by Stella Riley
‘More than a bit. This is … beyond my wildest dreams.’
‘Ah. Seems too good to be true, does it? But I can assure you that the duke is serious. He’s already started a buzz of speculation but given the gossips virtually nothing to go on. I sometimes wonder how he does it. However … where were we? Yes. His Grace suggests a two-part recital, separated by an interval. Does that sound reasonable?’ And when Julian agreed that it did, ‘Excellent. I’ve been told that you will compile the programme and supply it in time for it to be printed. Will that be possible?’
‘Yes.’ Managing to engage his brain and unlock his jaws, Julian said, ‘I could do it in the next hour or so. But has the duke any specific pieces he would like included?’
‘The duke has only one. Mistress Brandon, on the other hand, has several.’ Mr Bennett laughed and consulted his notes. ‘His Grace asks for – and I quote – Miss Ellie’s ‘angry’ music.’
For the first time, Julian grinned. ‘Le Vertigo by Royer. Yes. I can do that. What else?’
‘The lady insists on the Bach Fantasia and one of your own compositions – she says you’ll know which. She also asks for the new Mozart concerto.’
Julian could feel himself being overtaken by a sense of unreality.
‘The Bach and my Sarabande, yes,’ he managed. ‘But not the concerto.’
‘You don’t know it?’
‘I know it. But it requires an ensemble and I can’t put his Grace to that expense.’
‘His Grace likes the idea of giving something of Herr Mozart’s which London has probably not yet heard. He is already taking steps to acquire the full score and --’
‘I doubt he’ll get it,’ interrupted Julian, trying not to contemplate the enormity of what he was turning down. ‘Mozart rarely hurries to get his compositions printed.’
The secretary looked up. ‘If that is so, how come you know it?’
Silently damning himself for an idiot, Julian muttered, ‘I have some hand-written pages. But they’re barely legible and --’
‘If they are all that is available, they will have to do,’ said Mr Bennett serenely. ‘Perhaps you can furnish me with them before I leave?’ He continued thumbing through his notes, apparently oblivious to the fact that Lord Chalfont’s expression suggested that he had just been hit on the head with a mallet. ‘His Grace suggests that the first part of the concert should be the Mozart concerto, with your solo recital after the interval – if that is agreeable to you, sir?’ Looking up again when no answer was forthcoming, he said gently, ‘My lord?’
An orchestra, thought Julian. He’s offering me the chance to play the E flat major with an orchestra, for God’s sake! This can’t be happening. I must be dreaming it.
‘My lord?’ prompted Mr Bennett again, this time more forcefully. ‘May I tell his Grace that you will play the Mozart? I need an immediate decision on that because --’
‘Yes.’ The word emerged in a sort of strangled croak. ‘Yes. I’ll play it. God! Does Rockliffe realise what he’s doing for me? I never expected – never dared hope I’d perform again at all. And to be offered an orchestra … I’m sorry. It – it’s just too huge to take in.’
‘Yes. I can understand that.’
Julian doubted it. But as his brain started to function again, he said suddenly, ‘Tell his Grace to cut the brass and woodwind by half – and the same with all the strings except the violins.’ Then, seeing the secretary’s raised brows, added, ‘I’m not saying it to reduce costs. Mozart writes for the pianoforte – probably one of those iron-framed things they’re making these days that can cope with heavy orchestration. The harpsichord can’t. It will be drowned.’ He hesitated, pressing his fingers against his temples and added, ‘You can take the orchestral parts but ask his Grace to get them copied.’
‘Of course. If, as you say, they are almost illegible --’
‘It’s not that. Some of them are in Mozart’s own hand. They’ll be worth something one day – if they aren’t already.’
It was the secretary’s turn to stare. ‘Good God.’
‘Exactly.’
‘Yes. I promise I will take very good care of them, my lord,’ said Mr Bennett, still scribbling furiously, ‘and I will explain all your requirements to the duke. Now, just a few more details and I’ll leave you in peace. Mistress Brandon believes you would prefer to be billed as Julian Langham, rather than the Earl of Chalfont. Is that correct?’
‘Yes.’
Mr Bennett ticked something else off on his sheet.
‘The date of the concert will need to be fixed in order for invitations to go out. Does three weeks on Friday sound reasonable?’
This time Julian merely nodded. His mind was spinning.
‘And how long will you need in order to rehearse with the orchestra, sir?’
‘I don’t know. A – a few days, I suppose, if they’ve already learned the music.’
‘In that case, his Grace instructs me to tell you that he will send a carriage to convey you to Wynstanton House eight days before the event. Allowing for the length of the journey, this should give you ample rehearsal time.’ Mr Bennett shuffled his papers into a neat pile and restored them to his case. ‘I think that is everything, my lord – unless you have any questions?’
‘Dozens, probably – but my brain isn’t working well enough to think of them.’ Julian shoved a hand through his hair and said vaguely, ‘Give me an hour – or better yet, stay here tonight – and I’ll complete the concert programme for you.’
‘Thank you, my lord. I’d be glad to – if it is no inconvenience.’
‘It isn’t. Just don’t tell anybody – especially the children, if you come across them – why you’re here. And for God’s sake, please call me Julian.’
* * *
Mr Bennett departed for London, leaving Julian floating two feet above the ground on the twin prospects of performing and seeing Arabella again sooner than he’d dared hope. And finally, since he was beginning to believe that the concert was really going to happen, he decided it was safe to tell people about it.
Miss Beatrice enclosed him in a warm, gentle embrace and said, ‘Dear boy … that is such wonderful news and no more than you deserve. You will be a huge success, I am sure.’
Miss Abigail said, ‘Excellent. But you must let us know what we can do to help – with the children, for example. If you are to be away for several weeks, you will not be comfortable leaving them in the care of servants.’
‘No. I hadn’t really thought that far ahead,’ he admitted slowly.
‘Of course you hadn’t. So if no other solution presents itself, consider letting them have a little holiday here with Bea and me.’
‘That is … that’s extraordinarily generous of you,’ said Julian, startled. ‘Are you sure? They can be quite … boisterous.’
‘Well, they’re children, aren’t they? It’s to be expected. What do you think, Bea?’
‘They would be very welcome,’ agreed Miss Beatrice, ‘and it would relieve you of any anxiety, Julian. You must be free to concentrate on your music.’
‘Then, thank you. I won’t impose on you if there is any other way – but I thank you.’
Next, Julian shared his news with Paul and Janet Featherstone. Janet kissed his cheek and said, ‘How marvellous! You must be very excited.’
‘Yes. Yes, I am.’
‘Try sounding it, then,’ grinned Paul, grasping his hand and slapping him on the back at the same time. ‘You’ve got the patronage of a duke, for God’s sake! When do you leave?’
‘In a couple of weeks.’ Something flared in the dark green eyes. ‘He … he’s engaging an orchestra and wants me to play the Mozart E flat concerto. I can’t begin to explain what that means. In Vienna, I often played in ensembles … just groups of friends, you know. But a real orchestra? I’m having trouble believing Rockliffe would go to so much expense.’
‘I daresay he can afford it,’ remarked Janet. ‘But with you and Liz – Arabella
– both away, what will you do about the children?’
‘The Misses Caldercott have offered to have them.’
‘Mm. That might work, I suppose.’
‘It won’t,’ said Paul. ‘They’ll want to come with you. You know that, don’t you? They’ll want to come because they’ll worry you might not come back. And they’ll want to attend the concert so they can cheer and clap and stamp and generally behave the way sophisticated audiences never do. So you’d better think of something.’
* * *
Another letter from Arabella again stressed the importance of new clothes. Julian, immersed in music, forgot about it until Paul turned up one morning and dragged him off to visit a tailor in Newark. Then a further missive from Rockliffe informed him that invitations for the concert had already been despatched and his fellow musicians were busy rehearsing the Mozart. Towards the end, his Grace said, Since you will be staying with the duchess and myself, I should warn you that, at Arabella’s request, I have also invited Lady Brandon and her eldest son to join the party. And in a brief postscript, Should you have concerns about leaving the children for an extended period, I am sure we have an empty attic.
The attic reference made Julian grin. The prospect of meeting Arabella’s family didn’t … but he told himself he need not think about that yet and, in order not to do so, he went upstairs to ask the children if they’d like to go to London with him.
For almost a minute, all three of them stared at him open-mouthed. Predictably, Ellie was the first to recover. She said, ‘Where’s London?’
‘A long way from here. But it’s where Miss Belle is and where I have to go … because the Duke of Rockliffe wants me to give a concert.’
Rob’s face lit up. ‘For lots and lots of people?’
‘I think so.’
‘A concert like the ones at Miss Bea’s house?’ asked Ellie dubiously.
Tom snorted and Julian had to hide a smile.
‘No. Not quite like that. This one will be in the duke’s house, in front of his friends. And for part of the time, I’ll be playing with other musicians.’ He waited for a moment. ‘What do you think? Tom?’
‘Do you mean it?’
‘Which bit exactly?’
‘All of it. Do we want to come to London and go to the duke’s house and – and be there with you when you play for his friends? Us. Rob and Ellie and me.’ Tom stopped and shook his head. ‘Of course we want to – but we can’t, can we?’
‘Why not?’
‘Because we’d embarrass you. Folk will ask who we are and why we’re there and then what will you say?’ Tom turned away and shoved his hands in his pockets, exactly the way Julian often did. ‘You can’t tell the truth.’
‘Yes. I can. I’ll tell them that my wards have every right to hear me perform. And I’ll tell them that we are a family … and that I am proud of you,’ said Julian gravely. ‘And if any of these people don’t like it, we shall ignore them. So will you come? Or are you going to make me travel all that way on my own?’
Ellie climbed on to his lap and nestled against his shoulder. ‘I’ll come.’
‘And me,’ said Rob, still beaming. ‘A real concert. With an orchestra. It’ll be splendid!’
‘I certainly hope so,’ agreed Julian. ‘Tom?’
The boy turned around and said gruffly, ‘Of course I’ll bloody come. You just said it yourself. We’re a family.’
* * *
For the next five days, happily submerged in hours of rehearsal, Julian lived in a bubble of near-perfect bliss that needed only Arabella’s presence to make it complete. It might have continued a while longer had not the outside world intruded in the shape of the last thing he had expected.
* * *
‘I wish you’d stayed at the inn and let me do this on my own,’ Max grumbled as the carriage turned on to the rutted drive of Chalfont Hall. ‘You’ll meet him in London, after all. And I’m only going because of Belle’s letter. Two sentences saying Rockliffe was taking her away – and then a page of anxiety, as if Chalfont wasn’t safe to be left. I mean, Mother – really? God alone knows what we’re likely to find.’
‘We’re going to find the young man Arabella has been deceiving for weeks and with whom – though Rockliffe’s letter said nothing of it – you believe she has fallen in love,’ replied Lady Brandon calmly. ‘And I have not entirely forgiven you for withholding your prior knowledge of her whereabouts, Max – so please don’t argue. I know why you did and it doesn’t appear to have done any harm … but I shall judge Lord Chalfont for myself, thank you. And you will not pin him to a wall on the assumption that he has behaved improperly.’
‘I wasn’t going to!’
Louisa lifted one satiric brow. ‘No?’
‘No.’ And with a reluctant grin, ‘Well … probably not.’
‘My point, exactly. And I suggest that you bear a few things in mind. Rockliffe apparently approves of him. So if Belle loves him and if her feelings are reciprocated --’
‘They’ll be reciprocated fast enough if she’s mentioned her dowry.’
‘Don’t be such a cynic. And stop pre-judging a gentleman who, for all we know, may end up becoming your brother-in-law. As for the question of impropriety, if any did occur it was as likely to be Belle’s doing as his.’ She stopped speaking as the house came into view. ‘Oh dear. Parts of that roof look decidedly dubious, do they not?’
‘Belle said the previous earl had run the place into the ground. I was hoping she’d exaggerated. If the house is in this state, goodness only knows what the land is like.’
The front door swung open before they reached it and a boy stared out at them. Max muttered something under his breath. Ignoring him, her ladyship smiled and said, ‘Hello. Unless I have it wrong, you must be Tom.’
‘Yes,’ said Tom, plainly taken aback. ‘Who are you?’
‘I am Miss Arabella’s mama – and this is her brother. We’ve travelled a very long way to meet you and your brother and sister … and Lord Chalfont. Is he at home?’
‘Yes. He’s practising for the --’
He stopped, as Violet half-ran across the hall behind him saying, ‘Tom? You know you’re supposed to leave answering the door to Rose or --’ Then she also stopped for a moment, looking confused. Dipping a curtsy, she said, ‘Sir – ma’am – I’m so sorry. Please come inside. Tom – go and tell his lordship he has visitors. Oh. Beg your pardon, sir but who shall he say --?’
‘It’s Miss Belle’s mother and brother,’ interrupted Tom, already heading for the library from which the silence was suddenly broken by a crisp, complex cascade of notes.
‘Wait!’ Louisa Brandon stopped dead, her hand gripping her son’s arm. ‘Tom, wait a moment, please.’ And when the music continued through bar upon flawless bar, ‘Oh Max. Do you hear that? I know both Belle and Rockliffe said he could play but …’
‘Good, is he?’ asked Max, unimpressed and impatient. ‘But let’s stick to the point, shall we?’ And shooting a grin at Tom, ‘Off you go, there’s a good fellow.’
In the library, Julian had been working on Vertigo and finding it recalcitrant. He played the same phrase in three different ways and felt frustration building. Then Tom was beside him, saying something that he couldn’t hear through the notes inside his head.
Used to this problem, Tom solved it by grasping his wrist and saying forcibly, ‘You’ve got to leave this, sir. Miss Belle’s mother is here – and her brother as well. You need to come and meet them. Now.’
Julian stared at him, his expression gradually gathering focus.
‘What? Her mother, did you say?’
‘And her brother. Violet will have put ’em in the parlour.’ The boy scanned the room until he saw Julian’s coat lying across a chair. Grabbing it, he said, ‘Put this on – and straighten your cravat. Your hair could do with a comb as well but it’ll have to do. I don’t reckon her brother’s used to being kept waiting.’
Julian could feel knots forming in his gut
. This wasn’t meant to happen. He was supposed to meet Arabella’s family in London, not here. Arabella had said her brother might write to him – not turn up on the doorstep. So he’d counted on them not seeing the dilapidated state of his house. He had also counted on meeting them for the first time in a coat that wasn’t creased and with neatly-tied hair.
Trying to appear more confident than he felt, he entered the drawing-room and managed a creditable bow before flushing at the realisation that the lady was staring at him – probably on account of his dishevelment.
In fact, Lady Brandon was thinking, Heavens! Even shabby, rumpled and in need of a shave, he’s perfectly beautiful. No wonder Belle is head over heels. All that and music, too? How could she resist?
Looking shyly back, Julian could see nothing of Arabella in her blonde, blue-eyed mother … and thought the same was true of her raven-haired brother until he encountered a pair of familiar dark grey eyes. Then awareness that Max Brandon’s expression was far from friendly drove all the proper courtesies from his mind and he said haltingly, ‘Forgive me. I hadn’t expected … that is, welcome to Chalfont. I apologise for – for my appearance. I was … well, that doesn’t matter. It is a – a pleasure to meet --’
He stopped as the door behind him opened an inch or two and appeared to become the victim of a tug of war.
‘No!’ hissed Tom. ‘You can’t go in – neither of you. And what’s Figgy doing down here, Ellie? You know he’s not allowed.’
Then Rob’s voice, saying, ‘I only wanted to ask if --’
And Ellie interrupting with, ‘Miss Belle said to look after Sir Julian – so I shall! And Figgy is going to help.’
