The Song of Love

by Platt, Meara

  “Bloody hell. You heard that? You do have the ears of a bat.” He frowned down at the diminutive dowager, making no attempt to apologize.

  Oh, dear. Why was he antagonizing her? Violet emitted a nervous titter. “Good evening, Lady Withnall.”

  “Good evening, Violet. Care to add to Captain Brayden’s comment?”

  Violet’s identical twin cousins, Dillie and Lily, often eeped when their nerves were on edge. Violet held back the urge to eep like a demented bird, but a few more high-pitched twitters escaped her lips. “Um…er… Lovely to see you, Lady Withnall.”

  “I’m sure it isn’t, but I appreciate your lying to me anyway.”

  Romulus covered Violet’s hand with his to calm her.

  Lady Withnall noticed the gesture at once. “Protecting Violet? From me? Don’t be a nodcock. I’m not going to bite her head off,” she snapped. “But I ought to do worse to you.”

  He groaned. “You are the wickedest, old bat who ever lived. Relentless, too.”

  “And you are an insufferable dolt. Come, give me a kiss on the cheek and tell me you are happy to see me.”

  Romulus did so, and the two of them chuckled as though they were the best of friends sharing a jest.

  Violet’s gaze shot from one to the other.

  Wait, what had she missed? Incredibly, Lady Withnall seemed not to have taken offense at the harsh remarks Romulus had tossed her way. Well, she must be used to hearing worse from her victims.

  “How have the pair of you been getting along?” she asked, piercing Romulus with her spear-like gaze. “Feeling leg-shackled yet, dear boy?”

  He arched an eyebrow. “No shackles. Only a bit rushed.”

  Lady Withnall pounded her cane again. “You got what you deserved, and you know it.”

  Violet tipped her chin up, determined to come to his defense. “You aren’t being fair to him. He–”

  “No, my dear. As I said, he is getting exactly what he deserves. I hope so are you.” With that, the old harridan walked away to strike fear in Lady Dayne’s other guests.

  Violet gasped. “What did she mean by that? Why would she say something so rude to me? What did I ever do to offend her?”

  Romulus stared at Lady Withnall for a long moment, then turned to Violet with a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “She just complimented you…and me.”

  She followed his gaze. “She insulted us. Weren’t you listening?”

  He laughed and playfully tugged on her earlobe. “I was. You weren’t. She likes us, Violet. She’s giving us a hard time because she thinks we are perfectly suited for each other. This is her heavy-handed way of matchmaking. She also thinks I’m getting the better part of the bargain. She likes you best.”

  Violet shook her head. “You gleaned all that from trading insults with her?”

  “I did.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Well then, we may as well toss The Book of Love aside since Lady Withnall obviously has all the answers.”

  She expected him to respond with a glib remark, but he regarded her in all seriousness. “If anything, I am more determined for us to read through it. I heard what she was saying.”

  “Because you listened.”

  He nodded. “And you did not. You are angry, so you assumed the worst in her. So did I until now.”

  “So, this torture she is putting us through is her desire to have us find love?”

  “Yes, but is it torture for you? I don’t mind it nearly as much as I thought I would. Of course, we hardly know each other.” He frowned lightly. “To my shame, I probably would not have noticed you if you sat in the wallflower corner with your spectacles on and your hair done up in a tight bun. But those bees changed everything, didn’t they?”

  His expression eased, and he smiled at her. “I can’t look at you without low brain thoughts swimming into my head.”

  She eased out of his grasp, for people were starting to notice he had not released her yet. “My high brain thanks you. It liked the way you held onto me to protect me.”

  “No wolves will ever eat you while I’m about.”

  “Then thank you again,” she said with a laughing shake of her head. She was beginning to think perhaps Lady Withnall had the right of it, that she and Romulus might grow to like each other…perhaps love each other.

  Those thoughts were dashed a moment later when a stunning woman simply marched up to Romulus and greeted him with startling familiarity.

  “You wicked, wicked man,” she purred like a predatory feline. “Have you grown tired of me already?”

  She extended her elegant, gloved hand, and he dutifully bowed over it. “Lady Felicia, a pleasure to see you.”

  “I don’t know. You seem quite attentive to this…creature.”

  Violet arched an eyebrow. She’d never been referred to as a creature before.

  “Does she know how depraved you really are?” She cast Violet a dismissive glance. “Well? Aren’t you going to introduce her to me, Rom?”

  He did, but only after a telling moment of hesitation. “Lady Felicia is the widow of the Marquis of Herringdon.” He cleared his throat and went on to explain. “We are old friends.”

  “We are childhood friends,” Lady Felicia corrected, for she certainly wasn’t old. “And have always been very close friends.” She ran her hand lightly down Romulus’s chest and then glanced lower. “The closest of friends, I should hope.”

  Violet was the first to admit she knew nothing about men. But she wasn’t born yesterday. That glance followed by a lick of her lips was a not so subtle indication of their past relations. Indeed, it fairly screamed the intimacy of their past and likely current relations.

  “I’m thinking of having a party this weekend at Herringdon Hall. Just a few friends…doing the usual…like old times.”

  Romulus glanced at Violet. “Sorry, I am not available this weekend.”

  “Rom, darling. Don’t you dare grow boring, as I am afraid you shall if you insist on keeping such dull company.” Lady Felicia positioned herself between them, effectively cutting Violet out of their conversation. “Do join me this weekend at Herringdon. You are always such a comfort to me.”

  “I shall leave you to catch up with each other.” Violet had a dozen snide remarks on the tip of her tongue and ready to be hurled, but why engage the haughty woman? It would serve no purpose.

  If Romulus wanted to continue his relations with the widow, that was his privilege. But it would not bode well for their current betrothal…secret betrothal. Indeed, she would never marry him if he thought so little of her as to continue to comfort Lady Felicia.

  Romulus frowned at her.

  Perhaps it was more of a look of frustration. Violet wasn’t blind to their obvious past together, for Lady Felicia was quite proprietary about him. The widow’s gloves surely hid some very sharp claws.

  Violet was about to walk away, but Romulus took her gently by the arm. “Stay, Miss Farthingale. It is only harmless reminiscing.”

  She studied the woman, noting her golden hair and crystal, blue eyes shaped like those of a cat. This widow was used to getting her way in all things. Her beauty alone would have men tripping over their feet to indulge her every whim. She moved in the highest circles, and if the diamonds around her throat was any indication, she had been left quite wealthy by her husband after he’d cocked up his toes.

  “I don’t think so, Mr. Brayden. Seek me out later if you wish.”

  “I do wish it.”

  She ignored him and turned to walk away.

  She heard Lady Felicia’s lilting laughter behind her. “What a quaint, little bird. Not your usual sort, is she, Rom?”

  “No, not at all.”

  Violet would not linger to hear the rest of his response.

  The man who married Lady Felicia next, assuming she cared to marry, would live in unsurpassed luxury. But there was little else to recommend her. Oddly, although the woman was beautiful and rich, there was a hardness about her that detracted f
rom her otherwise considerable assets.

  Violet thought of the Book of Love when it spoke of beauty. The widow’s features might appear beautiful at first glimpse, but there was an ugliness to her character that could not be overlooked. How could she be beautiful in any man’s eyes when on the inside she was cold as ice?

  What did Romulus think of this woman?

  Violet realized how little she knew of him. Still, she had learned something of his character. He was protective by nature, but that was a far thing from being a fawning dolt. He was ruled by honor and kindness, not desperation and jealousy. He was not the sort to fall in doting rapture at any woman’s feet. Was he?

  Nor did he appear to be impressed by all Lady Felicia had to offer.

  Quite the opposite, he looked as though he was irritated by the woman’s flirtation.

  She turned back to glance at him.

  To her surprise, Romulus was looking at her as she retreated. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was casting her a pleading glance. Was he imploring her to return to his side? Did he not wish to be alone with the beautiful widow?

  Violet wished she was more sophisticated and adept at handling such matters. In truth, she was confused. Romulus seemed to want her to remain by his side, but his words as she’d turned to walk off still stung.

  Not your usual sort, is she, Rom?

  No, not at all.

  That’s what he’d said in response to Lady Felicia’s remark.

  He had the choice of two women before him. One, namely herself, a reluctant debutante with a bee sting on her nose and ugly red welts all over her body. The other was perfection itself. And this perfect woman was rich, worldly, and hungry for him.

  Violet could see Lady Felicia for what she was, cold and calculating. But would Romulus see her this way as well? Perhaps. But would he care?

  She crossed the room to greet her cousin Daisy who had arrived with her husband, Gabriel. “I hear the Chipping Way curse is still going strong,” he said with a rakish grin and a wicked sparkle in his eyes. “I’m sorry you were beset by bees, Violet. But this is how the blasted curse works. Something calamitous always happens to throw you and your intended together. How soon before the wedding is announced?”

  She glanced at Romulus.

  Lady Felicia was standing so close to him, she appeared to be atop him. “It won’t be.”

  Gabriel and Daisy followed her gaze.

  Gabriel sighed. “Don’t be too hard on him. I know Lady Felicia’s type. She is the one making all the advances.”

  Violet shook her head. “He doesn’t seem to be objecting.”

  “It isn’t easy for a man to step away under these circumstances. He isn’t about to rebuff her now, for he knows Lady Felicia is not above causing a scene. He is handling her the only way he can at the moment, by remaining polite but cool to her advances. Ah, he keeps looking your way. See, that proves my point.”

  “He didn’t want me to leave his side,” she admitted. “But I had to. I’m not good at sophisticated banter with a cutting edge to it. And look at me…then look at her. She’s elegant. I look like a measles case.”

  Daisy regarded her affectionately. “Oh, Violet. It is obvious she is jealous of you.”

  Violet laughed. “Thank you, Daisy. That is utter nonsense.” She refused to pay any more attention to Romulus and his overly amorous widow.

  The evening passed more pleasantly than expected, even though Romulus happened to be seated beside Lady Felicia at the dining table. Violet’s place was immediately across from them, but next to the son of an old family friend. “Miss Farthingale, do you still sing?”

  “Yes, I do.” She was pleased Lord Jameson Forester had remembered this about her. “And your sister, Lord Forester? How is she faring?”

  “Valerie is well. She sends her regards.” He studied her a little too closely for comfort, no doubt noticing the spots and being too polite to comment on them. “She is Lady Rawley now, a viscountess. Unfortunately, she is not in a happy marriage.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “She and her husband live apart. Lord Rawley is a dull bird who prefers the life of a country squire. He spends most of his time trudging through his cornfields, and when he isn’t doing that, he’s duck hunting. His estate is in Cumbria. Valerie prefers London, of course. Who doesn’t? She’s found a house to let on the outskirts of Mayfair. Barely fashionable.”

  “I’m sure it’s lovely.”

  “I suppose it will have to do for her. She would have liked a residence as fine as those on Chipping Way, but Lord Rawley is tightfisted and barely sends her enough pin money to last her through the month.”

  Violet was surprised when he proceeded to tell her precisely how much his sister received. Goodness, it seemed more than generous. But still crude to mention his sister’s finances here and now. “I must disappoint you, Lord Forester. I prefer the countryside as well. It can be quite lovely, especially in summer when the air is mild and the foliage is lush and in bloom. Autumn is also quite splendid, especially when the leaves are changing colors and–”

  He laughed. “I forgot what a little pigeon you are. I think I would enjoy the country quite well if I spent time up there with you. But I have something serious to discuss with you, Violet. May I call you that? We are good friends. I hope you won’t take offense. And do call me Jameson.”

  She eyed him warily. Yes, they had been friends. She hadn’t seen him or his sister in years. What was this serious matter he wished to discuss? Jameson always had one wild scheme or another rolling in his head. His father, the Marquis of Broughton, had hoped he would settle down over time. Was he still dreaming up wild schemes? “What’s on your mind, Jameson?”

  “My sister and I have decided to raise funds for St. Aubrey’s Orphanage in Langdale. The buildings on the property are in a sad state and require urgent repairs. Father has made a generous donation, but it isn’t nearly enough. We don’t want the orphans to be turned out. Where would they go? I shudder to think, for where can they go but to the workhouses?”

  “That would be awful.” She knew of the orphanage. Everyone who spent time in the Lake District knew of it and admired the abbess who ran it. “How can I help?”

  He cast her a beaming smile. “I was hoping you would offer. You see, we thought we’d hold a charity recital and we need an extraordinary singer. We thought of you immediately. It is the reason I arranged to be invited to this party.”

  The notion surprised her. “Why me? I’m not a professional.”

  “You are young, beautiful, and you’ve always had the voice of an angel. The men will flock to hear you sing.”

  “Men? You expect me to sing to a roomful of men?” It sounded indecent and she was sorry she’d offered to help him. “No, that is out of the question.”

  “You mistake me, Violet. It will be an elegant affair, with all the best Society in attendance. Lords and ladies. It’s just that the men hold the purse strings, don’t they? So, they’ll be the ones making the large donations. A man will pay more if the singer is young and beautiful.”

  She supposed she ought to be flattered, but the discussion made her uncomfortable. “Surely, there must be professionals who will do a much better job than I would.”

  He took a sip of his wine, then frowned and studied the crystal glass as he set it down. “Most of these opera singers demand a fee. So do the stage actresses. But they are lower class. You are a gentlewoman and will elevate this event. Won’t you do it for the children?”

  Ugh, he knows just how to pull at my heartstrings.

  She wasn’t an utter ninny. Yes, she wanted to help children. But why this sudden compassion for the downtrodden and helpless from Jameson? This was out of character for him. “Send me more details and I’ll discuss it with Uncle John and Aunt Sophie. I’m staying with them for the season. They’re sponsoring my come-out.”

  He frowned. “They’ll refuse. Why can’t we keep this as our little secret?”

  W
hen he was younger, Jameson had a tendency to pout when he did not get his way. Too bad this had not changed. He looked like a petulant boy as he drained his glass and raised it to be refilled by one of the attending footmen.

  “You forget, I’m a Farthingale. We don’t keep secrets from each other. Yes, they will likely refuse. If so, I will write to the abbess and see if we can help in some other way.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Why her? I’m the one putting this event together on behalf of the orphanage. All she has to do is receive the funds.”

  Although the desserts looked quite tempting, Violet had no appetite for them. She merely wished this dinner party to be over. Jameson was now sulking beside her, and Romulus appeared enraptured by Lady Felicia, his head tipped toward her as she engaged him in another intimate conversation.

  When supper finally came to an end, she rose and joined the ladies in the parlor while the men remained at the dining table for drinks and smokes.

  Lady Withnall intercepted her as she made her way to Aunt Sophie and Daisy. “Sit next to me, Violet.”

  It wasn’t a request, but a command.

  “That was not well done of you,” the diminutive dragon said and tapped her cane on the floor twice to mark her disdain. Thuck. Thuck.

  “I don’t know what you mean?” In truth, she could not imagine what she had done to overset this woman.

  “You allowed Lady Felicia to steal Romulus from you.” She tapped her cane again. “And who was that blackguard you were speaking to all evening?”

  Violet arched an eyebrow. “Do you mean my dinner partner, Lord Jameson Forester? His family and mine are long-time friends. And what did you expect me to do to Lady Felicia? Challenge her to a duel over Captain Brayden? She’s known him for years. I’ve known him for a day.” She rose abruptly. “Forgive me if I seem rude, Lady Withnall. But I have enough demands placed on me just now. I don’t need more from you.”

  Oh, that did sound rude.

  It wasn’t the old gossip’s fault Romulus had lavished his attention on Lady Felicia throughout supper. Nor was it her fault that Jameson had spent the entire meal urging her to sing to a roomful of men. “I’m sorry. I still feel like a duck out of water here.”