Whatever Miss Richards’s reputation might have been in Society, those who knew her clearly adored and respected her.
But Henry noticed Miss Juliet’s eyes dart to the gentleman accompanying Mrs. Ashby—most likely her husband. Her normally friendly pale blue eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly while her lips pursed. The expression only lasted a moment but Henry gathered that she possess an unflattering opinion of him.
“And is that not the case for you?” Solomon pried, peering into the younger sister’s doll-like face. Henry gagged and nearly kicked his friend in the ankle. Only Solomon would think it a perfectly acceptable topic of casual conversation to ask a lady about her social engagements and popularity.
Rather than take offense, she simply laughed, the sound drawing a few curious glances their way. “I’m just a few weeks into my first Season, but I find that I am making new connections. Having my sister’s connections to draw upon helps immensely. I suspect by Season’s end I will be drowning in invitations from all the best ladies in town.” The girl tossed her head, chin thrust into the air for a moment before casting a mischievous glance to them.
Solomon smiled and lowered his voice. “I am sure you will have far more company than you know what to do with, my lady. I do feel sorry for those who must fight for your attention.” This comment earned a demure smile but knowing gaze from the young Miss Richards, and a gruff cough from Henry.
Henry’s discomfort was back in full force as some sort of strange energy passed between Solomon and his companion. He stepped beyond them, closer to Miss Richards and her friends though he did not wish to be drawn into their conversation either. But he cared not to be part of Solomon’s coquetry.
“Ah, here is one of them now!” Miss Richards must have spotted Henry inching closer. “This is Lord Neil. He and his friend over there, the Earl of Overton, are kindly escorting Juliet and I about town today. Lord Neil, this is my friend Mrs. Tabitha Ashby and her husband Mr. Lionel Ashby.” She looked back and forth eagerly between the parties as she made the introduction.
From his peripheral vision Henry could see that Solomon and his new friend were engaged in deep conversation. He was far better off here with Miss Richards and this couple. “A pleasure,” he murmured, tipping his hat to them.
“Lord Neil...” Mr. Ashby’s eyes narrowed as they scanned Henry up and down, his name rolling curiously out of the man’s mouth. “Why, you must be Lord Overton’s studious friend.”
Henry’s eyes darted to the ground and bounced from one pair of feet to the next. Would he ever become used to this? Being so closely linked to such a well-known figure as Solomon naturally brought Henry’s name to attention more than he’d like. Others often recognized his name upon introduction merely because of his association with the Earl of Overton. Some even recognized him by sight if they happened to see him out in Solomon’s company. But no matter how many times Henry found himself drawn into Solomon’s orbit, he found himself wishing he could escape the attention and materialize back in the safety of his study or library.
“Indeed he is! I am very lucky to share his company today.” Miss Richards flashed him a warm smile. At least, it probably seemed warm to the Ashbys. Henry, on the other hand, knew that it was likely nothing more than an obligation, especially considering their earlier misstep with each other.
“And I am honored to partake in this fine day with such gracious ladies.” Henry returned the compliment, the words stumbling out as he tried to strike upon the best thing to say. Stringing words together on the spot verbally was not his forte. The raised eyebrows on Miss Richards’s winsome face indicated that he’d done well.
With introductions out of the way, Miss Richards and Mrs. Ashby quickly returned to their conversation, filling each other in on the events they’d attended thus far, events they hoped to be invited to, who had called upon them, and of course blossoming courtships.
“I confess I am not much of a reading man myself,” Mr. Ashby’s said, his deep voice rumbling through his rotund chest. Eyes still narrowed, he watched his young wife converse with Miss Richards.
“That’s quite alright. I myself am not much of a hunting man. Or a gambling man. Or a drinking man.”
Henry kept his gaze towards the two women but monitored Mr. Ashby’s reaction from the corner of his eye. The man was markedly older than his wife—not an entirely uncommon sight. But his instinct told him that Mr. and Mrs. Ashby did not possess many shared interests or personality traits.
He could see it in the way the older man eyed his wife like a hawk, watching for any blunders. And he heard it in the way Mr. Ashby snorted in response to Henry’s lack of interest in most manly pursuits.
“How can women possibly have so much to discuss when most of their time is spent in this drawing room or that drawing room, or at dinner parties or on walks?” His voice carried a scathing tone that made Henry decidedly uncomfortable.
He did not pretend to be an expert on female forms of entertainment and social life, but Henry knew there must be some value in the activities women occupied themselves with. And besides, Mrs. Ashby and Miss Richards seemed to be enjoying themselves plenty.
“Aren’t you out on a walk yourself just now, sir?” The slightly snide question slipped out before Henry could think of something more appropriate to say.
Mr. Ashby’s eyes finally tore away from his wife long enough to glower at Henry. “Walking is such a dull pastime. But my dear wife insists on it at least once a week. As newlyweds we are supposed to be seen out and about in each other’s company, so she says.” He snorted again, a growling emphasis on “dear wife.”
Henry nearly snorted to himself at the idea of Mrs. Ashby being taken out for a walk around the Square once a week as if she were the household pet. “I suppose newlyweds are typically supposed to be fond of each other, or so I’ve heard.”
He’d struck a sour chord with his new acquaintance. Mr. Ashby cleared his throat, his neckcloth appearing to choke him for a moment, and he crossed his arms in his nearly too short coat sleeves. Henry found that he didn’t mind. This was not a connection he had any interest in fostering. He kept his circle small and for very good reason. Avoiding men like Mr. Ashby was one of them.
Instead, he watched Miss Richards as she excitedly shared news with her friend, her face alight with genuine interest and affection. Unlike Henry, she never seemed at a loss for spoken words. He wondered if she knew what lay behind the frail façade of her friend’s recent marriage.
When Mr. Ashby barked to his wife that they should carry on to be back in time for dinner—and Miss Richards’s expression fell into something nearing despair for a fraction of a moment before waving her friend off—Henry knew that she knew.
As Mr. Ashby quickly steered his wife past their group, Mrs. Ashby turned back to Miss Richards and called, “Do come by for dinner later this week!”
Miss Richards approached Henry but her eyes remained on her friend as the other woman was led away by her husband. He could see concern etched in the furrow of her brow.
“A charming couple,” Henry mumbled, not trying to keep the tinge of sarcasm out of his voice.
Miss Richards pursed her lips and shrugged her slender shoulders. “It is unfortunately obvious, isn’t it?”
“If I may ask, how did Mrs. Ashby find herself in such a...an interesting match?” Henry felt confident enough that Miss Richards shared his opinion of the Ashbys’s marriage to ask this slightly rude question.
“I met Mrs. Ashby in my first Season two years ago, when she was still Miss Dunn. She’s several years my senior and had been out for several Seasons already by the time I made her acquaintance. Her father is quite a successful businessman, but even still, finding a worthy husband proved to be challenging. They held out as long as they could, but eventually Mr. Ashby came along and Mr. Dunn realized he would be as good as his daughter would find lest she become a spinster.” Her voice was quiet and heavy with sadness, her eyes faraway in memory.
“That is quite unfortunate indeed.”
“Unfortunate or not, it is the way of the world at present. At least for quite a few matches I’ve seen.” The sharp bitter tone in Miss Richards’s voice caught Henry off guard, but she hastily changed the subject. “Let’s untangle those two, shall we?”
Miss Richards marched past Henry toward Solomon and her sister, calling out to them in her cheery voice. They both jumped at the intrusion. The younger woman’s cheeks colored with an attractive rosy hue and Solomon cleared his throat and glanced around, anywhere but either sister.
Their excursion naturally seemed to be approaching its end. Henry and Solomon escorted their respective companions back to the carriage. Solomon and Miss Juliet walked arm in arm, discussing anything and everything in the process.
Henry and Miss Richards walked arm in arm without conversation. But Henry could feel the slight vibration from Miss Richards’s body as she hummed quietly to herself. He had to admit, she certainly was an interesting young woman. But she didn’t seem particularly keen on him or his reserved, awkward demeanor.
Even if she had been keen—Henry quickly reminded himself—watching her floating through the world, gushing over a beautiful dress, smiling with her sister, striking up a conversation on the street, and hearing of her vibrant social life.... He knew that there was no place for such a woman in his home.
In fact, as soon as the Richards sisters were dropped off at their home, Henry planned to honor a highly important engagement with his manuscript, waiting patiently for him on his writing desk.
Dinners and dances and calls upon neighbors—everything that Miss Richards found so lovely—would never be part of Henry’s life.
Chapter 5
“Ugh!” Cecilia stood so quickly that the bench scraped harshly against the wood floor, her fingers crashing down onto the keys as she pushed herself away from the pianoforte. She pressed a hand to her forehead and glared at the instrument, allowing frustration to overtake her for a moment.
After taking a deep breath, Cecilia crossed the room and collapsed into the plush armchair situated by the window. Once again, she’d made a silly mistake on a simple piece. A player of her caliber should have been able to execute it flawlessly.
How disappointing, she lamented to herself, gazing out the window. With her elbow propped up on the armrest, Cecilia let her chin fall into her palm. She knew it wasn’t a very ladylike pose, but she was alone in the study and she had no one to impress here.
At least, until her mother walked into the room.
“Ah, there you are. Cecilia dear, do take heed of your posture.” Mrs. Richards’s voice sounded weary, as if every moment her daughter continued to live in this house was a burden. Cecilia wrinkled her nose but sat up straight, back rigid and hands neatly folded in her lap. Satisfied, Mrs. Richards continued. “If you have any engagements tomorrow evening, cancel them.”
“May I ask why?” Cecilia didn’t have any engagements tomorrow evening as a matter of fact, but the sudden demand for cancellation surprised her. Something far better, in her mother’s estimation, must have presented itself.
“We have been invited to dine with the Earl of Overton at his home.” Though Mrs. Richards tried to pass off the statement as normal—nothing less than what their family deserved or expected—Cecilia could see the hopeful shimmer in her mother’s eyes.
“Ah. Delightful.” A few days had passed since their outing with Lord Overton and Lord Neil. She shouldn’t have been surprised that they would receive such an invitation considering how taken the earl had seemed with Juliet.
Even still, Cecilia was not eager to run into the man again, and especially not his brooding friend. She was sure she had not left a favorable impression on either of them thanks to her untoward behavior regarding Lord Neil. Though Lord Neil had proven to be more complex than she’d originally imagined, he still clearly found her presence to be irksome at best.
“I will not tolerate any unpleasantness from you at this event, Cecilia,” Mrs. Richards barked. “Your future grows bleaker by the day but your sister still has hope. If the earl favors her, we cannot allow anything to happen that might damage her chances.”
Cecilia knew she was right, but the words still cut. She swallowed the lump forming in her throat. She wouldn’t let her mother break her down. Of course she didn’t want to end up in a loveless match like her friend Mrs. Ashby or her own parents, but Cecilia was not ready to give up on her ideals just yet. Not while that masked gentleman was somewhere in London.
“And the earl has graciously requested that you perform a piece on his pianoforte. I trust that you will be busy readying yourself until then.” Mrs. Richards let the words slam into Cecilia while she strode out of the room, the sound of the door clicking shut behind her sounding like an avalanche to Cecilia.
The lump in her throat that she’d tried so hard to smother earlier unraveled itself and her tears rushed forward. Suddenly her body felt far too heavy to support the turmoil inside her and she buried her face into her hands, the heat from her breath suffocating her, the sound of her shaky sobs deafening her.
Perfect. Not only did she have to suffer another meeting with Lord Overton, and most likely Lord Neil, but she would have to perform. Just a few weeks ago, the inevitable nerves would have been accompanied by a healthy dose of excitement. Just a few weeks ago she had loved playing, whether she was alone in the study or surrounded by elite guests in a glittering drawing room.
Ever since the fancy dress ball, her skills had regressed by years. At times she felt like a young girl again, stumbling through a lesson with her music master, fingers stiff and eyes unable to recognize simple phrases in the sheet music. Juliet insisted that she still played better than most young ladies who collected the skill merely to add it to their repertoire of accomplishments, that she was being far too hard on herself.
But that was not enough for Cecilia. She simply didn’t understand why she should struggle so much now. Why was sitting at the pianoforte a chore rather than a joy? What could be blocking her mind from performing to her usual standard? The thought that Cecilia might be losing her love for the artistry she’d cultivated for much of her life was terrifying.
“Sissy? My goodness! Whatever is the matter, dear?” Juliet’s sweet voice floated into the room but Cecilia didn’t pick up her face from her hands. In an instant, her sister’s arms cradled her about the shoulders, one hand patting her back and the other slowly stroking her hair.
Cecilia didn’t respond, instead allowing herself to be comforted by Juliet.
“I ran into Miss Henshell in the foyer, she’s here to pay you a visit. I had her brought to the drawing room and came to fetch you myself. Should I tell her you’re indisposed?” Juliet asked, continuing her soft ministrations.
With a sniffle and a steadying breath, Cecilia sat up straight again. “No, we can go see her. I just need a moment to gather myself.”
Cecilia took her moment and threaded her arm through Juliet’s as they made their way to the drawing room.
“Oh my.... Perhaps now is not a good time?” Rosamund stood as Cecilia and Juliet entered the room. Her eyes immediately searched Cecilia’s face, noticing the red eyes and nose and blotchy cheeks.
“No, that’s quite alright Rosamund. You’ve come all this way to call on me and I appreciate that.” Cecilia chuckled ruefully, taking a seat near her friend.
Rosamund smiled and resumed her seat, a small table between them.
“Shall I call for tea?” Juliet asked, patting Cecilia’s knee. Cecilia nodded and her sister crossed the room to ring the service bell.
“Do tell us what causes you such grief,” Rosamund ventured. Her usual vivacious and playful demeanor had disappeared, replaced by worry. Juliet returned and took her own seat near the other women.
“Well I’ve just had some...news. From Mama.” Cecilia sniffled as a measure of calm returned to her, at least enough for her to string together some coherent thoughts.
; “About the dinner invitation from Lord Overton?” Juliet tilted her head curiously.
“The Earl of Overton, you mean? We’ve been invited as well,” Rosamund queried.
“Yes. Though that is not the whole of it I suppose...” Cecilia inhaled deeply several times. Her sister and friend remained silent, allowing Cecilia the time she needed to gather herself. “Mama informed me that Lord Overton has specifically requested that I play on his pianoforte at dinner.”
“Well, isn’t that a good thing? You’re a marvelous player, Cecilia. It speaks to your skill that Lord Overton would ask you to play for himself and his guests,” Rosamund offered, the confusion in her voice masked by an attempt at positivity and cheer.
Juliet glanced to Cecilia, the corner of her mouth turned down. Cecilia hadn’t spoken of it much in the days following their outing with Lord Overton and his friend. She hated to admit the power this conundrum had over her. Perhaps Juliet figured that the problem had managed to work itself out. Unfortunately, this was far from the case.
A maid entered the room with a tray of tea and set it on the small table, quickly excusing herself amidst the heavy atmosphere in the room.
“My skill has not been...up to par for quite some time.” Cecilia busied herself with preparing her cup, not wanting to meet the gazes of the other two women.
“What could you possibly mean? You played superbly at Mother’s ball, the best I’ve ever heard from you.” Rosamund’s spoon halted mid-stir.
“Therein lies the problem, you see. Actually, I think the problem is twofold. I know my performance at the masked ball was quite miraculous. But ever since, I’ve struggled to come even close to that level. I think I’m afraid that I will never be able to achieve it again, that I’ve somehow lost my passion for the instrument, and the fear causes me to stiffen at the keys. That’s why I refuse to allow my name to be connected to that night. If everyone knew it was me, I don’t think I could ever play properly again. I simply don’t think I could live up to the expectation.
Behind The Baron's Mask: A Regency Romance (Resolved In Love Book 1) Page 5