Seduction Regency Style

by Louisa Cornell

  Chapter Seven

  “He said you was to eat first.” The maid stood arms akimbo by the door and nodded toward the tray she had set in front of Ann.

  “But Peg, I’m not—”

  “I have my orders.”

  Probably my last meal, Ann thought glumly, swallowing a bite of scone. It tasted like sawdust in her mouth. She took a swallow of her chocolate to help it down.

  “Did Sir Alec say anything else?” she asked between bites.

  “Just that you was to come first thing after you ate, and I was to pack your things.”

  Ann’s heart sank. Pack my things. The message confirmed her worst fears.

  She had let her feelings show, and her behavior had disgusted him. She was to be sent away. Anticipating the continuation of music lessons with Lillian in Kirkwall had given her joy and optimism. She had hoped for access to the Bradshaws’ pianoforte, as well, though she would now pay for overstepping her place in that regard. Perhaps she would even lose her position at Kirkwall.

  She stopped mid-bite when another truth rose to chastise her. She would miss Sir Alec’s smiles and stormy eyes more. How had they come to mean so much so quickly? She knew the answer. As attractive as she found his form, the life in his deep blue eyes, his words—and, yes, his kisses—had wormed their way into her heart even more deeply. She had thought her music—her real music—pleased him. He heard her, and he didn’t shrink away. She dared think he understood; she dared play as she longed to play. She dared… Her behavior—that was another thing. He saw her true nature, and now she disgusted him.

  She walked toward the study on leaden feet and paused at the door. It burst open, and two small boys almost knocked her over.

  “Sorry, Miss Dunwood,” Wee Alex said before darting around her and calling over his shoulder, “We have to pack. We’re off on an adventure.”

  Lillian trooped out after her brothers, subdued and quiet.

  He’s going to take the children away.

  “Perhaps all will be well, Miss Dunwood. It is just that I had hopes—” Lillian swallowed deeply, tears pooling in her eyes. The only word Ann made out after that was “Ramskeld” before the tears overflowed and the girl followed her brothers.

  What hopes? Ann had no time to consider. She entered to face her fate.

  Sir Alec stood when she entered, knocking over a tankard—blessedly empty—as he did. “Miss Dunwood! Thank you for seeing me.”

  She blinked, too puzzled by the children’s words to reply.

  He gestured toward a chair across from his desk, but he remained standing and so she did as well, frozen in place. He loomed over her, and his intense study of her person left her weak.

  “Are you well this morning?” he asked, an odd rasp in his voice giving his words a ragged edge.

  “Yes. Well,” she answered, confused by the question. Did he call me here to enquire as to my wellbeing?

  He continued to examine her, and she wanted to sink into the floor under the force of his gaze until he broke off abruptly and said, “Perhaps we should sit.” He glanced around the room and, for a moment, she thought he meant to come around the desk. He sat down behind it. When she sat, as well, he leaned toward her.

  “I need to apologize,” he said. “My behavior last night…”

  Her eyes shot open wide. “No, I’m—”

  “Never tell me you regret what happened, Miss Dunwood.”

  Ann halted, stymied. She thought she ought to apologize for her behavior but regret it? No. She wouldn’t lie. The stroke of his hands on her body and his mouth on hers were memories she would cherish. She shook her head and stared at her hands clasped in her lap.

  He voiced a deep sigh. “I did not act as a gentleman ought last night, particularly to a guest in my house. For that, I am immensely sorry.”

  Her heart sank. He found their kiss distasteful, as she had feared. He took no notice of her abstraction and continued, “I can’t regret kissing you, however. You’re a beautiful woman, and I admire you greatly.”

  Her head snapped up and her eyes met his—his gaze blue as if the storm in them had receded. Her body come to alert deep inside, warmth pooling where it had the night before. Her lips begin to quirk into a smile, but she missed something he said, and his next statement struck like a dash of cold water.

  “…you deserve no less. So, it would be for the best if you return to Kirkwall immediately.”

  At the confirmation that he was sending her away, she stood, unable to bear hearing any more, unable to look at him. “As you wish,” she said, her voice anguished. Just before she turned to leave, something flashed in his eyes.

  Could it be disappointment? How odd.

  ***

  Maud Salter had described Ann’s room in their home in apologetic terms, but the window overlooked the cathedral, the curtains and bed covers brightened it, and a wardrobe and desk provided plenty of space for Ann’s few belongings. When she remembered the cramped, windowless bed closet she had occupied in Lower Bottleby, this room felt luxurious. When compared to the spacious guest room at Ramskeld with its windows overlooking the sea, however, the room left Ann deflated. She stared out into a misty morning, unable to see the great medieval church, unable to get on with her day.

  Pounding on her door startled her from her reverie. Am I late? She had expected to have an entire hour to play before the choir assembled in the choir loft, but the urgency of the knocking made her fear she had miscalculated the time.

  When she opened the door, she found Lillian Bradshaw in the hall dressed in a thick cloak, wringing her hands. “Oh, Miss Dunwood, Mrs. Salter told me you were here. I have been that worried you would be gone.”

  Gone? “I’m here, as you see.” Ann’s mind raced in confusion. What is Lillian doing here? Did she believe I was dismissed? “I’m to prepare the choir for Saint Andrew’s Day.”

  The girl inhaled, her features relaxing, and a tentative smile appeared. “I was afraid when Papa made you go away.” A wrinkle reappeared between her brows. “I feared, that is, did you not like teaching me?”

  “Oh, dear child, nothing could be further from the truth! I loved teaching you. I’m so glad to see you here—but when did you come?”

  “Last night. Papa said it was too late to see you.” She looked down at herself. A white ruffle could be seen under the hem of the cloak. “I haven’t even dressed this morning. I had to know.”

  Ann sank to her knees, eye level with her tiny pupil. “I am so glad to see you. I worried, as well. I want to teach you more than anything.” Well, not quite anything, but the little one doesn’t need to know about— Ann squelched the thought.

  Lillian grinned back at her. “Oh,” she said. “I forgot. Mrs. Salter said to send you straight to the assembly hall.”

  The room in question, attached to the rectory, served multiple purposes, from parish events to council meetings. The reverend’s wife had been planning a dinner party for Saint Andrew’s Day, and Ann assumed she needed help with the preparations.

  “Would you like to come with me?” She reached out to take Lillian’s hand. The little girl took it, but within a few steps, she stopped to peer up at Ann. “I have to go home. I ran here so fast I forgot to tell Papa where I was going.”

  “That isn’t good. Your father loves you very much. You mustn’t worry him. We’ll arrange for lessons now that you are here, and I’ll see you soon.”

  Lillian nodded solemnly and ran off.

  Ann was left wondering whether she could keep that promise. Does he still want me to teach his daughter? She prayed he did.

  Ann found Maud Salter deep in conversation with Sir Stirling James when she entered the assembly hall. She had expected he would be gone, but he lingered in Orkney almost as if he waited for something to happen. Sir Stirling smiled at her entrance.

  Maud spoke up immediately, “Here she is! Ann, we need your advice about this delivery.” She gestured toward a familiar sight, the Ramskeld pianoforte. Ann’s heart took a l
eap. She scanned the room but found no sight of Sir Alec himself. Her heart fell back to earth.

  “It appears to have arrived intact,” Sir Stirling said, “but we thought you ought to have a look.”

  Bright windows lit the room, and Ann had no difficulty examining the instrument’s case. She found one small scratch, a testament to the move.

  “Beeswax will take care of that, I think,” Maud said, and Ann agreed.

  Ann lifted the cover from the keys and scanned them for chips or dents, of which there were none. “The real test is in the tuning,” she said, running her fingers along the keys, “but we might let it rest a few days first to settle in. Do I remember correctly, you want to move it to the undercroft?”

  “This magnificent instrument?” Sir Stirling gasped. Ann shot her benefactor a look of pure gratitude.

  “Yes, Sir Alec warned us it must be protected from damp and mold. I ought to have known that,” Maud said. “This room works much better—there is plenty of room. Sir Alec said the cabinet could go in an office or the elders’ cloak room, but for now, I think there is room here.”

  The cabinet? Ann spied it in the corner and hurried to have a look. She opened the doors to find it still crammed top to bottom with sheets of music. She knew the Moonlight Sonata—and the duets—must be in it somewhere.

  “He said you would have to sort out the disorder and find appropriate pieces for your pupils,” Maud told her.

  If assurance that Sir Alec still meant her to teach relieved her fears, Maud’s next words made her heart beat erratically.

  “And he said something about how you would want to set aside the moonlight. Odd, that.”

  Ann continued to stare at the haphazard piles of papers crammed into the cabinet before another voice spoke up. “It seems to have arrived in good shape.”

  Ann spun around to find the man who had haunted her dreams, running a hand over the piano. The sight of him entranced her for a moment, but when he looked up, she glanced at her feet.

  “Lillian will be pleased,” she murmured.

  Chapter Eight

  Alec feared he might have imagined his fairy creature. Ann turned toward him and the fairy disappeared. Ann’s obvious discomfort tore at his heart. His clumsy attempt at lovemaking must have distressed her even more than he feared.

  “Y-yes. Lillian. She has spoken of nothing else but continuing her studies,” he said.

  The loud clearing of a throat made him aware he had been staring.

  “I take it your plan to occupy your children has proceeded as planned,” Sir Stirling said, glancing with amusement between Alec and Ann.

  “We still need to set a schedule,” Ann said, turning to her benefactor with what appeared to Alec as relief. “She is talented and eager. Teaching her will be a joy.”

  “Oh, I am so delighted,” Maud said. “She has missed a woman’s attention. You will be good for her.”

  She’ll be good for all of us if only I can coax her out of hiding.

  “Ann seemed to realize she craved attention immediately.” Alec beamed at Ann. “The children were cautious around a stranger, but one walk on the shore turned the boys into her devotees.”

  “The boys can be a handful,” Maud murmured.

  “She captured their devotion as soon as she praised their knowledge of groaties,” he replied. “They dragged her to the shore the next morning to search.”

  Ann’s smile at that urged him to continue.

  “Lillian was bound and determined to stay at Ramskeld, she claimed, but Ann brought her around,” he said.

  All eyes turned to Ann. For a moment, he thought the shy creature would retreat, but she stood her ground. “It wasn’t difficult to see that she loves music. She missed how her mother played with her, but—” She broke off and glanced up at him, as if for permission.

  “You can say it. Lillian’s interest in playing far outpaced Lucy’s. Loyalty prevented her from complaining, but when Ann promised more rigorous training and more advanced pieces, she bloomed right in front of me. I’m ashamed of myself for not seeing it sooner. It took Ann working a miracle for me to see my own daughter’s needs.”

  “It wasn’t a miracle. I fed her hunger and pointed out she had to follow the piano if she wanted to continue.” She beamed at him.

  His heart soared, and his world narrowed to her precious face. Doubts fled. Alec knew his pursuit should go slowly, but pursue her, he would.

  Moments—or perhaps hours later, he couldn’t be certain—Sir Stirling’s voice again intruded. “I plan to leave Kirkwall at the end of the week, Bradshaw. Perhaps we might dine together a time or two before I go.”

  “Easily arranged, Sir Stirling,” Maud put in. “Why don’t you come to dinner tomorrow evening? Are you free Alec?” Maud added, “Ann will, of course, be there.”

  “I’ll look forward to that, Miss Dunwood. In the meantime, would one o’clock in the afternoon do for Lillian’s lesson? I promised her I would ask.”

  “Of course! I would like that very much,” she said. “One every afternoon, if you wish.” As if the lesson served as a reminder, she glanced at the music cabinet. “I’ll have to sort out appropriate material.”

  “Excellent idea,” he replied. “Be sure to look at the sonatas on the second shelf, as well.”

  Her cheeks went pink, but her eyes glowed before she looked away.

  He hoped she welcomed his flirting—or, at least, his music—but he couldn’t be sure when she turned so quickly.

  ***

  What did the man want?

  Sir Alec confused her, that much Ann knew. He almost seemed to flirt with her this morning, like a man would when he found a woman attractive.

  If he finds me so, why did he send me away from Ramskeld? Has he changed his mind? He wants a piano teacher for his daughter. That must be it.

  She couldn’t forget, her wanton behavior had disgusted him. Surely, he couldn’t want her around his children other than for lessons.

  Still, there had been something in his eyes…

  Thoughts ran circles in her mind when she entered the cathedral for choir practice, eager to try the new arrangement she had written for “A Mighty Fortress.” She thought it a perfect recessional for Saint Andrew’s Day—forceful, strong, and full of hope.

  She climbed to the loft and discovered that most of the choir had already arrived. Her heart sank when she approached the organ and found a list propped on the music stand.

  The header read, “Our Traditional Hymns for Saint Andrew’s Day.” Not one hymn on the list bore any relationship to the apostle, Scotland, or anything else remotely connected to the day. Every item on the list could be sung around a kitchen table with no accompaniment. Most were slow, dirge-like, and as limp as a damp noodle. One or two were sickeningly sentimental. Not one challenged any half-competent musician.

  A few latecomers filed in and filled in the choir loft while Ann read the list again with a sinking heart. She forced a smile and faced St. Magnus’s choir. While dominated by women of a certain age with more opinions than talent, she found some of the voices to be quite lovely. Given proper material, she might nudge them to become something exceptional. Scanning their faces, she feared they couldn’t be nudged.

  “I thank the person who provided me with the suggestions I found on the music stand,” Ann began.

  Some shuffling and sidewise glances among the sopranos showed she owed the list to Imelda Cartwright, a sturdy woman of indeterminate age, who insisted on sitting where—she had informed Ann—she always sat. Despite the woman’s insistence, Ann soon gathered that Imelda belonged with the altos, if she belonged in choir, at all.

  “However,” she went on, drawing a fierce frown from the Cartwright woman, “I would like to continue with the hymns we began last week. I have a new arrangement of ‘A Mighty Fortress’ that I think will make good use of Mr. Bergin’s melodious bass, and I’d like to begin—”

  “We don’t sing that on Saint Andrew’s Day,” Mrs. Car
twright interrupted, “and you didn’t include ‘There Is a Fountain!’ We always sing ‘There Is a Fountain.’”

  That left Ann speechless.

  “What’s wrong with that hymn? We always sing it.” The woman demanded, her eyes daring Ann to criticize the hymn.

  What could she say?

  “There is nothing wrong with it.” Just a heavy dose of sin and damnation. “It has its place. I don’t think of it as a celebratory hymn, however. Saint Andrew’s Day calls for something more triumphant.”

  Imelda Cartwright opened her mouth to argue, but Ann raised a hand. “Let’s run through your old favorites first. To warm up,” she said, conceding to buy time. “Then, perhaps, we can try my arrangement.” She studied the choir looking for support and found little. Mr. Bergin shot Mrs. Cartwright a hateful look. Ann wondered if she had wandered into a long-standing conflict.

  She turned to the organ and played the first notes of “There Is a Fountain,” relieved when the door to the choir loft opened and interrupted her. To her stunned surprise, Sir Alec Bradshaw entered.

  “My apologies for being tardy,” he murmured, heading toward the risers.

  “Tardy?” Mrs. Cartwright snapped. “You’ve been absent three years.”

  “Apologies for that, as well, Imelda,” he said. “Sorry if you missed me.” That drew a laugh from the gentlemen who moved aside to give Sir Alec room.

  Mrs. Cartwright looked like she sucked on a lemon. “Some folk think they can come when they feel like it.”

  Ann’s hands shook as she returned to the music, and the practice lurched forward. Between interruptions from the women, complaints about what “we always sang,” and fierce scowls from Sir Alec—though whether aimed at her or the ladies she couldn’t say—Ann could not think. She ended the practice early. They never got to her new arrangement.

  ***

  Alec wondered later what angered him more—Imelda Cartwright pushing her considerable weight around or Ann giving in. When the choir began to leave early, he wanted to call them back.