“It’s true that I made no effort to spare his feelings in my letter, but it was only in the hopes that it would inspire him to reexamine his manuscript. I have certainly been on the receiving end of such feedback from my publisher.” Henry sighed and shook his head. He’d had no idea of the repercussions that awaited his blunt but well-meaning letter.
“You don’t need to defend yourself to me. I’m no reader, but even after the few pages you showed me even I could tell it was awful,” Solomon laughed.
“In any case, we had become quite friendly before all this. I spoke with him about these foulmouthed rants to see if I could soothe his wounded pride and he suggested that I might be the anonymous author based on my defense of the works. Of course I dissuaded him from this line of thinking but I swear it took everything in me not to box his ears and set him straight,” Solomon growled, his hand balling up into a fist and his eyes glaring at the door as if he had half a mind to march out after Mr. Faxby and box his ears after all.
“When he heard that I was having a small dinner, he begged me for an invitation and I nearly declined, but of course I didn’t want to raise any further suspicions. But fear not, Henry. You shall see no more of him here, or at Boodle’s if I can help it.” Solomon grew serious again, his eyes cold with anger as he continued to glower at the door.
“It’s alright now, Solomon. I should have known you wouldn’t do something to purposely injure me. The ladies are surely growing restless. You’d best get up there.”
Henry nodded over the cluster of women by the pianoforte. Miss Richards in particular seemed very eager to start. Her eyes darted through the small gathering of guests and to the instrument and back again, her gloved fingers picking at the embroidery on her dress. Although the longer Henry watched, the more he suspected that “eager” had not been the right word.
“Ah, right. You are in for a treat, my friend. She may not be quite as accomplished as the young lady you seemed to favor at the Henshell ball, but I swear she is the next best in all of London.” Solomon winked, the corner of his mouth pulled up into a sly smirk.
Henry rolled his eyes in response. Why couldn’t his friend let that incident go? The woman clearly had not been interested in furthering their acquaintance, else she would have shared her name or given him some token to discover her identity by.
But if he did know who she was, he had no intention of seeking her out. His next book was finally progressing to his satisfaction, and now he would be distracted once a week to call upon Miss Richards. He simply could not divert any more of his time than absolutely necessary, especially on a dead-end quest.
Nevertheless, as Solomon introduced Miss Richards, Henry found himself inching closer and closer to the instrument.
Chapter 7
Cecilia’s ribs ached, her chest far too small to contain the thundering of her heart as she took her place on the bench. Beads of sweat dotted her temples and the air seemed to catch in her throat every time she tried to take a breath.
She glanced to her left to see Juliet and Rosamund smiling their bright encouraging smiles, and just behind them stood her parents, their eyes expectant and nearly wild with the anticipation of opportunity that this night had already produced.
Now all Cecilia had to do was uphold her reputation as a skilled musician, and therefore her family’s pride in the process. What task could be simpler?
As she shuffled the sheet music on the stand and Lord Overton made his exuberant introduction amidst a round of quiet applause, Cecilia mentally chided herself for her foolishness.
Mr. Faxby had provided a perfect chance to let her promise to play slip out of the earl’s mind. If only Rosamund hadn’t offered her up as a distraction from that unpleasant business. Her friend had apologized while they waited for the earl to announce her. She’d simply been trying to find a way to ease the tension and Cecilia’s lovely playing was the first thing to spring to her mind. Though Cecilia now had the spotlight she’d come to dread, she couldn’t blame her friend. This had been expected, after all. Whatever words Juliet and Rosamund had whispered in order to rally her spirits as they approached the dreaded instrument had simply gone in one ear and out the other.
But, as she delicately placed her fingers over the keys, she knew that all she could do now was play.
And play she did, the notes coming easily to her as her eyes read the music and her hands responded in time. Slowly the nerves began to float away into the air with the elegant sounds of the instrument, just as they had always done in the past. Cecilia could feel the old excitement humming in her heart again. She hadn’t realized until that moment how afraid she’d been that the feeling was lost to her forever.
Finally. This is how it was meant to be. For the first time in weeks, Cecilia felt back to her true self. Instead of anticipating stumbles, she allowed herself to sink into the music. She couldn’t help swaying slightly on the bench, feeling the melody dancing through her body. As she came to the final movement, Cecilia closed her eyes and her lips lifted into a smile. By God, she’d finally done it.
With the last few measures in her grasp, Cecilia opened her eyes. She knew immediately that she’d made a grave error.
Just beyond the corner of her eye to her right stood a figure she had not expected or wanted to see—Lord Neil.
It took a mere second for her to take in his stoic glare, and in that same second she utterly lost her concentration. Her fingers clattered against the keys, the sounds grating against each other and piercing her ears.
Cecilia ripped her attention away from him but it was too late. Her confidence faltered and the triumphant thump of her heart was replaced by an erratic beating that slammed against her ribs. Those dreadful nerves came back in full force as she fought through those last measures that were supposed to prove her talent to herself once again.
Try as she might, she could not regain control of her trembling hands or her unsteady eyes. Cecilia closed the song out with a pitiful discord, the ugly notes ringing loud through the entire room, but loudest of all in her own head.
“Well done!” Lord Overton cheered with a clap, encouraging his guests to do the same.
Hot tears pricked at the corners of Cecilia’s eyes and she could not catch her breath for the life of her. Suddenly, one desire eclipsed all others in her mind—she must escape.
Cecilia stood abruptly from the bench and gathered up enough of her skirts to allow her to swiftly exit the room without tripping.
The sound of applause, of her mother and sister calling out her name, of servants trying to assist her, slipped into a deafening silence as she tore through the earl’s home, straight out into the small garden. There was not nearly enough air in that building. Perhaps outside she would be able to breathe.
Thankfully, Cecilia found a small table with two chairs tucked away near the back corner. Abandoning all propriety, she ran towards it as if it were her oasis in a cruel desert.
She flung herself into the chair and slumped over the table, burying her face in her arms and giving way to sobs of mortification. She could not have cared less if anyone found her here in this wretched state. The Prince himself could storm into the garden. There was nothing that could humiliate her more than the performance she’d just given.
Cecilia had no idea how long she remained in the garden, wallowing in her shame and disappointment. It wasn’t just the fact that she had ruined the song at the last moment by allowing herself to be distracted. She had been so sure until that moment that she had finally overcome her mental blocks and would be able to love the pianoforte just as she had always done. But that fragile hope that had built up with the song’s crescendos had been shattered in an instant.
“There you are. Are you alright, Miss Richards?”
Cecilia jumped up at the sudden voice that intruded upon the miserable whirlwind of her thoughts. It seemed as though years had passed, the entire world had fallen away, since she’d fled into the garden.
She looked up to see th
e Baron of Neil peering down at her intently. If she had thought she could not be more embarrassed, she had been very wrong. Cecilia supposed that someone must come looking for her at some point, but she had expected her parents or her sister or even Rosamund to be the one to discover her.
Not the baron, with his dark, penetrating gaze. Cecilia couldn’t tell what she saw in his face. Pity, or revulsion. Perhaps both.
“I should think it obvious that I am not at all alright,” she spat as she quickly wiped her sodden cheeks, turning her face away and hoping that the dim evening light would hide her bright red blush.
“My apologies.... That was a rather stupid question, wasn’t it?” Lord Neil took a step back, his eyes rapidly searching the grass near his feet.
Cecilia’s heart pulsed with guilt. He had come all this way to find her, and she had scorned his kindness. Would she ever stop making a fool of herself in front of this man? Apparently, according to their first confrontation in the carriage, her performance this evening, and her poor behavior just now, the answer was no.
“It is I who should apologize, Lord Neil. I’ve been too harsh with you. Thank you for coming to see to my safety.” Her head seemed suddenly heavy and she let it hang low between her shoulders. Somehow all her manners and good breeding seemed to desert her when Lord Neil was present. He didn’t seem to be an unkind man, yet her instant reaction was to shove him away at the slightest provocation.
“It’s nothing to concern yourself over. Everyone is quite worried about you.” He kept his hands clasped behind his back and his eyes anywhere but on Cecilia.
“Oh my. I fear I’ve started an even uglier scene than that dreadful Mr. Faxby.” She wrung her hands in her lap and peered around Lord Neil towards the house, expecting a small mob to come pouring out into the garden at any moment.
“Don’t worry, Lord Overton has sent all the other guests home. Just your family and Lady Henshell and Miss Henshell remain. And myself, obviously.”
A thought suddenly struck Cecilia, and a different blush threatened to paint her cheeks. “But Lord Neil, how did you know I would be here?” She kept her eyes on her restless hands as she asked the question.
“This is not the first place I looked, I’ll admit. But then I realized what I would have done if I were to find myself in an unbearable situation. When I become so anxious or embarrassed that I feel I might melt straight through the floor, I suddenly have a very difficult time breathing. Getting out of doors is the only solution to getting away from my situation and restoring air to my lungs.”
He had finally refocused his eyes on her. Cecilia looked properly into his face, and for the first time in their short acquaintance, she felt that she saw a glimpse of the real Lord Neil.
What she had seen as pity and revulsion before now transformed into an intense concern. Somehow, he had exactly understood her feelings and been able to guess her location. The guilt she’d felt earlier returned tenfold. She continued to misread this man when he had read her so clearly in a matter of minutes.
Cecilia knew she was staring, but she couldn’t stop herself. That strange sensation that had filled her chest in the drawing room earlier when she’d caught him eyeing her returned. It puzzled and somewhat frightened her, though the warmth that accompanied it was not wholly unpleasant.
“Miss Richards?” Lord Neil’s heavy brows furrowed closer together as he sat in the other chair and leaned across the table to get a better look at Cecilia’s face, searching for signs of illness or an oncoming faint.
“My apologies again, my lord. I am just gathering my bearings,” Cecilia stammered, her eyes still glued to the baron. “I greatly appreciate your concern, and I am truly embarrassed that you’ve had to see me in this state, especially after letting Lord Overton and all the guests down with my playing.” Now she looked away, unwilling to see any criticism in those dark brown eyes.
“Let them down?” Lord Neil sounded genuinely confused. “You’ve done no such thing. And I know I am not the only one who holds that opinion. Your playing was graceful and impassioned. Unfortunately I find that many women who are accomplished with pianoforte or harp often play with technical proficiency but lack emotion. You manage to play with both.” His voice was soft, nearly a whisper, and Cecilia found herself leaning towards him as if trying to get closer to its comforting source.
“As you can see, I do not lack for emotion.” Cecilia chuckled, glad that she was starting to relax and find morsels of amusement in the situation. Years from now, likely even just days from now, she would probably find the debacle to be quite amusing.
Lord Neil let out a gruff laugh, the first Cecilia had ever heard. The sound was deeper than she expected, as if it had been buried in some dark corner of his chest. And his true smile was wide, white teeth gleaming despite the darkness in the garden.
Just as Cecilia found herself thinking that perhaps the new arrangement that had been proposed tonight might not be such a terrible idea, an unpleasant thought sent a tremor down her spine.
“Unfortunately, I think Lord Overton must wish to retract his earlier interest in courting my sister and having you and I accompany them.”
Shame ignited anew in Cecilia, her stomach churning. Perhaps the performance hadn’t ruined Juliet’s chance at a very favorable potential match, but her childish behavior afterward certainly had. No man would wish to court a woman whose older sister, the one who should lead by example, would do such an uncouth thing. If Cecilia had merely damaged her own reputation, she would not feel so awful. But to spill a stain upon her sister’s reputation was nigh on unforgivable.
Lord Neil laughed again and Cecilia’s head snapped up in surprise. “Have no fear, Lord Overton is quite unaffected by such things. And it seems he is ardent as ever about furthering his relationship with your sister. You won’t put him off so easily.”
“Did he say that he will still call on Juliet later in the week?” Cecilia’s eyes were round with surprise and hope.
“He certainly did. I daresay he already has a letter drafted in his desk, just waiting for him to choose the date and time.” The baron shook his head gently, his eyes softening as he contemplated his friend’s eagerness.
“That is truly wonderful news.” Cecilia let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, thanking every star that glowed in the fading night sky that she hadn’t spoiled her sister’s future. “But, surely you would not wish to be seen with me around town after the gossip that will circulate about my little outburst tonight.”
The relief was short-lived, replaced by an unexpected gloom. Just a few days ago, she would have dreaded the thought of having to spend time with Lord Neil.
And in truth—despite his kind words and her growing realization that this incident was perhaps not as severe as she’d thought—the hint of gloom Cecilia felt was balanced by her lingering embarrassment that she had been found in such a state of disarray by him. The performance and running out of the room, she could overcome. But something about showing Lord Neil this side of her, the side that sobbed uncontrollably over an ultimately inconsequential matter.... The thought did not sit well with her.
“Again, I am afraid you are mistaken.” The mirth that had momentarily overtaken Lord Neil was gone. He returned to his normal terse and quiet manner. “I do not object to accompanying you alongside Lord Overton and Miss Juliet. Enough is said about me in some circles of Society that I find I don’t much care for their opinions anymore. And besides, I promised my friend that I would remain by his side to support him in this venture.”
Cecilia pursed her lips. Lord Neil was a gentleman, the foundation of courtesy bred into his blood. He had searched for her and asked after her health as was his duty. And now, he chose to spend his time with her not because he so desired her company that he would turn a blind eye to Society’s whispers. But simply because he already had no interest in such gossip, and for the sake of his friend.
She gave her head a small shake to banish those troublesome tho
ughts. They had no place in her mind. She had known that Lord Neil was not requesting to court her. And Lord Neil was not the man she wanted to accept courtship from for many reasons. Her mind was far too muddled by the intensity of her emotions to think clearly.
“Thank you, Lord Neil. That is very generous of you. I am glad that my presence won’t bring shame upon you. And you are kind to so willingly sacrifice your time on a silly girl like me to help your friend.” Cecilia knew that her words very nearly crossed the line of politeness, but she kept the tone of her voice light and demure. She didn’t bother to spare a glance toward him to see if he’d caught her true meaning.
“Oh, there you are! Thank heaven!” An anxious voice pierced the cool night air as Juliet materialized in the doorway of the house.
She wasted no time, nearly flying across the small yard to Cecilia. In her eagerness, Juliet pulled Cecilia out of her seat and slid an arm around her waist. “Oh my darling, we were so worried about you!”
Juliet pulled Cecilia snug to her side, her fingers gripping the fabric at Cecilia’s waist. She could feel a slight tremble emanating from the younger woman’s body.
“Juliet, I’m quite alright now. I’m sorry I worried you so.”
Juliet let her arm drop away, but she wrapped her hands firm around her sister’s wrists, perhaps to keep her from running off again. “We’ve been in quite a state trying to find you. There was no telling where you might have gone or what harm could have befallen you. Papa is probably still out in the street calling for you.”
Behind The Baron's Mask: A Regency Romance (Resolved In Love Book 1) Page 8