Miss Darcy Falls in Love

by Sharon Lathan

  Again he laughed, his resonant tones reminding her so much of Fitzwilliam. “Indeed not. I am sure the majority of gentlemen of our class would see me as a tremendous disappointment. Essentially, I am a sedentary individual with minimal wanderlust to cool, and I did not travel to Italy. I would love to, mind you, as I adore art, and opera has such strong roots there. But the call to study with master composers and pianists was far preferable to wasting time in extensive travel.”

  Georgiana’s eyes lit up, her breath catching. “The masters? Such as who?”

  Mr. Butler noted her intense expression with some surprise, opening his mouth to speak, but the music halted with the final twirl completed. With some reluctance, he let her go, bowing deeply before stepping back a pace. To his further astonishment she bobbed an abstracted curtsy, unconsciously bridging the narrow gap between their bodies.

  “Where did you study? With whom? Was it marvelous?” Her eager face was lifted to his, gloved hands clenched by her breast as if in supplication.

  He smiled, offering his arm. “Are you thirsty, Miss Darcy? Perhaps a drink and some air while I regale you with stories of Hummel and Moscheles?”

  She gasped. “Did you meet… Beethoven?”

  “Most impressive, Miss Darcy. Few outside of Germany know these men, let alone that they are friends with Beethoven.”

  “Were you serious? About Hummel and Moscheles that is?”

  “Indeed, I was serious. However, I must be honest and confess that I was attempting humor and did not anticipate your interest. I rather expected a blank stare and beg your forgiveness for assuming your ignorance. Most young ladies gaze at me as if I have suddenly sprouted an additional head when I veer into ‘music-speak’ as my sisters call it.”

  She took the offered glass of punch absently. “No, I am truly intrigued. I have played the pianoforte all my life and adore learning of new compositions, especially those of unique quality. Plus, I find that knowing the background and influence of a composer, what he has endured, or whom he has involved himself with lend an understanding to the piece that aids in performing it. Do you agree?”

  “Sometimes, yes. Certainly an artist grows by association and concourse with other artists. I think the truly gifted are blessed with their own intrinsic character, their voice, if you will. Study, experiences, and relationships can inspire and affect, but one must not lose their sense of self, what makes them unique.”

  “I recall vividly the compositions you played at my brother’s house in London two years ago, Mr. Butler. Very romantic and cantabile but also strong and audacious. Your work moved me. Has your style been affected by your studies and time abroad?”

  “To a degree, I imagine. I like to try my hand at new techniques.” He shrugged, grinning roguishly. “Playing or composing, I am never bored.”

  “When I play I try to imagine what the composer was feeling, what he is attempting to convey in the music. This may be difficult in your case, if you scurry all over the place.”

  He chuckled. “Have no fear, madam. Music is birthed by the composer, true. And the orchestra will follow the notes and instructions with each conductor placing his mark upon the arrangement. Every listener will interpret and emote singularly. You must allow your personal sentiments to be fed by your life, Miss Darcy. Your playing will thrive exponentially if you seek inward rather than concentrate without.”

  “Thank you for the advice, Mr. Butler, but perhaps that is partially the problem. I am twenty and barely stepping beyond the borders of Pemberley. I have no life experiences to draw from.”

  “Yet.” He raised his glass in a salute.

  “Yet.” She clicked his glass and took a sip of her punch. “In the meanwhile, as I scour the Continent for escapades to broaden myself, will you satisfy my curiosity as promised?”

  “Gossip, Miss Darcy? Shall I tell you that Meyerbeer snores louder than any man I have ever encountered and that Giuliani smokes the most disgusting Cuban cigars?”

  “Not unless it contributes to their musical thesis.” She smiled, playfully wagging her finger his direction. “Careful, Mr. Butler. Such comments will brand you discriminatory toward the opposite sex. I wish to hear of intellectual theories, your keen observances, the gleaned wisdom of the masters, all of it! The gossip can be covered afterwards,” she finished dryly.

  “Again, I accept your conviction of the flaws to my character.” He bowed humbly, face seriously set although the sparkle in his eyes and bubbling amusement in his voice negated the effort. “You frighten me, madam.”

  “Me?”

  “Indeed. By now you should be running away screaming, or at least searching your numbed mind for a plausible excuse to get as far away as possible. Most people do when I dig too deeply into my craft. There are few of us in this vast world who comprehend the mechanics behind the joy of music.” His tone conveyed amusement but also respect and fascination.

  “Sorry to disappoint, sir.”

  “I am not disappointed. In fact, this is rather thrilling and to my great advantage.” At her puzzled expression he inclined his head toward two girls who were approaching the isolated corner they had gravitated to. “Wait and bear with me.” He winked at Georgiana and then smoothed his features as he turned to the girls.

  “Brother, you promised me a dance!” the youngest proclaimed without preamble, bouncing on her toes.

  “Indeed, I did and have not forgotten. But remember your manners, Adele. Allow me to introduce Miss Georgiana Darcy, a relation of ours. Miss Darcy, two of my sisters, Lady Adele and Lady Reine Butler.”

  They curtsied, Adele sprightly and Reine dignified.

  It was Reine who spoke, her voice controlled and subdued, “We met in the receiving line, brother. Miss Darcy, we are the annoying younger sisters. Give him time and he shall tell you so himself.” She glanced to a solemnly nodding Sebastian, the merest hint of a twitch to her lips. “We felt it our duty as kinsman to rescue you from the fate worse than death—that is being tortured mercilessly with talk of notes and scores. The poor boy has no life beyond a pianoforte.”

  “No life at all,” Adele agreed, dimples flashing. “He is, however, an excellent dancer. Do you not agree, Miss Darcy?”

  “Most excellent.”

  “No need to flatter, Adele. A promise is a promise, although why I should have to suffer having my feet mangled when it was my persuasion that convinced father to let you stay for the dancing is beyond my comprehension.”

  She tossed her head, curls bobbing adorably, laughing and reaching to kiss her brother on the cheek. “He is the best brother in the world! And not completely dull, Miss Darcy, truly.”

  “Actually, we were having a fascinating discussion about Moscheles and musical philosophy when you arrived. We are kindred spirits with a shared passion for music it appears.”

  Both girls stared at her uncomprehendingly.

  “As typical, you woefully misjudge your brother,” he said with a long-suffering sigh. “Some women do believe me charming and interesting.”

  “Well, one anyway,” Reine offered with a smirk. “In that case, since Sebastian has miraculously unearthed a like soul, you must join us for tea tomorrow, Miss Darcy. We can entertain with tales of our dear brother while you two entertain with song.”

  “Oh yes! You must!” Adele declared with a clap.

  Georgiana glanced from one smiling face to the other. “If you are sure it is not an imposition?”

  “Not at all!” Sebastian assured. “Besides, I have yet to cover any gossip or musical philosophy.” He grinned a crooked grin, bowing with a flourish before whisking Adele off to the dance floor, leaving a laughing duo in their wake.

  Chapter Two

  Harmonics of Compromise

  The butler of the Château la Rochebelin was still brushing the raindrops off Mr. Butler’s overcoat and Sebastian wiping the water off his boots when Lord Adrien de Marcov’s voice boomed from the upper landing of the curved staircase.

  “There you are, Bu
tler!” The tall Frenchman bounded down the stairs, taking two at a time, greeting his friend in the middle of the vaulted foyer. “You clearly need a drink,” he indicated the water dripping off Butler’s limp curls onto his drooping cravat. “What possessed you to leave the house in this weather, and on horseback no less?”

  “I had an engagement I could not break. I was playing with Miss Darcy.”

  The marquis lifted a brow. “Oh really,” he smirked, drawing out the vowels.

  “Poor choice of phrase”—Sebastian cringed—“but you can remove that libidinous grin from your face as you knew what I meant.”

  “Butler, I am a week from marrying a woman I love passionately. She may be focused on the wedding day, but I am focused on the wedding night. Libidinous grins are an unconscious, uncontrollable gesture, all things considered.”

  “Please do not remind me.” Sebastian stepped past his friend, walking toward the parlor with de Marcov trailing.

  “Of course, after the wedding night I am confident the new Lady de Marcov will also be wearing a satisfied smile.”

  “Must you?”

  De Marcov spread his hands, the innocent expression unconvincing. “Merely wanting to reassure you that your dear sister will not be discontented in any way as my wife. What kind of a husband would I be if my bride was not properly ravished?”

  “Thankfully, I shall not be around to witness any indications of my sister having been ‘properly ravished.’” He poured a glass of cognac and drank it in one swallow, ignoring de Marcov’s laughter. “Is torturing me why you were hunting me down?”

  “Not entirely, although you must admit you walked right into it this time. Playing with Miss Darcy indeed! How could I resist?” He refreshed Sebastian’s drink and then poured his own glass of cognac. Sebastian shook his head and laughed as they sat onto chairs across from each other.

  The two men had met at Oxford five years prior and formed an instant friendship. Sebastian had met few men in his life as witty and entertaining as Adrien de Marcov. Within a month they switched dormitory rooms, bunking together and proceeding to have a marvelous cohabitation while completing their educations. In a host of ways they were very different, yet their bond was as tight as brothers born from the same mother. The teasing was ingrained, but the reality was that nothing delighted Sebastian more than the fact that, thanks to the transforming, deep love between Adrien and Vivienne, two of his favorite people in the entire world were happy and soon to be bonded. And de Marcov would then truly be his brother.

  “Very well. I will concede that I opened myself up for a fair dose of mockery. I should have said, ‘I was at the Château Plessis-Rhône calling upon Miss Darcy who then impressed me with her pianoforte playing.’”

  “Oui, I may have had difficulty twisting that about to benefit my need to needle you,” de Marcov said as he nodded, posing as a man deep in thought. “Of course, I might then point out that this is the third day in a row you have called upon Miss Darcy. Alone. Dare I jump to an intriguing conclusion, Mr. Butler?”

  Sebastian grunted. “I have spent far more time than that in the company of your sister, Lord de Marcov.”

  “Gabriella is fifteen, so I am not worried. Yet. You do, however, have a tendency to monopolize women. Why is that, do you think?”

  “You asking me about monopolizing women? Now that is rich!” Lord de Marcov laughed aloud and made no attempt to deny the charge. Sebastian continued with a soft smile, “I imagine growing up with five sisters has some bearing on my gravitating toward the company of women. However, in the case of Miss Darcy, it largely is due to our mutual appreciation for music. She is quite talented and hungry to learn.” He paused, staring into the amber liquid for several seconds before resuming in a subdued tone. “It may be wholly selfish but after months, hell, years, of single-minded study to advance my knowledge and expertise, it is refreshing and… rewarding to teach another. Especially someone as eager as Miss Darcy.”

  The marquis nodded, all traces of teasing erased from his face. “Indeed, I can sympathize. You wear your typical airy grin and gay attitude, but I know you well, my brother. I am acutely aware how disturbing the atmosphere is under the present circumstances.”

  Sebastian’s mouth twisted. “That is an understatement. Perhaps avoiding unpleasantness is a portion of the impetus for deserting the house. With Miss Darcy I have no fear of harsh criticism and verbalized disappointment.”

  “Enjoying being worshipped, are you?”

  “Spare me some latitude, as being worshipped by a woman who is not my sister is a new phenomenon for me. I know you are familiar with being equated with a deity but not I.”

  Now it was de Marcov’s turn to wince at Sebastian’s taunting. “Shall we keep that information amongst ourselves, please? My betrothed may not appreciate every detail of my past indiscretions.” His friend’s grin was devious, Lord de Marcov’s eyes narrowing but voice remaining humorous. “I sense blackmail looming.” Sebastian merely continued to grin, de Marcov chuckling and shaking his head as he continued. “Delighted to know I amuse you. Threats notwithstanding, I am forever your friend and brother, and as such, I know the particulars of your heart and situation. Thus I am not so sure whether you will be pleased or additionally harried by the main reason I was hunting for you all morning. But here it is.”

  He pulled a sealed envelope from his inner jacket pocket, handing it to Sebastian. “It arrived three hours ago by express courier. I do not know the contents for certain, but have no doubt the positive response nevertheless. Whether you share the news with Lord Essenton is your decision.”

  Sebastian’s hands were visibly trembling, his eyes locked onto the sender’s address for several seconds before turning it over to break the seal. He read the enclosed letter slowly, his face impassive for a long while. Lord de Marcov was about to rip the sheet out of his hands impatiently when Sebastian finally broke into a brilliant smile and looked up.

  “I have been accepted.”

  “I had no doubts,” de Marcov responded blandly, but his smile was nearly as broad.

  “For the fall session. Do you know what this means? How… happy… honored… how… I do not have the words,” he ended simply.

  “You have met Herr Beethoven numerous times, taken lessons even, studied with Franz Schubert, and worked with the Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde, yet this overwhelms you?”

  “I was overwhelmed by those as well.” He shook his head dazedly. “My good fortune continually staggers me. I keep anticipating the streak to break, yet it only soars higher. A whole year, perhaps more, at the Conservatoire de Musique in Paris is the pinnacle of my dreams, Adrien. Imagine what I shall learn. The talent I will be surrounded by and playing with and learning from.”

  “They are the fortunate ones, as far as I am concerned.”

  “Your devotion touches my heart, but you know that is not the truth.”

  “I beg to differ! You are incredibly talented and will be an asset.”

  Sebastian again shook his head, this time in amusement. “Be that as it may, I will persist in lauding my luck and striving to prove my worthiness. I have a great deal to prove, first, as an Englishman admitted into a primarily French school and, second, to my father.”

  “How do you imagine he will respond to this development?”

  “With his typical scathing remarks at how I belong in England at Whistlenell Hall and not wasting my time on pointless dalliances with ridiculous music. Sometimes I think he would prefer I was philandering with women of ill repute or gambling away my fortune, as if those are legitimate activities for a man my age.” He shrugged and chuckled, eyes bright as he looked at his friend.

  “Well,” de Marcov countered, stretching his legs, “I cannot argue with that philosophy! I have been encouraging you to do more of that for ages, but you have no respect for your elders’ advice.”

  “You are one year my senior, so you do not count.”

  “Perhaps chronologically, but in the joys of
living, and women, I trump you by decades. So, are you going to share the fabulous news?”

  “I may avoid my father from time to time to preserve my sanity and the peace, but I have never cowardly retreated. He knew I applied at the Conservatoire, so it will not be a shock. Even if I had been rejected, as I am sure he was supplementing the saints above to arrange, I would not have returned to England yet. Italy beckons me still, and I would have chosen traveling there as an alternative. No, I will tell him, unless you would rather I delay until after the wedding? I do not wish to distress Vivienne.”

  “She supports your study, as does Lady Warrow. Better get it over with while you have all of us here to vocalize our joy and drown Lord Essenton’s anger. In fact, it sounds like the opportunity is upon you.”

  They both paused, looking toward the open parlor doors where voices drifted closer. Seconds later they stood, crossing to greet Lord and Lady Essenton, Lady Warrow, Lord de Marcov’s widowed mother, and Vivienne Butler. The latter skipped gracefully over the threshold, her feet seeming to float inches above the floor as she headed directly toward her fiancé. Lord de Marcov instantly grasped her hands, bringing both to his lips for a lingering kiss before tucking Vivienne close to his side, their dotty expressions and smiles identical.

  “Nauseating,” Sebastian muttered with a dramatic roll of his eyes, earning a playful kick to his shin from Vivienne. He sidestepped the accompanying punch to his arm, reaching to assist his grandmother into her chair.

  “Thank you, my dear boy. What a perfect gentleman you are.” She lifted her cheek for the soft kiss she knew he would bestow, clasping his hand for an affectionate squeeze that crunched the parchment he unconsciously held. “What is this? Oh! From the Conservatoire!” Her gaze flashed from the sender’s address to his face, hopeful joy infusing her ageless eyes as she waited for his affirmative news.

  “What is this? You mean the Conservatoire in Paris?” Lord Essenton flared.

  A slight tightening at the corner of Lady Warrow’s eyes was the only indication of her annoyance at herself for blurting without thinking, but Sebastian understood and winked before turning to respond to his father. Lady Warrow was his greatest advocate and frequently engaged her son in verbal lashings in defense of her grandson’s chosen course in life. Nevertheless, she knew Sebastian capable of dealing with his father’s stubbornness and that he preferred to confront these discussions independently.