“Being the youngest, and by so many years, has left him a little sensitive about being overlooked or excluded,” Mater had explained. “I wish I could say those worries were unfounded, but I fear I did not realize how lonely he often was.”
Dr. Scorseby had agreed that so long as Charlie was carried to and from his bedchamber and agreed to keep quite still, he could join the family.
They had Charlie settled and as comfortable as he could be in a matter of moments. He was in remarkably good spirits, all things considered. Mater took up her place beside her youngest and saw to his every need. The duke and duchess sat on the other sofa in the room, her hand in his. Miss Artemis chose a seat a bit removed. Whether she was feeling petulant or simply wished for a bit of privacy, Arabella did not know, neither was she afforded an opportunity to interact with the young lady enough to sort the matter out.
Dr. Scorseby’s full attention was on Arabella, anticipating all of her possible needs—tea, a place to sit, a lap blanket. While the efforts were meant as a kindness, she, nonetheless, found them a touch aggravating.
Why was that? She was unused to people looking after her, which was certainly part of her annoyance. But Mater had looked after her toward the end of the house party when she had been ill, and that had not irritated her. Linus had sat with her during her convalescence, and that had been a welcome salve to her discomfort. Was it the oddity of being aided when she was fully healthy that bothered her, or was it the fact that Dr. Scorseby, in particular, offered the help?
Linus, who had not joined them for dinner, arrived in the drawing room some thirty minutes after everyone else had. He strode in with confidence and authority. How easily she could picture him issuing orders to a crew, overseeing a journey across treacherous waters. A man of his capability could do anything he put his mind to. Why, then, did he insist he would make such an incompetent landowner?
His eyes met hers as he crossed toward her, pleasure sparkling in their depths. She felt an answering blush steal across her features. In the moment before he arrived at her side, Dr. Scorseby took his place there.
“It is a pleasure to have everyone assembled, is it not?” Dr. Scorseby said. “And it is a relief that young Charlie is well enough to join us.”
Arabella nodded. Nothing in his tone was truly off-putting, neither was his presence odious or unpleasant. Yet she wished he hadn’t sat beside her. The memory of being at Linus’s side in the sickroom had filled her all day with the oddest mixture of hope and regret. He was not the sort of person to show her such personal affection if he felt nothing but friendship for her. Leaving the comfort of his company and his tender touch had left an ache in her heart, one she felt certain could never fully be healed by anything other than being at his side once more.
But Dr. Scorseby was there instead.
“Good evening, Miss Hampton.” Linus gave an acceptable bow and offered another to Mater, the duchess, and Artemis, then dipped his head to each gentleman. “My apologies for being late. I was detained on estate business.”
“You have truly taken up the mantle it seems.” Arabella was pleased at the idea. Perhaps the pain he felt here at being reminded again and again of his brother was beginning to ease.
“The mantle has taken up me.” Linus chuckled. He never seemed more himself than when his expression and tone turned lighter. “I brought Charlie here with every intention of forcing him to oversee this wretched mess, but he went and threw himself off a roof to avoid the work.”
“That sounds about right,” Artemis muttered.
“Hush,” Her Grace said.
Linus moved past Arabella and placed himself within easy conversational distance of Charlie. “It’s a shame you took such drastic actions.” He pointedly eyed Charlie’s splinted legs. “I was going to invite the Nappers and their daughters over for an impromptu bit of dancing.”
Charlie laughed. “Well worth it, I assure you.”
Mater closed her eyes for the briefest of moments, a look of absolute relief crossing her features. Arabella knew the expression for what it was: the easing of a worried mind. Charlie had sustained a number of injuries, but his ability to jest about them spoke volumes of his quick healing.
“You seemed to enjoy the attention of the Napper sisters,” Linus said, lowering himself into the chair opposite Mater’s. “Has your opinion changed so drastically?”
Charlie shrugged. “They were interesting enough, I suppose.”
“Interesting?” Linus shook his head. “That is how one might describe a treatise on the changing of crops or a lecture on mathematics. One ought to feel something far deeper and more personal about a potential love interest.”
Charlie’s brow pulled low as his eyes narrowed on Linus. “Love interest? How did we jump to that?”
Linus didn’t seem the least put out by the objection. He leaned against the arm of his chair, his posture growing a little casual. “Simply an observation.” His gaze flicked to Arabella.
Their eyes met for only a fraction of a moment, yet the impact was undeniable. Her heart hammered. One ought to feel something far deeper. Did he feel something deeper . . . for her? He’d been affectionate during the house party, before the rumors had driven a distance between them. She’d felt that connection again as she’d sat with her hand in his. Had he?
Mater caught Arabella’s eye. “Would you be willing to play for us? I would so enjoy a bit of music.”
“Of course.” Though she was not treated as a servant, Arabella was still keenly aware of the fact that her role in Mater’s life was that of a helper, an easer of burdens. That she truly adored the dear lady made her efforts as a companion a joy rather than an obligation.
In that moment, Mater’s request was also a relief. Linus’s words and expression had set her a little aflutter. Taking her place at the pianoforte would be a welcome escape. And she felt certain that playing would show her a little to advantage. She was a fine pianist; she had often been told so. Linus, she hoped, would be impressed.
She had a number of pieces memorized and chose one to begin her impromptu recital. Not a dozen notes into a rondo by Pleyel, she stopped, horrified at the sound she’d produced.
Had she remembered the piece wrong?
She shook off the confusion and started again only to produce the same result. A third try proved no better. She looked back at the others, humiliated. They all watched her, wide-eyed and wincing.
“I don’t know what is the matter,” she said. One more attempt ended just as badly. What was happening? She kept her gaze on the keys, unable to look at the gathered guests again. How very certain she’d been of impressing them—impressing him.
Footsteps approached. Even without looking, she knew Linus had come to the instrument; she recognized the spicy cinnamon scent that always clung to him. She closed her eyes in horrified embarrassment. He must have thought her absolutely pathetic.
“I usually play much better,” she said quietly. “I don’t know what happened.”
“I do.”
How easily she heard her aunt’s voice in her mind. They will send you back in disgrace.
Linus leaned against the edge of the instrument. “I have not had the pianoforte tuned since returning home. And as my sister Daphne, who was mistress of the house before my return, does not play the pianoforte, I suspect she did not have the instrument tuned either.”
Whether or not his guess was accurate, she latched on to it. “My poor performance is your sister’s fault, then?”
“Entirely.”
She met his eye. The laughter she saw there washed away the last remnants of her humiliation. His companionship did that for her. He relieved her worries, her insecurities, her uncertainties with hardly any effort. There was never any disapproval in his eyes when he looked at her. He never seemed to find her burdensome or beneath his notice. She’d known very few people who consisten
tly treated her that way; her dear earl had been the first. Mater was proving to be another. The Jonquil brothers were equally kind and considerate. And now Linus’s name was etching itself onto that list.
“I don’t know what I did to earn the look you’re giving me,” he said, “but I’m enjoying it.”
She never had been good at hiding her thoughts and feelings. Her aunt and uncle had always known when their words had hurt her or embarrassed her or when she was angry with them. That transparency had made punishing her painfully easy.
As quickly as he had lightened her mood, her memories had dampened it.
She rose from the stool at the pianoforte and faced the rest of the room. “I am sorry there will be no music.”
Mater waved that off. “It isn’t your fault Mr. Lancaster has an irresponsible sister.”
The duchess laughed. “Poor Daphne, to have her reputation so sullied.”
Mater grinned unrepentantly. “If she would have tuned the pianoforte, we would not be having this discussion. We would be having music instead.”
“Ask Linus to play his lyre,” Artemis said. “I know it’s here; he doesn’t go anywhere without it. He’s quite talented.” Artemis turned a glare on Charlie that the duke would have been hard-pressed to match in ferocity. “And if you are even thinking about making a comment expressing shock that I would say something kind about someone else—”
Charlie held up his unbroken arm in a show of innocence. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”
“You were thinking it.”
“No, I wasn’t.”
“Enough,” the duke grumbled.
Arabella met Linus’s eyes. “Those two are going to kill each other,” she said quietly.
He nodded. “I know.”
“Do play for us, Linus,” the duchess said. “You haven’t in ages.”
“I am to be the court minstrel?” he asked with more than a hint of laughter.
“Yes.” Mater spoke quite somberly. “And I intend to mistreat you terribly if I am disappointed in your performance.”
Linus shook his head, his mouth downturned. “We Linuses simply cannot win. I am to be punished if I do not live up to expectations, while Linus of old was strangled with his lyre for playing too well.”
“It seems you have a very fine line to walk,” Arabella said.
He smiled at her, broadly, fully. She’d never known a man with green eyes and, thus, had not realized before meeting him what a preference she had for them, especially when lit by genuine amusement.
“Never let it be said a man of the navy shied away from a challenge.” He winked at her, setting off a wave of warmth inside. “I will return shortly with the instrument of either my triumph or my untimely demise.” He left, a bounce in his step.
“I don’t know why Linus chose the lyre,” Her Grace said with a half smile. “This family lives far too many of our namesakes’ myths. If that instrument is his downfall, I will be sorely tempted to have ‘I told you so’ inscribed on his grave marker.”
The Lancasters lived their myths. It was an intriguing idea, though not one to be taken too literally. As far as Arabella knew, Linus’s oldest sister was not held prisoner in the underworld, his second sister had not been born from her father’s forehead, his younger sister was never turned into a tree, and, though his youngest sister was young yet, Artemis clearly had not and did not seem likely to violently decry the notice of men.
It was a shame the myth of Linus didn’t include his falling in love with a servant. She might have allowed herself to believe that the family’s lives were influenced by mythology. She would have prayed for it to be true.
“I have never heard anyone play the lyre,” Dr. Scorseby said. “This should be very interesting.”
“Historical texts are interesting,” Artemis said. “Mathematics is interesting. My brother’s music is mesmerizing.”
Arabella was ever more intrigued. “He is truly that talented?”
Artemis met her eye. With pride so obvious it was palpable, she said, “Linus of old would have been impressed. Perhaps even envious.”
Arabella took the vacant seat beside Mater. She clasped her hands, hoping to hide her growing excitement. A man of the military who was kind to children, devoted to his family, responsible, friendly, tender, made her laugh, and gently and affectionately held her hand, who also apparently played beautiful music. How could she help but love him?
He returned in the very next moment, a wooden lyre tucked carefully under his arm. “Have you sufficiently prepared yourself for the musical genius you are about to experience?”
Charlie answered first. “Your sister extolled your abilities for hours on end. Our expectations are very high.”
“Not ‘hours,’” Artemis insisted.
“It felt like hours.”
Arabella eyed the two combatants. “If the two of you continue to prevent him from playing his music, I swear to you I will make your next few minutes feel like hours.”
Mater grinned. His Grace offered a silent round of applause.
Linus took her hand in his free one and bowed over it. “My most sincere gratitude, Miss Hampton.” He did not immediately release her hand but lingered over the touch. “Do you have any tunes you’d like to hear?”
“Any you’d like to play.” Her words emerged nearly breathless.
He nodded, smiled, and slipped back. He pulled the stool away from the pianoforte and sat on it. He rested the lyre on one leg, situated perpendicular to his body. A quick succession of strums sounded before he settled in more comfortably.
The others in the room might have been watching him as closely as she was, but she refused to look away long enough to find out. Every thought was focused on him.
Linus met her eye. “I learned this one in Naples.”
He played a piece unlike anything she’d ever heard. The melody was unusual but undeniably pleasant. Lilting and light, precisely the sort of tune one would wish to dance to but wouldn’t for fear of missing its beauty. Artemis’s description had been entirely accurate. Her brother’s music was, indeed, mesmerizing.
Furthermore, watching him was utterly enthralling. Some musicians grew tense and focused as they played. Some seemed to be aware of nothing beyond their effort. But Linus grew more relaxed. His expression turned to one of complete contentment as he swayed to the music he created. He looked happy.
She raised her clasped hands to her lips, pressing them there as she watched him. She already loved what she knew of him. To see his appreciation of music, an affection she shared, only endeared him to her further.
The tune ended.
“Marvelous, Mr. Lancaster,” Mater said.
Dr. Scorseby said something vaguely complimentary.
The rest of the Lancaster family had more enthusiastic praise.
Linus didn’t look at any of them. His eyes lighted on no one but her. How easily she could recall the feel of his hand in hers and his delicate kiss on her fingers.
“Play another, Mr. Lancaster,” Mater requested.
Linus still held Arabella’s gaze. “I think Miss Hampton will enjoy this one in particular.”
Why was that?
The corner of his mouth tipped upward. He plucked a string. “This is called”—he met her eye again—“‘Walking in a Country Town.’”
Walking. She bit her lips closed against the laugh that bubbled up. He chose a song for her about walking.
The song was lovely, buoyant in a way the previous hadn’t been, but not loud or overbearing. It was a pleasant melody. She enjoyed it for more than that though. The song, one about walking, had made him think of her. He knew that she walked. He had noticed. Yet he hadn’t mocked the need or the undertaking as so many others did.
She would think of him every time she walked, and she would think of this song he played
just for her.
Her song.
Chapter Thirty
A local family, the Nappers, called the next day. Arabella watched them all, once more uncertain of her place.
Mater chatted amiably with Mrs. Napper. Dr. Scorseby found in Mr. Napper a fellow science-minded gentleman. Charlie, who had once again been carried down from his bedchamber, seemed particularly pleased to see the younger daughters, something Artemis apparently found particularly ridiculous. Linus took great pains to interact with the oldest Miss Napper, a lady likely only a bit younger than Arabella, who did not seem to be putting any true effort into capturing Linus’s interest.
She was quiet and appeared a little uncomfortable. Indeed, the more Arabella watched her, the more familiar the lady became, not because they were acquainted but because she saw so much of herself in Miss Napper. Quiet. Reserved. A bit out of place amongst the people with whom she associated. In need of a friend and a kind word.
And Linus was showing her attention and cordiality. Just as he did for Arabella when she most needed it. She knew compassion was part of his nature; it was one of the things she loved best about him. But certainly that was not all he felt for her?
How was she, who struggled to understand the minutia of interactions and relationships, supposed to be certain of Linus’s feelings for her if he offered such contradictory versions of those feelings?
I am so confused.
“Mr. Lancaster, you should play your lyre for us,” Mater said. “I so enjoyed the music last evening. The Nappers would as well; I am certain.”
“My amateur efforts hardly deserve such praise.”
“Do play for us,” the eldest Miss Napper said. “I would enjoy hearing the lyre. It is not an instrument with which I am very familiar.”
He offered an amused smile, the one that always set Arabella’s heart flipping around in her chest. But it was not directed at her. Miss Napper was the recipient.
Loving Lieutenant Lancaster Page 23
