A Melody for Rose (The Wednesday Club Book 2)

by Sahara Kelly

  *~~*~~*

  Miles walked into Sydenham House that night with his heart thumping erratically beneath his perfectly tied cravat and the dragons on his elegant figured silk waistcoat. Claude had declared himself satisfied, and Miles had re-read the note from Lady Maud.

  Your attendance tonight will be welcome, and mandatory, dear Miles, she’d written. There is a certain young lady currently napping upstairs who will doubtless be glad to see you. You may sweep her off her feet with our compliments.

  It was signed with a scrawled Maud S.

  He’d heaved a sigh of relief upon receiving it, since now he knew his Rose was in safe hands. It was an excellent choice for a sanctuary, since nobody would get past Hobson. Not even her mother.

  As far as he was concerned, their marriage was a fait accompli.

  Would there be a whisper or two? Of course. They were who they were and it was a fact of life. But would they let it bother them? Not at all. And he’d do his damndest to continue the Linfield line as soon as possible, so that they’d have children to keep them busy and their minds off the rest of the world.

  He couldn’t wait. The notion of having a son or daughter with Rose, not to mention the begetting of the child…well, Miles pushed the thought aside lest he ruin the fit of his clothing.

  The Wednesday Club was sure to be filled with young persons having a good time. That was the whole point. Good music, good dancing, good food and good people.

  Sir Laurence and Lady Maud exemplified that principle, and their Wednesday evenings were becoming increasingly popular, to judge by the numbers of carriages coming and going outside Sydenham House.

  “Good evening, Lord Linfield.”

  “Hobson.” Miles nodded, then frowned as the butler made a point of looking behind him. Miles turned around to see what was going on.

  There was nothing.

  “Is everything all right, Hobson?”

  “Of course, my Lord. Just checking to see if any more weeping women might have accompanied you this evening.”

  “Ah.” Miles rolled his eyes. “Had to make sure I received my just punishment, eh?”

  “It is all part of the service, sir.”

  “You are indeed a treasure, Hobson.” Miles cocked a cheeky eyebrow at him. “Somebody might just bury you someday. I understand pirates do that sort of thing to treasure all the time.”

  “A notion to which I shall give all the consideration it merits, my Lord.” He turned. “Ah. Mr Guildford. Welcome, sir.”

  Obviously the consideration was momentary, so Miles—taking that for a dismissal—walked onward and toward the music, his heart still beating fast as searched the crowd in hopes of finding Rose.

  But there was, as yet, no sign of her.

  “Hallo Miles,” said Matthew Davenport, arriving at his side. “Been having a spot of bother, I hear.”

  “You have a gift for understatement,” answered Miles wryly. “But with luck, all will end well.” He looked around. “Is your sister here?”

  “Yes. Somewhere. Last I saw of her she was with Ivy and Prudence. I think the Duke’s here too.” He leaned toward Miles. “You talk with him much?”

  “Hmm? Who?” Miles still searched for a certain brunette.

  “The Duke, Miles. Pay attention.”

  “I am paying attention, Matthew, and no I don’t talk with him very much. Why?” Satisfied that Rose had yet to make an appearance, Miles returned his attention to his friend.

  “I just wondered. He seems to be around a lot.”

  “Well, he’s seeing to Miss Prudence’s debut, so I suppose that puts him into the public limelight,” Miles answered. “Can’t really help it, can he? Got to keep an eye on her.”

  “I assume so. But she is so quiet. I doubt she’s much trouble at all. I can barely get her to say two words…”

  “You’re a good chap to try though, Matthew. Points to you for that.” Miles grinned.

  The two of them made their way further in and ended up in the ballroom. The dais on the end held several musicians, who filled the room with a waltz that more than a few couples were enjoying.

  But still no Rose.

  Some time later, Miles was about ready to explode. He caught sight of Lady Maud and followed her as she hurried into the ballroom. It was almost time for the mid-evening intermission, a chance to stroll, eat, chat and socialise.

  He failed to catch up with her though as she mounted the dais that the musicians were about to leave. She smiled at them as they stepped down and onto the dance floor.

  “My friends,” she called. “My friends, if you please, a moment of your time?”

  The room fell quiet as everyone turned toward her.

  “Thank you. Before we take our well-earned break, I’d like to present a small treat for you all. One of our number has graciously consented to play a little something she wrote…” Lady Maud stepped to one side of the curtain at the rear of the dais and it moved aside to reveal Rose, and her harp-lute. “Miss Rose Glynde-Beauchamp is a brilliant player and her music has been well-received in more places than you can imagine.”

  Miles blinked. Rose must really have spilled the beans to Lady Maud.

  “She needs only one thing…accompaniment on the pianoforte. I understand Lord Linfield is familiar with the piece she’ll be playing…Lord Linfield…are you there?” Maud raised her hand above her eyes and squinted out into the crowd gathered around.

  “He’s here…” Matthew’s voice rang out.

  “Er…yes…” Miles felt as if he walked through thick cream, his feet dragging a little, his legs not entirely under his own control. All he could do was look at Rose. And she had yet to look at him.

  He stepped up to the dais and heard a smattering of applause—obviously from those who had never heard him play.

  Finally, as he took his seat and Maud left them to it, Rose looked at him, her expression giving nothing away. “I hope you remember the tune,” she said quietly.

  “I remember everything,” he answered, glad to see a tiny blush creep over her cheeks.

  “Right then.” She bent to her instrument and the first notes of her own creation drifted out across the room.

  More followed and Miles picked it up immediately, accompanying her with a matching rhythm and complementary chords. It was bright, sweet and feet began to tap as the melody picked up in tempo.

  He could hear faint claps as gloved hands kept time, and a smile crossed his face as Rose looked out to see the response to her music. Her smile was—breathtaking, and he almost lost his place as he watched her.

  Fingers flying, her attention drawn back to her harp-lute, Rose offered the performance of a lifetime. Every note was perfect, her timing faultless and he could only struggle to come anywhere near her level of expertise. Thankfully, his was truly the role of accompanist, so excellence from him wasn’t necessarily expected.

  He did his best, but he knew Rose was stealing everyone’s heart with her music. And that, in his opinion, was what good music should do.

  It was a short piece, and within less than ten minutes, they were done.

  The applause that followed was deafening.

  He closed the pianoforte, stood and walked to her, extending a hand as she came to her feet and gingerly put the harp-lute down on the chair. She let her palm lie in his, smiled, and dropped into a deep curtsey.

  Miles bowed, still holding her hand, then straightened and looked out across the smiling and applauding crowd.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he called out, attracting everyone’s attention. “May I formally present the future Lady Linfield? My Rose.”

  Before she could do more than gasp, he pulled her smack up against him, lowered his head, and kissed her deeply and thoroughly before everyone at the Wednesday Club.

  And that was pretty much that.

  Epilogue

  “Well, I’m quite cross,” pouted Lydia. “Ivy and I were at the back of the room. We missed The Kiss.”

  “Don’t say
it like that,” laughed Rose. “You make it sound like…well, I don’t know. Some sort of exciting and life-changing event.”

  “Wasn’t it?” Lydia raised her eyebrows.

  “It certainly caused a sensation,” agreed Ivy. “I know Prudence was shocked to her slippers, but she ended up applauding as loud as the rest of us.”

  “Congratulations, darling.” Maud joined the young women as they gathered at a table in the massive dining room. “I knew it would all work out. Miles is such a sweetheart. He deserves you.”

  “Oh Lady Maud, that is so kind of you,” Rose went to hug her, but with a biscuit plate in one hand and a glass of negus in the other, it was turning out to be nearly impossible.

  “Yes, we’ll hug later,” grinned Maud. “I also must say that you play the harp-lute better than anyone I’ve ever heard. If you want to perform in public again, you let me know, please? I'd be thrilled to host a musicale for you.”

  “I will. And thank you for everything.”

  Maud nodded and moved on.

  “She’s amazing, isn’t she? It was her idea to have me play tonight.”

  “What is going on then?” asked Lydia. “You’ve been out of town, and now here, and this whole music business…I heard rumours there have been thefts of songs involved…” She raised her eyebrows.

  “I will tell you the story later, dear Lydia, I promise.” Rose looked across the room with eager eyes. “But at this moment, I believe my fiancé is looking for me, and I have a new melody I want to play for him tonight.”

  Ivy and Lydia watched as she took off toward the tall man smiling at her over the heads of the dancers.

  “It’s lovely, isn’t it?” sighed Ivy.

  “Very romantic,” agreed Lydia. “But not for me.”

  “Oh dear. Here we go.” Ivy linked her arm through her friend’s. “You’re determined not to marry. You’re going to have a series of passionate affairs, become notorious for the number and quality of your lovers, then write a revealing memoir which will bring in so many pounds that you can live in luxury for the rest of your life.”

  “Um, yes. Just about that. Yes.” Lydia blinked. “Actually I hadn’t considered a memoir.” She turned to Ivy. “That is quite brilliant you know.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” laughed Ivy. “But if you do write one, don’t put me in it, all right?”

  “Why not? You’re one of my best friends. Of course you have to be in there.”

  Ivy rolled her eyes. “Very well then. One paragraph. Something along the lines of ‘my friend Ivy, who liked plants and wished for her own gardens’. There. That’s all you need.”

  Lydia laughed this time. “You’re far too modest. Look at what you’ve been doing for sweet Prudence. She wouldn’t say boo to a goose when she arrived, but now…”

  The two of them watched at Miss Prudence allowed herself to be dragged through the measures of a cotillion on the arms of one Mr Romley Dartsbridge.

  “My word,” remarked Ivy. “It looks like he has fewer pimples than he did at Almack’s.”

  Lydia raised her fan and covered her mouth as she leaned her head toward Rose. “More powder,” she whispered.

  “Really?” Ivy’s gaze followed the unfortunate fellow.

  “Really,” confirmed Lydia.

  “Prudence can, and should, do better,” declared Ivy.

  “We should see to it, then, shouldn’t we?”

  Brown eyes met green in a confirming glance.

  “Let’s have at it.” Lydia squared her shoulders and marched purposefully from the ballroom.

  Ivy followed her, unaware that her departure was observed by another pair of eyes—ones that were a remarkably pure shade of blue.

  Join Ivy Siddington, member of the Wednesday Club, as she journeys into the unpredictable spring gardens of romance…

  Coming later this year.

  *~~*~~*

  A FOOTNOTE – Synaesthesia

  Mention is made in this story of Rose’s ability to see “colours” in her music. I had heard of this before, but until I began her story, I had not looked into it with any great thoroughness. Having done so now, I find it a fascinating topic, as are many of those that concern little quirks of our brains.

  The ability to assign/associate colour with things other than colours themselves is well-known and did—as Miles Linfield discovered—receive a mention from the ancient Greeks, as well as others through the ages, including Sir Isaac Newton. (Although not in relation to anything that happened after the apple fell on his head.)

  Today we know it’s not restricted to colours, but is now officially described as the stimulation of a sensitive or cognitive pathway leading to automatic, involuntary experiences in a second sensitive or cognitive pathway. Rather a mouthful, but it’s a complicated condition not easily explained.

  Various theories ascribe the condition to a missed or confused neural connection during the embryonic stage; where, for example, a link to the colour areas of the brain is accidently routed to another area—and it can be anything from words, to numbers, to music, to calculations.

  I was surprised to read about today’s celebrities who have synaesthesia in one form or another. Pharrell, for example, is a musician who has this ability; as do Mary J. Blige, Billy Joel and Franz Liszt, along with Kanye West and Eddie Van Halen.

  In the area of art – Van Gogh, Giuseppe Arcimboldo, and possibly Kandinsky. Richard Feynman, the noted physicist, was also a synaesthete.

  The list goes on, so this is in no way a limited or rare condition. I hope anyone out there who experiences synaesthesia will forgive my limited knowledge and skimpy descriptions. And I hope they will understand that, in context of a Regency time frame, the fear of madness that such a condition might all too easily inspire.

  *~~*~~*

  If you happened to miss the first book in the Wednesday Club series, and aren’t quite sure how Judith Fairhurst managed to end up married to Sir Ragnor Withersby, then here’s a quick look. (You’ll find the link to this book’s page at Amazon.com in the bibliography.)

  A GENTLEMAN FOR JUDITH – The Wednesday Club, Book One

  © Sahara Kelly 2019

  Excerpt:

  “Ragnor. Come and be introduced.” Matthew summoned him. “Sir Laurence, ladies, this is my good friend Sir Ragnor Withersby. I persuaded him to accompany me, knowing he’d enjoy meeting you all.”

  “Sir Laurence,” bowed Ragnor. “An honour sir. I understand we share an affection for a certain card game?” He grinned and raised an eyebrow.

  “Aha. Piquet player, are you?” Sir Laurence grinned back. “Sadly, m’wife hasn’t put those out this evening.”

  Ragnor glanced around. “I believe that is probably a wise decision. A true piquet player must have a few years’ experience before venturing into public play.”

  “Ahem.”

  The brunette cleared her throat. “I do beg your pardon, but I think you might be making a false assumption, Sir Ragnor.”

  Both Ragnor and Sir Laurence stared at her.

  “I play piquet.”

  “You never mentioned that,” said Sir Laurence in surprise. “We could have had a few games if you’d told me.”

  Ragnor couldn’t decide if his host was shocked at her disclosure or disappointed he’d missed the chance to indulge his passion. Probably a bit of both.

  “You seem quite young to have mastered such a complex game, Miss…?”

  “My apologies.” Sir Laurence dipped his head. “May I present Miss Lydia Davenport—who you probably already know—and Miss Judith Fairhurst.”

  The appropriate curtseys and bows were exchanged.

  “Do you really play, Judith?” Lydia glanced at her. “I hear it’s a challenging game to master.”

  “I learned when I was very young,” said Judith quietly. “I have not, however, had the opportunity to play in far too long. My late uncle was not interested in playing cards with a woman.”

  “His loss,” said Sir Laurence
in a comforting tone. “I have learned never to underestimate a woman’s intelligence.”

  “That’s because you had a good teacher, my love.” Lady Maud arrived at that opportune moment. “Lydia, I’m so glad your brother chose to attend. Have you all tried the raspberry biscuits?”

  “We did,” said Judith. “Extraordinarily delicious. I had three.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “So, dear, I’m going to slip away for a piquet deck. Our latest guest here shares my delight in the game. You won’t mind, will you?” Sir Laurence beamed lovingly at his wife.

  Who remained immune. “Sadly yes. I am about to kidnap you and bring you over to two lovely ladies. Lady Mellingham and Georgina Belgrave are here tonight with their offspring. They are distantly related to the Sydenham line so you cannot escape this, my dear.”

  Sir Laurence rolled his eyes. “I am outmanoeuvred, Sir Ragnor. My apologies. Perhaps another time?”

  “I shall look forward to it, sir,” bowed Ragnor, as his host departed, led firmly away by his wife.

  There was a moment of silence as the four remaining people looked at each other.

  Then Judith lifted her chin. “If we could find a deck of cards, I’d be quite happy to offer you a game of piquet, sir.”

  He watched her, feeling that she’d had to pull her courage together to make the suggestion. But he was pleased she had. “A delightful notion, Miss Fairhurst. Perhaps just one hand? For fun?”

  The next thing he knew, he was sitting across from a young lady who was most efficiently shuffling cards. Her movements were skilled, her hands steady as soon as she’d touched the deck.

  He was, he admitted, intrigued.

  About the Author

  British born and bred, Sahara Kelly has enjoyed writing and reading Regency romances for many decades, beginning in her childhood with books by Jane Austen, Georgette Heyer and Barbara Cartland.