by Eloisa James
“She’s a lady!” her mother had retorted, in pure horror.
“Precisely,” Clement had said, bowed, and left.
Now Cecilia turned to her mother. “I’m not threatening to run away from home this time, Mama. I’ve done nothing more outrageous than commission new gowns.”
“I suppose we have no choice at this point,” her mother said, as tragically as any Cleopatra. “I might as well face the humiliation now, as wait for London.”
“It can’t be more humiliating than having a wallflower as a daughter,” Cecilia pointed out.
“Oh, how little you know of the world,” her mother said grimly.
Chapter Two
By the time they descended the stairs, the concert was about to begin. The butler opened the door to Lady Ormond’s ballroom with a whispered admonishment.
The first thing Cecilia noticed as they slipped into the room, temporarily transformed by rows of gilt chairs lined up before an improvised stage, was that the gentlemen attending the house party were conspicuous by their absence.
True, it was only the first day of the party, so not all the guests had arrived. Yet her friend Josie was sitting alone, with no sign of her husband, the Earl of Mayne. There wasn’t a man to be seen anywhere, not even the Duchess of Ormond’s son, Thaddeus Phinston, the fifth duke.
Ormond had just returned after spending years abroad. If Cecilia had to guess where he was, she’d guess he was out in the garden with an insect net.
From the time she was eight years old, Thaddeus—or Theo, as he used to insist on being called—had taken great delight in dropping various bugs down her bodices. Thank God, he had finally been packed off to university and then on a grand tour. The memories still made her shudder.
“Darling,” her mother said, “look, the duchess is waving at us. There are seats beside her in the front row.”
“We risk being joined by that horrid son of hers,” Cecilia whispered.
“His Grace may have changed over the years,” her mother replied. But her voice was uncertain. Undoubtedly she had clear memories of spanking the future duke after he arrived for tea with a grasshopper, which somehow jumped down Cecilia’s dress.
Cecilia had responded with a buttered crumpet, which hit the heir to the dukedom squarely in the forehead. The look on his face was still one of Cecilia’s fondest memories. But the idea of meeting a grown-up version of that rascal made her shudder.
Instead of parading to the front, they slipped into seats next to Josie, who turned with a warm smile and pressed Cecilia’s hand. Then she blinked and her smile grew even wider. “You visited my modiste!” she said with clear delight.
Cecilia kissed her cheek. “Thanks to you!” she whispered. “What’s more . . .” She hitched up her skirts to her ankles.
“You must—must—give met the name of your shoemaker immediately!” Josie gasped, her eyes gleaming.
Cecilia laughed before turning toward the front, as the musicians were poised to begin.
The Duchess of Ormond had assembled a largish ensemble for a mere country house party but, of course, she was famous for her love of music. The ensemble began playing the Piano Concerto no. 13 in C Major by Wolfgang Mozart.
Ho-hum. She loved Mozart, but not this particular concerto.
Cecilia watched a plump man play the cello for a while. He was holding his right arm too high.
Then she realized that the pianist was outrageously good-looking, with long eyelashes and a rakish lock of dark hair over his forehead. He met her eyes over the top of his instrument and she looked away, suddenly flustered.
She whipped open her fan and assessed his every inch from behind its shelter. A black coat stretched over muscular shoulders. A deliciously strong chin. Long legs. And his eyelashes . . .
Why couldn’t English gentlemen look like him? Horrid Theo had been a stubby piglet as a boy and had undoubtedly grown into a stubby little duke. It was so unfair, given that this delicious musician was utterly ineligible.
In every way.
She dropped her fan a trifle, just enough so that the pianist could see her smile if he wished.
Apparently he did wish, because his dark eyes went straight to her mouth, and something eased in his expression before he turned to nod, bringing in the three violins.
“You’re flirting!” Josie whispered next to her, sounding rather delighted.
“I am not . . .” Cecilia lost track of her sentence. She had never given much thought past the moment when she would dazzle a whole ballroom by wearing a scandalous gown and flashing her ankles now and then.
Her transformation had been a way to thumb her nose at the gentlemen who had refused to dance with Silly Billy’s sister. She wanted to stand out, secretly hopeful that a man would miraculously emerge from the crowd, one brave enough to overlook the nonsense about her brother.
But suddenly the conjunction of Mozart and a handsome pianist gave her a truly outrageous thought.
If she created a scandal—a true scandal—she would become unmarriageable in polite society. Her mother would necessarily have to give up the fruitless pursuit of a gentleman who might overlook the question of her tainted blood.
She would be sent off to her father’s country estate in disgrace. Her brother lived there already, cheerfully feeding his pet hens and going around the estate in a pony cart. She adored James; in her opinion, the world would be a far better place if people were so “silly” as to find joy in every day, whether the sun shone or the rain fell.
She wouldn’t have to waste any more time making morning calls and sitting at the edges of ballrooms while music was played by mediocre musicians. She could spend her days playing her pianoforte, or perfecting her ability to play the harp.
Once ruined, she could hire a violin tutor. After she turned fourteen, her mother dismissed her tutor, since she considered the instrument inherently improper.
“You lift your arms in such a way that your chest is emphasized,” her mother had explained. “Perhaps for some women that would be unremarkable, but clearly you have inherited your grandmother’s bosom.”
A ruined woman could play the violin all day long, and no one could command her otherwise. She could help James tend his chickens and make certain no one took advantage of him. Her mother could give up the painful business of trying to launch her wallflower daughter on the marriage mart and just enjoy herself in London with her friends.
It was the answer to all her problems.
To be precise: that pianist was the answer.
Being (most inconveniently) a virgin who had never even been kissed, Cecilia was uncertain about her ability to seduce a gentleman. But the hardheaded part of her knew quite well that a paid musician would be unable to refuse the advances of a young lady if she made a direct set at him.
There was nothing more scandalous than flirting with a servant. Everyone knew the story of Juliet Fallesbury, who was presumably living happily in Pennsylvania with a footman named Longfellow.
The details of the affaire, of course, were remembered not because of Juliet (a tiresome girl who always seemed to be giggling), but because of the footman’s name. Thanks to extensive research in a naughty book Cecilia found in the library, she had deciphered the innuendo that made Juliet’s elopement so infamous.
It would be wonderful if she could find a footman with a lewd moniker. But one can hardly ask a butler if any of the servants were named Woodcock. Or Maypole.
The musician was ready to hand, so to speak. What’s more, the Duchess of Ormond loved music as much as Cecilia did. That meant these musicians were quite likely staying in the house.
By the time the first movement, the allegro, drew to a close, her mind was made up.
Chapter Three
Now Cecilia merely had to get the pianist’s attention and keep it until he suggested some sort of scandalous activity. Just because Cecilia had never seduced a man didn’t mean that she was incapable of doing it.
In fact, it should be qui
te easy. Her governess and mother had drilled into her head the interesting fact that men are prone to disgraceful behavior if given the slightest encouragement.
As soon as the pianist’s hands rested on the keys at the beginning of the andante, his eyes went over the audience. Cecilia watched as he smiled at the duchess; he must be her protégé.
But directly thereafter he looked straight at her.
The smile that appeared on her face came without her volition.
And then, quite suddenly, his eyes still on hers, he raised a hand, nodded, and the second movement poured out at his behest, the notes sweeping along in a gorgeous wash of sound.
It was intoxicating. Cecilia couldn’t stop watching his body move as he played. His playing was powerful and direct, completely unlike the delicate way that her pianoforte tutor stroked the keys.
Disgraceful thoughts about long fingers drifted through her mind, and a feeling curled through her that she’d never experienced before. Well, how could it have? Surrounded as she was by boorish gentlemen whose idea of music consisted of drunkenly shouting out hunting songs after gorging themselves on beef.
This musician was an entirely different sort . . . powerful, gorgeous, inspired.
When the concerto ended, her mother sprang to her feet. Lady Bellingworth could never understand why her daughter was so entranced by music; she saw it, at best, as a necessary background for dancing.
“Wasn’t that delightful!” she said insincerely. “I must compliment the duchess.” She bustled away.
Cecilia was too dazed by the performance to move. She didn’t care for that particular piece, but tonight the concerto’s floating gracefulness had been deepened, even darkened, by an altogether masculine potency.
Her tutor labeled Mozart’s music an “eternally sunny day.” Not so, at least in this pianist’s hands.
Perhaps . . . just perhaps . . . if she stayed where she was, the musician might come to greet her.
It would be vastly improper. Her mother would faint at the idea of speaking to a hired man who accosted a lady.
It was worth a try. Maybe if she smiled at him again . . .
Josie stood up, so Cecilia necessarily joined her. It turned out that the gentlemen were crowding through the door, now that the musical entertainment had concluded.
“There’s Garret,” Josie said with satisfaction.
Cecilia followed her gaze and discovered that the Earl of Mayne was looking at his wife with a glance so intense that it made Cecilia shiver. He lowered his chin, clearly issuing a command to his wife to join him.
Josie just laughed, so Cecilia nudged her. “What are you doing?” she whispered behind her fan. “I think your husband wants you.”
“Yes, he does.” Josie gave her a very naughty smile.
“I didn’t mean it that way!”
“We’ve been married for over a year, and milord is still having some trouble absorbing the fact that he must come to me, rather than the other way around.” She shrugged. “What’s more, I’m hungry, and Garret won’t wish to go to dinner. You’ll see; he’ll have some excuse or other for why we need to retire before joining the rest of you at the table. My husband is turning into a proper recluse. I expect he’ll want to start sleeping above the stables one of these days.”
“It’s true that I’ve scarcely seen you since you married. I was so glad to hear that you’d be at this party. I’ve missed you.”
Cecilia’s tone wasn’t judgmental, but Josie looked apologetic. “Garret isn’t interested in taking up his seat in Lords, so the season doesn’t have much importance for us. He’s rebuilding his stables, and I find it so interesting too, and . . . well, I have to admit to finding balls tedious.”
“As do I,” Cecilia confessed. “I always thought you disliked them because we were wallflowers. That’s why I hated the season: because hardly anyone asked me to dance.”
“That was part of it,” Josie said. “But I’m also bored by evenings when the chatter grows so deafening, and you’re expected to stay for hours without talking of anything interesting.”
“Yet house parties offer interesting conversation?” Cecilia asked, wondering if Josie would be obliged to drop her as a friend if she caused a scandal.
Perhaps not. Josie and her husband didn’t seem to care much for society’s restrictions.
Josie nodded. “Garret wants to persuade His Grace into breeding Argo to one of our mares. The late duke was most conservative in that respect, but no one knows how his son will manage the ducal stables.”
“The earl is learning his lesson; here he comes,” Cecilia said, catching sight of the Earl of Mayne threading his way through the chairs even as footmen hastily gathered them up. The look in his eyes as he moved toward Josie was so intent that Cecilia got a lump in her throat.
“Dear me,” Josie said. She turned to Cecilia and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “I haven’t seen my husband since breakfast and I think . . .”
“I see exactly what you mean,” Cecilia said, laughing.
“Tomorrow morning we must have a long talk.”
“Absolutely,” Cecilia said, kissing her back, while she wondered how long it took to brew a scandal. Would she still be in the house in the morning, or would her mother have already whisked her off to the country?
The Earl of Mayne bowed magnificently before the two of them. “Miss Bellingworth, it is a pleasure.” Then he turned to Josie. “Ormond is completely negligent regarding his stables!” He sounded outraged.
“He won’t allow you to breed Selkie with Argo?” Josie said, obviously disappointed.
“To the contrary,” Mayne growled. “He said I can buy Argo and the whole stables if I wish. Told me to name my own price. I cannot understand the man.”
“He was always awful,” Cecilia said, sotto voce, because, after all, it was a terribly rude thing to say about one’s host. “I know him quite well as our mothers are close friends.”
“Awful?” Josie said, turning to her, eyes widening. “Really? But I thought you—”
“He’s not awful,” her husband said, at the same moment. “He’s a decent chap.”
“I apologize,” Cecilia said, taken aback. Perhaps Ormond had changed, because the boy she remembered wouldn’t have commanded the earl’s respect.
“Stop that,” Josie said, pinching her husband. “Don’t be rude to Cecilia. It’s quite likely that she knows a different side of the duke, one that he doesn’t show to gentlemen. You know that men can be horrid to ladies and fine among the fellows.”
Cecilia realized that the earl was looking at her—really looking at her—for the first time. There wasn’t any desire in his eyes, not at all. But she did see a sort of general male appreciation.
“That is entirely possible,” he admitted, nodding. “If you’ll forgive the presumption, Miss Bellingworth, I wouldn’t be surprised if Ormond lost his head around you.”
Then he wrapped his arm around his wife, and dropped a kiss on her nose. He murmured something, and Josie turned to Cecilia with an apologetic grin, her eyes dancing. “I’m afraid that you’ll have to excuse me, darling. My husband wishes to discuss the possibility of buying the Ormond stables.”
“I completely understand,” Cecilia said gravely.
“I believe there will be dancing now, before a late supper. I’ll see you then.”
“I fear that you underestimate the complications of the subject,” the earl said, with a perfectly straight face. “We shall have to retire to our room in order to address the question in a thorough manner. We shan’t be done in time for even a very late supper.”
Josie laughed, and Cecilia felt a thump of longing at the idea of having a spouse who adored her so much that he pulled her away from a party to . . . well, to be alone with her.
“The duke has offered me first pick of his horses,” Mayne continued. “Any number of men would jump at the chance. I want to give the man a list in the morning before someone else realizes his slapdash attitude towar
d his stables.”
“I completely understand,” Cecilia said, dropping a curtsy. “Good evening, my lord. Josie.”
Josie leaned over and whispered, “I saw that flirtation, Cecilia. Bravo!”
Cecilia blinked at her. Josie was funny, wry, and often the liveliest person in a room. But she wouldn’t have thought that her friend would encourage ruination, precisely.
After all, it would influence Cecilia’s entire life. She might never marry, nor have children. And yet the lightning-quick decision felt right in her bones. She did not want to give up even one more year of her life to ballrooms and insipid conversation, even if her new clothing did gain her a suitor or two.
Seeing how absorbed Josie and her husband were by their stables confirmed her conclusion. She had thought that she could be happy if she simply had someone to dance with during a ball. But it wasn’t dancing that she wanted, not really.
She wanted some to make music with.
But if that wasn’t possible—and it wasn’t; no gentleman was interested in music—then she wanted time for herself.
Time for music.
Chapter Four
The footmen were clearing away the last of the chairs as Cecilia made her way to the side of the room. It seemed there was to be dancing, as Josie had said, so her new shoes would be put to the test.
She rather thought she wouldn’t spend this dance sitting at the edge of the room, given the admiring glances she was receiving from gentlemen. Even those who had previously considered her no more interesting than wallpaper were giving her the glad eye, as her governess would have said.
She turned about to see what the musicians were doing and discovered the pianist was coming up behind her shoulder.
One didn’t curtsy to servants. Yet somehow her knee almost bent in response to his smile. She spoke first, since they hadn’t been introduced, not that one had to be introduced to a musician. “Your playing was exquisite.”
“I was inspired.”
“Ah.” Cecilia tried to think of something else to say, but she hadn’t much practice with flirtation.