A Spring Serenade

by Rachel Osborne

  “Bess?” Miss Turner nudged her sister, which seemed to have the effect of bringing the young lady to life. She glanced at him again, only briefly, before turning her full attention to Rosemary.

  “You must think me dreadfully foolish,” she said, biting her lip. Shaking her head, she chuckled with self-deprecation. “I ought to have known.”

  “I am sure you did not expect to come across a man lurking near the notice for his very own concert. I dare say that is frightfully ill-mannered, so let us lay the blame for it on Christopher’s shoulders. He shall play for us later and force us all to admire him for his talent, and all will be forgiven. Dear me, you are frightfully pale, Miss Elizabeth. Come and sit with me beside the fire, for I am eager to know where else your tastes lie. I assume, from your enthusiasm over the concert notice that you are musical yourself?”

  She led the young lady away and Christopher noticed her sister exchange a glance with Edmund Gale, before the rest of the room slowly came back to life, with Gale’s guests breaking into small groups of twos and threes to converse. Christopher had stepped away from Mrs Gale, however, and now found himself alone. His hand shook, and he thrust it behind him, praying nobody would notice. His dear sister had just openly committed him to a performance, and it would not do to fail her this evening.

  Think of it as a rehearsal, he told himself. His opening night was but a few short weeks away. If he could not succeed in successfully playing a piece or two for a small gathering of friends then there was no hope for him.

  He glanced towards Edmund, thinking he would be fortified by a moment or two’s conversation with his genial host, but he seemed to have vanished, and the elder Miss Turner with him. With a sigh, Christopher took a step forward, thinking he might join his sister and be introduced to Miss Elizabeth properly, but an older couple intercepted his journey, greeting him with effusion and warmth.

  “Mr Cluett?” Mrs Turner beamed at him, clutching tight hold of her husband. “We have heard so very much about you! Is it true that you have played in Paris? And in Rome? Do, do tell us everything!”

  Fixing a smile to his face that he hoped was convincing, Christopher drew in a breath and began, scarcely noticing when a pair of wide, dark eyes darted over to rest on him, following his every word at a distance.

  “OUCH! JULIET, LET GO of my cuff, you’ll stretch it!”

  “Is that all you care about?” Obediently, Juliet let go of her hold on Edmund and frowned at him as he appraised the state of his sleeves with care. “Do not act as if a misshapen cuff will in any way detract from your elegance, Mr Gale.”

  He grinned and dropped his hands to his sides.

  “Why, thank you, Juliet. That such a compliment should come from your lips means it is well-earned indeed.”

  “You know you look well, you do not need me to tell you so.” She shrugged one shoulder, but could not quite keep the warmth from seeping into her cheeks. She drew in a short, sharp breath, praying Edmund would not notice.

  “Anyway, I did not wish to talk about you,” she said, with a dismissive nod. “Why did you go and invite that man here?”

  “What man?” Edmund looked at her in confusion. “Cluett? You mean the composer you bade me invite?”

  “I did no such thing!” she protested. “I merely thought it might be nice for Bess to be offered the chance to - but now that I see he is - and she will certainly - oh!” She let out a frustrated groan and stopped just short of stamping her foot. Why was everything in life so vexing, particularly when she had to contend with Edmund Gale’s boyishly handsome, infuriatingly self-assured face watching her so closely.

  “Take a breath,” he said. “And try again. What is it that so upsets you, Juliet, dear? You asked me to invite Mr Cluett here - well, if you did not ask me in so many words you certainly did not seem to be so opposed to the idea. And, as you correctly pointed out, it will be good for Bess to make his acquaintance. That is the reason for his being here, to begin with, as you well know, for whilst I can appreciate music as well as the next man -” He ignored the disbelieving hiss of air that escaped Juliet’s lips. “Whilst I can appreciate music as much as the next person, I have not the same affinity for it as your younger sister. Come, Juliet, can you not see how well this will benefit our Elizabeth? For she will play before a renowned composer and pianist and hear his opinion. We shall contrive that she will play, still. I know she will try to resist but I think she will do it if I ask her very sweetly. You know no young lady can ever resist me when I am at my most charming.”

  This was too much to bear, and Juliet folded her arms across her front, eyeing him in disbelief.

  “One lady has certainly managed it.”

  “Barely.” Edmund leaned a little closer, and Juliet was certain that he was only too aware of the effect he had on her. She strove to keep her expression neutral, for she was determined to keep her true affection for her friend concealed from everyone, especially him. She would nurse her heartbreak in private and not risk Edmund Gale making sport of it.

  “Come, Juliet,” he said, his voice so low that, had their heads not been bent close together, she would surely have missed it. “Is it such a terrible prospect to have Bess befriend a famous composer? Think of how her music will benefit from the association, how her confidence will be improved. She is talented, you and I know that, but how often has she kept her light hidden under a bushel? Perhaps Mr Cluett will be just the gentleman to encourage her.”

  “Very well,” Juliet said, quietly. There was no denying this. How many times had she despaired of Bess’s besetting shyness, trying every trick she could think of to encourage her out of it and failing, every time. “I know I was eager enough for the possibility of introducing her to Mr Cluett, but I had no idea he was so young and handsome. I thought him surely very old and ordinary-looking -”

  “Do you think him handsome?”

  Something in Edmund’s voice and manner had changed and he seemed to lean back a little, putting space between them almost without meaning to.

  Juliet regarded him a moment, apparently giving great consideration to his question.

  “Well, he is not ill-looking.” She did not have the chance to appreciate how this admission altered Edmund’s attitude, for it touched on the very nexus of her concerns. She grew serious again almost immediately. “Which is why I do not understand why you invited him here! Was it not enough for you to see Maddy off and married and sent away? Must you orchestrate to steal Bess from me too?”

  Edmund’s response was so surprising that it set Juliet back a pace. He laughed.

  “What nonsense! I did not invite him here to marry Bess or anyone! I am quite sure he did not come here with his thoughts on matrimony. And, if you’ll recall, you were quite as eager as any of us to have Maddy married, so do not go about pinning the blame for that on me, now.” He paused, folding his arms across his front and looking at her expectantly. “I’ll have you know, not all gentlemen’s minds are perpetually turned to marriage.”

  “Oh, indeed?”

  “Indeed.” Edmund smiled at her, the same slow, lazy smile that made her stomach lurch and she did everything in her power not to betray the discomfort she felt when he fixed his dark eyes on her. “I note that, of the two of us, you are the one who has frequently brought up marriage within my hearing, Miss Turner. If I did not know you better, I should suggest you have something on your mind that you are in need of sharing. Tell me, do, for I wager I can offer a solution that will benefit us both.”

  Everything in Juliet longed to go along with his teasing, for she saw the seriousness that lay beneath it. He would tease them into an engagement, a marriage, and she would be Mrs Edmund Gale as quick as a breath. It would be so easy, and a future so close that she could almost taste it. But then I will have to abandon my writing. I will never be as free as I am at this moment. And Ed won’t be my friend any more, but my husband. All our happy times will be over, and we shall endure a rotating calendar of social calls and London
society. She swallowed past a lump in her throat, certain of the answer she must give, even as she longed to follow the breadcrumb trail he laid out for her.

  “Haven’t you yet learnt the error of entering into wagers where marriage is concerned?”

  Her voice shook, but she prayed he did not notice it. “In any case, Mr Gale, you ought not to spend your whole evening out here talking to me when you have guests to entertain. Come, let us go back in, and I shall see what to make of this Mr Cluett for myself. His sister seemed pleasant and sensible, at least. Be a good fellow and introduce me to her.”

  A peculiar expression of understanding flickered across Edmund’s face as he looked at Juliet as if he knew too well the war that was waging within her, the path that she had only very narrowly avoided. He would allow her to step back from the mark this evening, his smile and a slight bobbing nod of the head indicated that, but it would only be a matter of time before he asked her again, and she would not be afforded the safety of teasing to hide behind.

  “Very well, Miss Turner.” He straightened, offering her his arm in a manner of utmost politeness. “Allow me to introduce you to the amiable Miss Cluett. I suppose I should go and rescue her brother from your parents. The poor fellow shall be talked to death before we even make it to dinner.”

  Chapter Seven

  Although Edmund enjoyed playing the role of host, there was a great deal to be said for smaller gatherings such as this, when the majority of those invited were already well-acquainted and well-used to one another. It allowed him to lean back and enjoy the ambience around the dining table without forever needing to attend to his guests’ comfort and enjoyment.

  He found his gaze drawn most often to one particular corner of the table, where sat Mr Cluett, with adoring ladies on every side. It was surprising that Louisa seemed to have forsaken her gentle flirtation with Nash for this new arrival, although he sensed, from Cluett’s evident discomfort, that her perpetual questioning was beginning to grow wearisome. He was poised to intervene, however reluctantly, when Mrs Turner beat him to it.

  “Do you know, Mr Cluett, that my daughter is an artist?”

  Cluett’s gaze strayed almost immediately to Bess, who was, at that moment, absorbed in her meal, and he returned to Mrs Turner just in time to see a pout settle over Louisa’s pretty face.

  “Mama!” she exclaimed, the very image of embarrassment.

  Edmund rolled his eyes, knowing Miss Louisa Turner well enough to be able to see through this little pantomime. She was no more embarrassed to hear her mother singing praises of her artistic ability to a bona fide composer than she was to indulge Nash in his gentle attentions to her comfort on any other evening spent at Aston House.

  Edmund leaned over to Juliet to see if she had noticed the amusing little exchange, but her gaze was fixed studiously on Cluett’s sister, Rosemary, and the two were speaking in hushed voices that did not reach Edmund’s ears.

  He sighed, turning back to his plate. It ought to have gratified him to see both his guests and his friends so ably entertaining one another, but he could not help but feel a little dissatisfied. Was he, like Louisa, so used to being the centre of attention that he objected to it being snatched away from him? This was a discomforting thought, and he turned back to the Cluett corner, thinking he might engage Nash in conversation if the poor fellow was feeling likewise neglected. Alas, now Nash had carved himself out a role in the little display, cleaving to Louisa’s side and extolling her virtues as an artist better than any that exist on the Continent, to be sure!

  Cluett looked a little disbelieving, but only momentarily, for politeness soon dictated that his face rest in a vague half-smile. Louisa laughed prettily, claiming to despair of Nash’s praise but in truth enjoying every moment of it.

  Edmund sensed movement further along the table and saw Bess’s gaze dart again towards Mr Cluett, a faint tinge of colour seeping into her pale cheeks. He grimaced. Cluett was handsome enough, he supposed, although he had hardly noticed it before. I suppose, if you prefer the dreamy, consumptive look...

  Mr Turner cleared his throat, a mere coincidence of timing, but Edmund could not help but feel as if it was directed at him. He lifted his fork and returned to his dinner, repenting of his unnecessarily cruel assessment of his guest. It was hardly Cluett’s fault if his existence was a point of interest, and had that not been Edmund’s aim in inviting him, to begin with? It had certainly been how he had placated his mother.

  “So, Miss Louisa, do you prefer drawing or painting?” Mr Cluett asked, a faint note of anxiety colouring his words, as if he had selected them solely with the intent of keeping the conversation moving. In this, he was successful enough, for Louisa gave the question due consideration and Mrs Turner interposed, in the silence, with yet more rhapsodizing over her daughter’s nascent talent.

  “She excels in every medium, Mr Cluett! It is quite miraculous, for neither I nor my husband is particularly artistic. My daughter Elizabeth, too -”

  “Ah, yes, the musician.” Cluett’s voice bordered on brusque, enough that Edmund darted a glance at Bess, who had seemed not to hear or notice any dismissal, although she had returned to contemplate her meal rather than Mr Cleutt.

  “And an authoress!” Mr Turner boomed, determined to include his other daughter for a heaping of praise.

  Edmund smirked, turning to Juliet and certain she would object to her father’s words. She never claimed literary genius, although she kept so tight a grasp on anything she did write that he could only imagine whether she considered it any good.

  “An authoress?” Rosemary beamed. “Oh, delightful! I must tell you of my meeting with Mrs Radcliffe, then, Juliet, for I am sure you shall be interested to know all about her.”

  “Oh, indeed!” Juliet spoke with more enthusiasm than Edmund had heard in her voice for weeks, and he felt a slight pang of irritation that she should reserve her excitement for the stories of a woman who, before this evening, was a stranger to her and not anything that he should say. He trained his ear on their conversation, determined to deduce what it was about the eponymous Mrs Radcliffe that should be so very thrilling.

  “Oh, I do not suppose you can compare Mrs Radcliffe’s works to Miss Turner’s little writing projects.”

  This was Mrs Gale, and whilst her voice was light and teasing Edmund knew his mother well enough to know that her tone did little to detract from the intentional cruelty of her words.

  “Mother!”

  “Go on, dear,” she said to Rosemary. “I am sure we are all interested to know about Mrs Radcliffe, although I am unfamiliar with her books. They are romances, I believe?”

  “They are novels,” Rosemary said, with a brittle smile. She turned back to Juliet and continued her commentary in a lower voice, leaving Edmund to face his mother with a frown he hoped communicated his disappointment far better than any lecture might have done.

  “...I PLAN TO GO TO EUROPE myself to see all the great artistic places the masters painted, and paint them myself. Better, of course.”

  Christopher’s lips stretched into a pained smile but Louisa Turner did not seem to notice, for Mr Weston had spoken to her and her attention was directed at him, rather than at Christopher, who had said little and offered less in the way of encouragement to her self-aggrandising statements.

  “You long for adventure, Miss Louisa, as I do,” Mr Weston declared, with a half-hearted sigh. “I think I should wither away completely if forced to live in a country estate all my days.”

  “You must feel free to depart just as soon as you see fit.” Edmund Gale’s tone was light and accompanied by a merry smile, but Christopher dared to think that his words were not entirely meant in jest. He glanced up at his host, but before he could induce him into conversation, Edmund had turned to speak to the elder Miss Turner, freeing her from Rosemary’s clutches.

  Christopher set his cutlery down neatly on the edge of his plate, thinking he ought to be a little kinder to his sister. It was certainly pleas
ant to see so enlivened by conversation, and on her own merits, rather than the polite recognition she was ordinarily afforded as sister to the great composer. He grimaced, wondering how quickly their fall from grace would occur once the musical world realised whatever fleeting skill he might one had possessed had lost him. It would be a painful fall for him, but for Rosemary, it would be devastating. Accompanying him on his European tour and acting as an unofficial assistant had given her purpose after the loss of the fiancé who had gone to war with such great hope, never to return.

  He was so lost in his own considerations that he barely noticed his sister turn to Miss Elizabeth Turner, on her other side, and nudge her gently with her elbow.

  “I have yet to speak with you properly about your music, Miss Elizabeth. What instrument do you play?”

  “Piano,” Bess whispered, her entire manner changing. It was this change that caught Christopher’s eye, the way she straightened almost imperceptibly in her seat and turned to Rosemary that she might speak to her a little more easily. “Although I am fond of the harp.”

  “You must learn!” Rosemary said, with an encouraging smile. “It should not be very difficult, for the instruments are not dissimilar. Here, perhaps my brother will know of some reputable source for both instrument and teaching. Christopher?”

  His cheeks coloured, betraying that he had been listening to their conversation, but only Rosemary seemed to notice, smiling archly at him as she leaned a little closer to draw him into their circle.

  “Miss Elizabeth would like to learn the harp. I thought you might know of some person or other who could teach her. I am sure she would be a very quick study and as she is already proficient in the piano it should not be so very difficult to transfer her skills, do not you think?”