightly of them both.
‘Indeed it was not,’ said Sir Justin stoutly. ‘Do you not recall, Miss Fortune, Mrs Bright’s Musical Soiree two years ago?’
‘Ah, where Mr Smith famously fell asleep?’ she laughed. ‘I do indeed!’
‘Unforgettable!’ said Onslow. ‘I laughed for a week. But I do not recall you being there, Miss Fortune.’ He said it before thinking, and because he could no longer believe she could be in a room without him noticing — but he realised his mistake soon enough.
‘You would not have,’ Georgette Fortune said colourlessly, and spurred her horse away.
‘For God’s sake, Lucian!’ said Faulkes, before he kicked his heels to follow. ‘What are you thinking?’ and he rode off.
‘Obviously I did not think at all,’ the marquis said to himself aloud, as he too rode to catch her up. He wondered how this breach of good manners might be apologised for. That it chimed with something else she had said to him recently, something he’d wondered about, made it even worse. But when he joined her, she was chatting amiably to Faulkes, and looked at him smilingly, saying, ‘Did you not think Miss White’s performance was masterly, my lord?’
‘It was as always, inspired,’ he replied evenly, ‘but your sister Portia’s playing was superior, I think.’ He had said it because it was honest, but realised that he had once more brought up the subject they were all avoiding: the trembling hands of Paxton as he turned the pages, his constant gaze upon the pianist. Not unlike the way that Bellamy had looked at Georgette, Onslow considered, but whereas Georgette’s blush had seemed unhappy, her sister’s had seemed only appealingly embarrassed.
Georgette sighed only, and looked frankly from one of her friends to the other. ‘Yes. At least my father did not notice. I hope no other person ventures to give him a hint, or the party will take an unhappy turn.’
Onslow did her the favour of thinking through last night’s dinner. ‘I believe the guests who appreciated the situation are not those who might meddle.’
Georgette looked into the distance and thought about it too, Onslow saw, coming to the same conclusion. He found it easy to read her expression, it was one of the things he liked about her. It had only been in their angry exchanges that he was confused. Now though, it was Faulkes who voiced her feelings. ‘I believe you are right, Lucian.’
When they got to the stable yard to dismount, she did not seem to see the hand Onslow held out to her to help, and by dint of her holding the other out in Faulkes’ direction, found his friend’s instead. This was a move worthy of Miss White, but he did not attribute Julia’s motives to Miss Fortune. He had hurt her, and she could not trust herself to avoid displaying so in close proximity to him. He understood her, and in a fleeting look before they parted, which she gave him with a slight smile, he tried to tell her he was sorry. Until he considered the depth of this wound, he knew he could not touch it with words.
But she knew him now, he thought anxiously as he went up to change for breakfast, she would not misunderstand him — would she?
Chapter 20
Georgette’s spirits were uneven, something she was not prone to. At the start of this visit, she had been determined to avoid Onslow, and even Sir Justin, for her differing reasons. The first so that she would not betray herself, the second so that she would give neither hope nor hurt, and so that her father should not guess what had once lain between them. However, now she did not think she could endure without their presence, without their help. They had become friends, probably the closest she had ever made, and she wished to hold on to that for this last few days. How it had occurred was still a mystery to her, but it was so.
The insertion of Colonel Bellamy had upset the ease of everything. When she was angry with Onslow she had almost blurted out the truth. She knew his continued anger, or hers, could lead to a shameful disaster, and it threatened to rob her of the time she had left with him. The memories of a friendship that could hardly be reprieved once he left this place. She wanted as many of them as she could have, and felt guilty for even that. From what she was to
him and what he was to her there was a huge gulf, but that was her secret. She could bear it now that she knew he saw her at least, and that he cared for her as a friend. She could live with knowing that the impossibly handsome, charming and sensitive man, who her addled brain had once believed understood her better than anyone else, now knew who she was, at least.
When Onslow met her father or brother in town in the years to come, she was sure he might sometimes remember to say, ‘And how is Miss Fortune? I trust she is well?’ and if anyone were to talk of her in his company he might say, ‘Oh Miss Fortune? A charming girl.’ He might just use that word. It would be for her to replay, for the rest of her life, every word or look they had exchanged here, and hold onto it. Would it have been better if he’d ignored her? She no longer thought so. But if she could not control her reactions, as she had not on today’s ride, she would distance herself from him, and Sir Justin — even as their last day drew near. Bellamy made both of her friends angry and afraid for her, and she did not blame them, but hardly knew what to do.
Colonel Bellamy had behaved better over breakfast, but she had been distressed by that, too. He sat by Miss White and discussed her plans for today, and indulged in gentle flattery. Thankfully, Onslow had been too far apart to hear, but Sir Justin’s brow rose, and she knew he wondered. Talking to The Honourable Mr Carswell was a slight chore, but Georgette did so, drawing him out a little, and so she almost missed the ironic look that the colonel sent her, after he had so fulsomely praised Miss White’s playing. The colonel had turned the pages for her himself, and if the attention he’d given the heiress was not so marked as Paxton’s to Portia, still it had been enough for George Fortune to sit on Julia’s other side, and to throw Bellamy jealous glances from time to time.
Georgette and the Unrequited Love: Sisters of Castle Fortune Book 1 Page 17
