He bowed again and, in the process, captured her right hand, brushing across her palm and lightly stroking over her fingers while lifting it to his lips. Holding her gaze, dark eyes penetrating, he whispered au revoir and pressed a lingering kiss against her gloved knuckles. Then with a crisp pivot, he exited the room.
Georgiana stared at his retreating body, admiring his fine figure and basking in the intoxication of blatant flirting from a man as handsome as Lord Caxton. She was not so foolish or dazzled as to be unaware of how every woman in the room had observed him and in many cases brazenly sought his favor. Nor had she been so blinded as to not recognize that he ignored or bluntly rebuffed all of them, exclusively focusing on her—even when they both danced with someone else!
No, Georgiana Darcy was not a fool. But she was young and stunned by the onslaught to her sensibilities. If this were not the case, then most likely she would have noticed that her heart did not ache at his departure and that the hand he kissed hung limply at her side.
***
Sebastian rarely experienced nervousness. It simply was not in his nature to be unsure or fearful over mundane matters. Yet the tremble to his hand when he rapped on the door and the flutter in his chest as he stood on the stoop waiting for the butler to answer could be described as nothing but nervousness.
Later, he admitted that entering the salon to discover Lady Matlock and Lady Simone sitting with Miss Darcy and three other ladies of his acquaintance from Parisian society eased his nervousness, even if he could not ascertain Miss Darcy’s opinion of him while in company. After all, Sebastian Butler naturally relaxed around women, and instantly, he sent a silent prayer to the Creator for gifting him with five sisters!
Eventually the older women left, probably fabricating pressing tasks and appointments in order to leave the youths alone. In a flash, the nervousness returned, Sebastian embarrassingly fidgeting with his coattail, shifting his feet where he stood by the edge of the sofa, and stammering like a schoolboy.
“Miss Darcy, I regret that we were unable to speak last evening and will confess in honesty that I was avoiding you at the gala. No, please! Let me finish if I may, and then I shall mutely withstand your censure.”
“You are far too harsh on yourself, Mr. Butler, but proceed with your confession of dreadful doings and wicked thoughts. I will listen most attentively.”
He sat—or rather fell—into the cushioned perch across from her. “You do not seem angry at all. In fact, I detect that you are laughing at me.”
“I am not angry. I was, to be sure, but no longer. For some reason, it is extremely difficult for me to stay angry with you, sir. Does this ruin your well prepared speech of contrition, Mr. Butler?”
Sebastian laughed at her tease, the lifted weight from his shoulders momentarily making him light-headed!
“I had nothing prepared, being more of a spontaneous sort of fellow. I did intend to grovel, however.” He leaned forward, looking at her seriously, although his gray eyes did sparkle a little. “I truly am sorry for embarrassing you with Professor Florange. I did deceive and no matter my rationale, it was wrong of me.”
“Indeed, it was wrong of you. I shall not argue that point or placate your conscience, Mr. Butler. Nevertheless, I know you only meant well and the outcome is that we now understand one another with improved clarity. I do believe our friendship can withstand a disagreement or two.”
“Or two? Are you presaging a future disagreement we must overcome?”
“Not at all,” she countered with a shake of her head and laugh. “Nevertheless, I doubt there are many friends who do not irritate each other once in a while.”
“I am relieved to hear you still consider me a friend, Miss Darcy. You were harsh in your judgment of my motives but not completely erroneous. I feared an understandable loss of good opinion.”
“I am not that fickle in my sentiments. Besides, as you pointed out, I was harsh and justly deserving of losing your good opinion.”
“So we are equal in our faults. Blast it all if that does not make us human!”
“Indeed! And this fallible human wishes to express her appreciation and understanding for what she now realizes was your desire to enlighten her to the broader world. I thank you for that, Mr. Butler. Furthermore, since it was I who threatened to glean all I could from you in the short time we have, I daresay it is idiotic of me to then be vexed with you for simply wanting to give me more. As it turns out, I was rewarded immensely with Professor Florange’s praise. The day certainly was not a loss.”
He frowned at the dreamy expression upon her face following the last statement, not wanting to imagine she was referring to anything besides the professor’s endorsement of her talent. “I am relieved to hear you say that. Dare I hope that your confidence is boosted?”
“It is,” she said, nodding slowly. “I know, as you do, Mr. Butler, that music is etched into my soul. It is who I am and what I love. I have faith and, yes, confidence that I can fulfill these desires to create and play, even as I live my mundane life in England.”
“Somehow I doubt your life will ever be mundane, Miss Darcy.”
“The life of a wife and mother is typically mundane, a state of existence I am happy to embrace. My comfort is in knowing I can pass on what I have learned, and who knows? Maybe my son will be the next Beethoven or Mozart.”
He nodded and smiled despite the unease and twisting sensation within his gut. “So, am I truly and utterly forgiven? If not, I have an additional peace offering that I am sure will secure my standing within your good graces.” He retrieved the leather portfolio he had placed on the side table when he first entered the room, handing it to Georgiana with a deep bow. “A gift, my lady.”
She opened the folder, recognizing the contents after one glance at the sheets of music, her smile widening with each turn of the page.
“Are these all of them?” Her voice was reverent and touches upon the sheets caressing.
“All that I have written thus far. There are many psalms in the Bible, so I judge it will take me a lifetime to compose music for all of them. These, however, are my favorites and the ones that inspired me. This here”—he leaned across the space separating their seats and tapped Psalm twenty-three—“is the first one I placed to music. Naturally.”
“How old were you?”
“Sixteen or so. I have not played it for a few years to be honest, so it is probably shockingly horrid. You have my permission to embellish or rewrite at will.”
“Oh no! I could never do that!”
Sebastian laughed. “We have been collaborating for some time now, Miss Darcy. I trust your insights and creativity. I sincerely believe you could improve upon many of these. Professor Florange did say we were brilliant together.”
He murmured the last, biting his lip for bringing the subject of their argument to mind, but Georgiana did not comment or appear irritated. Rather, she was staring at him, her smile soft and eyes shining. In an instant, the urge to kiss her rushed through him as powerfully as it had before, the passion of anger apparently not the only impetus.
“Thank you for bringing them. Will you play one for me? Or several?”
It was impossible to look away from the pleading in her eyes, and the honeyed tones of the entreaty passing plump, moist lips entranced him. Some particle of his mind knew he was leaning closer to her and a dim voice cautioned him, but both were ignored.
What could not be ignored was the voice of the butler.
“Mademoiselle Darcy, you have a gentleman caller. Lord Caxton. He claims to have an engagement scheduled with you?”
They shot to their feet. Georgiana swayed slightly and the instinctual steadying pressure of Sebastian’s hand under her elbow brought her closer to him, thus worsening his dizziness.
Lord Caxton strode in, his dark gaze skimming over the two of them and assessing the tableau in the seconds before Georgiana darted away from Sebastian’s side. What his conclusion was could not be easily discerned, but Seb
astian did notice a faint tightening to the corners of his eyes. Then he bowed, extending the formal welcomes as appropriate and gallantly filling the awkward scene with normalcy.
“I trust I am not interrupting?” The baron swept the hand holding his hat in the general direction of where they had been standing, Georgiana having moved some four feet away. “My class ended earlier than usual, so I hastened over for our tea engagement. I do apologize for the surprise entry, Miss Darcy.”
“No need to apologize, my lord,” Georgiana said in a rush. “Mr. Butler dropped by to bring some compositions I have expressed interest in. Psalms, actually.”
“Psalms? How intriguing. I seem to recall your fascination with sacred music, Butler.”
“More of a hobby. My serious compositions are not primarily choral. Rather, they tend to run in the direction of operatic or chamber music.”
“As do most these days. Originality is sorely lacking in this generation, so it seems to me.”
“Perhaps, Baron, you are looking in the wrong direction. Certainly Haydn, Beethoven, Schubert, and Czerny, to name but a few, offer the world unique styles.”
“I shall take your word for it, Butler. I am unfamiliar with German composers, preferring French and Italian creations. I have heard few of Beethoven’s compositions but admit to being uninterested. ‘Far too German’ is what the critics say with abrupt changes, barbaric dissonances, and excessive calculation. Not of my taste at all.”
“I suggest you speak with Professor Reicha. Were you aware that our esteemed master of fugue studied with Beethoven?”
Caxton quirked his brow in surprise. “No, I was not.”
“I daresay he might alter your opinions.”
“Perhaps. This is a fascinating topic that I would very much like to pursue, Butler. I imagine your travels have given you an insight those of us mired here in France do not have. Our prejudices cloud our evaluations and stifle our acceptance. However, I am sure we are boring Miss Darcy profoundly. See, she is flushed and glassy-eyed! Please, sit, and we stuffy musicians shall talk of pleasanter matters while we refresh ourselves with tea and cakes.”
“Thank you, but I am quite fine, truly. I do not find the discussion boring in the least.”
“No?” the baron asked with genuine surprise. “How extraordinary. Ladies typically do. Tea?”
The baron sat at Sebastian’s abandoned place and began to casually pour tea as if the activity were one he normally performed.
“Yes, thank you,” she replied absently, sitting on the edge of the recently deserted sofa. She still held the leather portfolio, her grip on the edges tight to prevent the trembling that had invaded her body from betraying her discomposure and causing her hands to shake.
What is wrong with me? Why does he agitate me so?
Which “he” are you referring to?
“Miss Darcy?”
“What?” She jerked to the present, eyes lifting to Lord Caxton who was gazing at her questioningly.
“Are you well? Do you require rest? Perhaps we have strained your delicacy?”
Sebastian laughed, drawing both sets of eyes to where he yet stood next to the sofa’s armrest. “Miss Darcy is far from fragile. She has outplayed me on the pianoforte numerous times, walked my feet to a state of blistered toes in the quest to see all in a museum, and I would not suggest daring her to a horse race.”
Georgiana blushed but met his teasing gaze boldly. “I have never outplayed you, do not believe for a second you suffered blisters to your toes, but will boast that I beat you soundly every time we race. Forgive me, my lord”—she turned to the older man—“I was momentarily lost to daydreams of comparative analysis between German and French composers. What did you ask?”
“Only how you take your tea.”
“One spoon of sugar and a fair dose of cream.”
Again both sets of eyes lifted to Sebastian, who shrugged. “Sometimes two spoons if the tea is strong.”
“I see,” Caxton muttered. “Thank you, Butler. You have provided another answer to the mysteries surrounding Miss Darcy.” He handed the cup to her but did not relinquish his hold on the saucer immediately, instead capturing her gaze and speaking with warmth, “Mysteries that I intend to devote myself to discovering, if this pleases you, madam?”
Georgiana’s answer was a deep blush and duck of her head.
Caxton smiled in satisfaction, releasing the saucer and reaching for another. “How do you take your tea, Butler?”
“I”—he cleared his throat, looking away from Georgiana’s rosy cheeks—“I am afraid I must return to the chateau to prepare for my departure tomorrow. I came by primarily to deliver the psalms into Miss Darcy’s safekeeping for her to tinker with while I am in Reims.”
“Reims?”
“Ah, you must be attending the symposium on de Machaut by Guilmant-Deffayet,” Caxton guessed, ignoring Georgiana’s expression of surprise and faint sadness.
“Guillaume de Machaut? Taught by Guilmant-Deffayet? Truly?”
Sebastian inclined his head toward Georgiana, smiling at the fascination and curiosity infusing her face. “Truly. And it should surprise me that you know who these men are but it does not.”
“How long will you be away, Mr. Butler?”
“Long enough for you to memorize each psalm and for my brain to be filled with new facts for you to cull. Or, to put it into practical terms, two weeks and a bit.”
“And you are leaving on the morrow?”
He nodded. “It is a rough road to Reims and the symposium starts in two days. We are taking a chance that accommodations can be procured”—he paused to chuckle and shrug his shoulders—“not that the gents are worried over it, since any inn with a pub will do as far as they are concerned. Fortunately, I know of several finer establishments near the university.”
“Well, I am admittedly terribly envious. I have no doubt it will be enlightening and I will most certainly ask a million questions. Be sure to take notes!”
“As you command, madam.”
Caxton rose at that point, blocking Sebastian’s respectful bow from Georgiana’s view, and extended his hand to Sebastian. “Travel safe, Butler. It is a long road, and rough as you said, so I am sure preparations are needed.”
“Yes indeed,” Sebastian agreed, noting the edge to the baron’s voice. “I do have packing to do. I will leave you to your amusement. Miss Darcy, a pleasure as always.” He bowed again, this time within Georgiana’s sight, and stepped toward the door.
Georgiana stood, following after with quick paces and impulsively reaching out to touch his sleeve.
“Mr. Butler!” He halted and turned, Georgiana so close she could see the flecks of green in his otherwise gray eyes. “Please do be careful.”
“I will, have no fear. And please extend my regrets to the Mademoiselles de Valday.”
“Oh! Of course! You will miss the dinner party we are hosting to honor the de Valdays arrival in Paris. Mademoiselles Yvette and Zoë will be devastated.”
“I promise to make it up to them with the anticipated amount of flirting and attention as soon as I return. Be sure to tell them so.”
Georgiana laughed. “That will please them to be sure. And I will keep these safe.” She clutched the music portfolio against her chest and patted it with her other hand.
“I know you will.” He took the hand spread on the smooth leather and brought it to his lips. “Adieu, Mademoiselle Darcy.”
With a dozen or so steps he was out the door, the click as it closed was strangely loud, adding fresh shivers to the ones already racing up her spine.
“Come, Miss Darcy, your tea is growing cold.”
“Of course,” she murmured, lifting a smiling face to Lord Caxton, who had moved to stand by her side. She walked back to the sofa, sat, and picked up the lukewarm tea.
“I am anxious to hear of Pemberley from your lips, Miss Darcy. My uncle, the Duke of Grafton, speaks highly of the stables and estate lands, but I have a feeling you
will share a more personal perspective.”
And from there, the afternoon passed in easy discourse of English countryside and horses and home. Georgiana greatly enjoyed herself even while ignoring the hazy sensation of melancholy and annoying tingles that spun across her knuckles and danced up her arm.
Chapter Ten
Arias of Revelation
The de Valday carriages rolled up the drive to their Paris townhouse at a slow and stately pace. The clomp of horses’ hooves and the crunch of gravel warned the butler, Monsieur Vigneux, of their arrival and he, in turn, alerted the waiting inhabitants. However, all of this warning still did not provide time enough for Georgiana to reach the stoop before Yvette and Zoë. They embraced her as if years separated their prior visitation, enthusiasm so intense that English was not even attempted!
Frédéric approached the clot of skirts and fur and ruffles, his natural stride lazy and sensuous. He snared Georgiana’s hand effortlessly from amid the chaos, bowed low while managing to maintain eye contact, and bestowed a precise kiss to the bare skin of her wrist.
“Mademoiselle Darcy, enchantress and love, my heart is whole once again in your presence.”
The little speech was delivered with exaggerated emotion and facial expressions, Frédéric’s sisters quickly shoving him aside and waving off his overblown dramatics with their typical teasingly deprecating remarks. Frédéric grinned and winked at Georgiana before fluidly clasping her to his side—her arm somehow linked around his—and escorting her into the house, Zoë and Yvette on each side, chattering a French tirade all the way to the sunny salon facing the rear garden.
Georgiana smiled as she listened, responding mostly in nods and holding the laughter in check. She had missed them, sorely, and within five minutes felt exhilarated. The vague sadness that had invaded her heart since the departure of Mr. Butler three days ago vanished.
Almost.
Additionally, Frédéric’s bearing and magniloquence had clarified a mystery within her mind. The seventeen-year-old youth delighted her and she truly adored him, but his age and immaturity made stronger feelings impossible. Yet, from the moment she had met him in Lyon, she recognized his innate sensuality. Frédéric oozed magnetism and charisma, his aura intensely masculine if yet unseasoned. Suddenly, Georgiana imagined him as a fully-grown man, one no longer innocent of the world and the effect of his allure, and as an epiphany, she realized it was what Lord Caxton possessed.
Miss Darcy Falls in Love Page 14