A Melody for Rose (The Wednesday Club Book 2)

by Sahara Kelly

  They all knew to which novel she referred, since they’d surreptitiously passed it around last autumn. Titled Cytherean Tales, and written by one Lady Corinth, whose identity had never been revealed, it was a salacious and fascinating look inside an unusual house of pleasure. Unusual in that the ladies chose their companions, rather than the other way around, and even more unusual in that the sexual dalliances were written from a woman’s perspective. Besides being a compelling character study, it had proved to be an educational volume covering matters seldom—if ever—discussed at all, let alone with unmarried young ladies.

  Sir Desmond Deville was a gentleman who arrived at the house to experience his first night with a lady of pleasure. He had surprised her in that he seemed instinctively to know what to do and where to do it. The descriptions were detailed, and Rose had to admit they were arousing. The nods of agreement she was receiving from Ivy and Lydia indicated they endorsed her opinion.

  A few moments of respectful silence took place at the table as the three women honoured the accomplishments of the talented Sir Desmond.

  Lydia recovered first. “I’m thinking of having an affair.”

  Rose choked, and Ivy dropped her teaspoon with a clatter.

  “What?” Rose whispered the word, wanting desperately to slap her own ears and make sure they were still working.

  “An affair. You know, where a man and a woman get together and…”

  “Hush, Lydia…” Shocked to her core, Rose stared at her. “Someone might hear you.”

  Ivy glanced around, a worried look in her eyes. “You can’t go saying outrageous things like that in public, Lydia, for heaven’s sake.”

  Lydia’s lips twitched. “All right. I’ll wait until we’re alone.”

  Rose shook her head on a laugh. “Outrageous is absolutely right.” She breathed deeply. “And if you’re seriously contemplating such a thing, I do hope you have a candidate picked out.” She took a restorative sip of tea. “Otherwise, it’s just an exercise in storytelling.”

  “Well…” Lydia spoke softly. “I am considering Fiona’s Duke.”

  That statement reduced all of them to complete and utter silence.

  Ivy finally found her voice. “Lydia,” she whispered. “That’s utterly magnificent.”

  Rose looked at her in surprise. “Do you think so? Really?”

  Ivy nodded. “Of course. To be seen in his company can only do Lydia good. And if she dances with him or if he singles her out, her reputation will rise immediately. Then there’s the matter of Fiona and the scandal of her marriage to Lord Rolfe. The whole situation is an ideal way for Lydia to attain notoriety yet be protected from ruin by the Duke’s upstanding reputation and the sympathy heaped upon him after the Fiona mess.”

  “Hmm.” Lydia frowned. “That wasn’t really what I intended.”

  “What did you intend, then?” Rose watched Lydia’s face as the expressions flicked across it in rapid succession.

  “I wanted…I thought I could…” she sighed. “I want to find out what it’s all about. You know. It.”

  “Ah.”

  “Don’t we all,” muttered Ivy.

  “I do have a plan though,” Lydia straightened. “I believe the Duke frequents several bookstores, and I am going to find out which ones. A conversation about literature is perfectly acceptable, and when I discover his favourites, I shall present myself there at every opportunity, and strike up an acquaintance.” She looked at her friends. “I will need you to be with me, of course.”

  Rose and Ivy exchanged glances, followed by matching sighs.

  “Of course,” said Rose.

  “Indeed. I’d be delighted to assist you,” said Ivy.

  Lydia frowned. “A little more enthusiasm wouldn’t go amiss. If I learn these intimate secrets, I will most certainly share them with you.”

  “I’d be extremely upset if you didn’t,” shot back Rose. “If I’m to wander around bookstores several times a week in order for you to meet and somehow seduce a member of the aristocracy into a scandalous affair, then I’d bloody well insist on every single detail.” She’d lowered her voice and leaned over the table, her glare fixed on her friend. “Keep that in mind.”

  Lydia giggled. “I will.”

  Ivy looked at her. Then at Rose. And then shook her head as all three of them burst out laughing.

  *~~*~~*

  Rose still had a little chuckle now and again at Lydia’s entertaining conversation, and did admit—privately, of course—that she herself held a certain amount of curiosity as to the nature of intimate relationships with the opposite sex. Especially when her mama continued to drop broad hints that this Season would be the most important and she should be concerning herself with nothing but finding a suitable and eligible parti.

  The nagging, for that’s exactly what it was, grew worse, and as she prepared herself for the first Wednesday Club, while her mother sat on the bottom of her bed and watched her dress.

  “Make sure you pinch your cheeks, now, dear. You know gentlemen love to see signs of good health.”

  Rose sighed.

  “Oh and bite your lips before going into the ballroom? That also adds a delightful colour. Geranium petals work sometimes, but I still swear that a quick nip works wonders. Miranda Forster used to do that all the time. I caught her at it one night. But she found herself such a nice Baron a couple of seasons ago, so it was well worth it.”

  “Mama, Miranda Foster is rumoured to have two lovers already, and is with child. There are wagers offered on who will admit to being the father.”

  “Rose.” Her mother stared at her crossly. “I have no idea where you came by such information, but it is most unseemly of you to even know about lovers, let alone childbearing. I trust I shall never hear such things pass your lips in public, young lady.”

  So many responses hovered on those lips, but Rose bravely held them in check. It was her mother, after all. If anyone was allowed to scold her, Mrs Glynde-Beauchamp had earned the right.

  “Yes, Mama. Of course.”

  She put the finishing touches to her hair, adding several tiny silk roses which exactly matched the trim on her pale pink gown. She had worried when she first saw it…the pink was very delicate and might wash out her complexion. But to her surprise, the hues brought out a soft matching undertone in her skin, and her hair topped it all off with some sparkling red-gold highlights to go with the roses.

  She fastened her grandmother’s pearl necklace around her throat and then turned to face her mother. “Well? Will I do?”

  The older woman stood, circled her, straightened a bow and tidied her skirts. “Yes. Delightful. I think you’ll be noticed in this gown, and even though it’s only the Sydenhams, they do have the entrée to Society, you know. One never knows who might be in attendance.” Her mama glanced sideways at her. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard who will be there this evening?”

  Even if she had, Rose wouldn’t have said so. She was a dutiful daughter, not a stupid one.

  “No, Mama, I’m sorry. Obviously Lydia and Matthew Davenport will be there. And Ivy Siddington. My friends.” I am not mentioning Miles at all. In any way. Not even thinking his name.

  Satisfied, her mother nodded. “Good quality. People like that will attract others of their level, which is an excellent starting point for you at Almack’s next week.”

  This time, Rose had to work to keep her mouth shut, but since a tap on the door announced the arrival of the Davenport conveyance, Rose was able to take her shawl and her reticule and hurry downstairs without having to respond.

  She happily waved goodbye to her Mama, who stood on the doorstep, and almost leapt into the carriage, exclaiming in relief as she did so. “Thank God. Get me away from here. Anywhere. I don’t care.”

  “Ooof.” The sound came from the man whose lap she’d landed on.

  With a squawk, Rose slid back onto the seat, staring at Lord Miles Linfield. “What the devil…?”

  “Miles decided to ri
de with us, Rose,” said Lydia, sitting next to Matthew.

  “Well I think I probably guessed that by now,” Rose replied, trying not to blush. “I am sorry, Miles. I had no idea there was anyone else and I was in rather a hurry…”

  “Don’t apologise,” he grinned, his teeth white in the low light of the single carriage lamp. “It was a pleasant surprise.”

  Rose felt the heat in her cheeks and blessed the darkness. “Well at least we’re away from the house.”

  “That bad?” There was sympathy in his voice.

  “Yes,” sighed Rose. “Mama.”

  “Say no more,” Lydia chuckled. “Mine was the same.”

  “I can’t say I feel for you, but it is a burden, all the same,” said Matthew. He looked at Rose and Miles. “I heard it. On and on about who was going to be there and how to present yourself and even rubbing petals on your skin. Horrid.” He sounded disgusted.

  “Let me guess. Geraniums?” Rose’s sense of the absurd bubbled to the surface.

  “Yes,” sighed Lydia.

  “Could be worse,” said Miles. “I hear stinging nettles work wonders when bringing colour to one’s cheeks.”

  “Especially if you sit on ‘em,” added the irrepressible Matthew.

  Shocked gasps turned into howls of laughter, and it was a very merry carriage that stopped in front of the Sydenham’s door.

  “Ah. The life of the party has arrived, I see.”

  Hobson stood sentry at the top of the steps, his august presence lending an air of elegance to the entire building.

  “Hallo Hobson,” said Lydia cheerfully. “Lovely to see you again. I do hope you’ve had a pleasant year so far?”

  “Nice of you to enquire, Miss Lydia.” He bowed slightly. “Good evening Mr Matthew, Miss Glynde-Beauchamp. A pleasure to see you. And Lord Linfield. Taking the family out for the evening, then, sir?”

  Miles lifted an eyebrow. “It does feel like that sometimes, I’ll confess.”

  “If you’ll be wanting sherry, there’s a table set up in the card room.”

  Miles rolled his eyes. “I think I’ll be able to keep pace with the young ones, Hobson, but I do appreciate your concerns.”

  “Very good, then, sir. I’ll let you get on with it.”

  They moved inside, allowing the servants to take their shawls. As he helped Rose off with hers, Miles leaned over. “I didn’t turn grey in the carriage, or anything, did I? Hobson seems bound and determined to place me in the old fellows’ room…”

  “Certainly not,” said Rose, placing her hand on his arm. “Come on. If there is dancing, you shall dance with me and we’ll show him that you are still sprightly.”

  “Um…”

  “And we must hope that our dancing together doesn’t get back to either of our mothers.” She sighed. “I want to enjoy myself, Miles. With my friends. And that includes you, dear sir.”

  “I’m glad.” He placed his hand over hers.

  “But it’s bloody annoying to have to consider every word, every move, in case it could be misinterpreted as something else…” She shot him a quick look. “Begging your pardon for my language.”

  “I’ve heard worse,” he grinned, amused by her apology.

  They paused at the door. “Give me one moment…” She gnawed on her lips. “There. Now I’ve actually done something my mother instructed.” She turned to him. “I am now the picture of attractive and blooming health.”

  He gazed at her face, an odd look in his eyes. “I cannot argue with that, dear girl. Not at all.”

  They walked into the huge ballroom to greet their hosts, while at the back of Rose’s mind she wondered a little about that look Miles had given her. To her surprise there’d been a tiny little dart of something…a spark perhaps…in a place that hadn’t sparked before now…

  Chapter Five

  The good things about the Wednesday Club were the excellent food, good music and guests who were ready to enjoy themselves, instead of parade themselves for others to admire.

  Thus Miles looked forward to the event with a great deal more enthusiasm than most of the other London entertainments he attended. This evening was turning out to be particularly entertaining. He’d already had one delightful young lady on his lap, and he had to admit he’d enjoyed every minute of her accidental seating slip.

  Rose Glynde-Beauchamp was becoming one of the more intriguing figures in his life, and he frowned a little at the thought, idly watching her dance with some young sprig. The operative word there was young, since Miles knew he had to be nearly ten years older than the lady herself.

  Oddly enough, though, he never even considered that when they spoke. She was literate, intelligent, had a quick sense of humour and never tittered. He deplored any female who tittered, and God only knew how many of them were out there, making their fragile way around London’s ballrooms, tittering, fluttering their eyelashes and obeying the dictates that ruled the performances of young ladies on the prowl for a husband.

  Sadly, even the Sydenhams weren’t immune.

  “Oh, Lord Linfield, how delightful to thee you,” tittered a voice next to him. “I twutht you had a lovely Cwithmath?”

  The Right Honourable Titania Fremantle was at his side, twinkling up at him, her wispy hair drifting around her face in what he imagined was supposed to be a cloud of ringlets. Sadly, the cloud had lowered and the ringlets had ended up nursing her substantial chin.

  “Good evening Miss Fremantle. Thank you for asking…I did indeed enjoy the season.”

  “But you are not danthing, thir.”

  Mildly irritated, Miles forbore pointing out that since he was standing quite still that was a needlessly obvious remark. Also, he wasn’t sure if her lisp was real or affected.

  “Maybe later,” he smiled politely. “Do excuse me, I must have a word with Sir Laurence.” He bowed correctly and took his leave, noting her pout, but determined not to surrender to it.

  “Hullo Miles.” Sir Laurence Sydenham’s lips twitched as Miles walked up to him. “Feeling a bit…pursued, are we?”

  Miles’s response was pithy and brief.

  “Thought so.” Sir Laurence grinned. “But let’s face it, lad. You’re a ripe apple on the Society tree and picking time draws near.”

  “As if my mother wasn’t enough,” griped Miles, “the whole thing seems to be the sole topic of conversation. Even here.” He turned a disappointed gaze on his host. “I had hoped to be free of it here, but apparently not.”

  “It’ll be worse at Almack’s, you know.” Lady Maud had approached them, a grin on her face matching her husband’s. “I don’t envy you, Miles. You’re just too…too…eligible for your own good.”

  He very much wanted to throw his hands in the air, but managed to restrain himself to a deep and profound sigh. “I foresee nothing but a parade of ribbons, ringlets, mothers and titters.” He closed his eyes. “Do you have a parapet four floors up? Something high enough that I can cast myself off it?”

  “Oh hush,” Maud laughed as she linked her arm through his. “Come on. I have a suggestion.”

  She led him alongside the dance floor where a new and energetic waltz had begun. The ladies whirled, the gentlemen spun, and it certainly appeared that everyone enjoyed themselves; far more than at other engagements. Miles had to appreciate the clever way the Sydenhams had offered much the same sort of thing as would be found throughout the season, and yet imbued it with a sense of fun that raised it way above the others.

  “Here.” She led him down a corridor and then stopped, opening a door. “I think you might benefit from a few minutes' rest…”

  He peered inside, delighted to see that this was a music room. Not too large, but enough that the sounds would resonate around the plain walls and from the tall windows that fronted on the Sydenham’s garden.

  “This is lovely, Lady Maud. Yes. Just what I need.” His eyes lit on the pianoforte. “May I?”

  “Go ahead. I have to return to the ballroom, but stay as long as yo
u like.”

  “Thank you.” The words came from the bottom of his heart.

  She smiled at his sincere gratitude, and left, leaving the door slightly ajar.

  Miles crossed to the pianoforte, opened the lid and pulled out the bench, seating himself comfortably and running his fingers over the keys. A soft sound greeted his actions; perfectly in tune, and ready for his eager touch.

  He knew his limitations when it came to playing; he’d never perform in public as a soloist. But he could provide adequate accompaniment to anyone who wanted to sing a song he knew, and had a few favourite pieces that brought him a measure of delight and joy as he brought them to life. He found himself playing one now, a relaxing country tune that—to him—brought back the soft sounds of summer at Linfield Lisle.

  Drifting on the notes, he failed to hear the door open behind him, nor the woman step inside and close it as she listened.

  Thus the applause that echoed around the room when he finished made him jump. He barely managed not to fall off the bench.

  “Good God, why didn’t you say something?” He stared at Rose who was still applauding.

  “Because it was beautiful. Just beautiful. And I loved the peace that came with it. Certainly not to be found out there…” She gestured with her head to the rest of the house.

  “I can’t argue there,” he nodded. “Lady Maud showed me where I could escape the…er…”

  “Husband hunters?” she finished for him.

  He sighed. “It’s going to be like this all Season long,” his shoulders drooped. “It might be difficult for you, but it’s going to be even worse for me.”

  She shrugged. “It is the world in which we live, Miles.” Her eyes wandered around the room. “At least we have a place like to escape to when things get…”

  He glanced up as her words stopped abruptly and she walked past him to a far corner.

  He heard her delighted murmur as she bent to pick something up.

  “What did you find?”

  She turned, her face alight. “This.” She raised a magnificent instrument in her arms, a look of utter joy on her face.