Madrigals And Mistletoe

by Hayley A. Solomon

  “Shall I get my parasol?”

  The sensible words made him laugh. He shook his head. “Not a parasol. They are too clumsy and inevitably get muddied! A chip straw bonnet will do and I would exchange those delicious slippers for half boots at least!”

  Seraphina looked down and noticed that he was regarding her feet with interest. She wondered if he had remarked her delicate ankles, but with a sigh thought not. More likely he was pondering how long it would take her to unthread her exquisitely laced roman ribbons and edge her toes into something odiously more serviceable. Still, the thought of escaping the house when she had thought she would be a prisoner to it gladdened her heart considerably. With a lighthearted hop and a skip and a merry, twirling entrechat that caused her captain to laugh aloud she announced that she would be back shortly.

  “No more than five minutes, mind!” She scowled, not entirely convinced the captain would wait if she kept him dallying. As she shut the music room door behind her, she lifted her skirts in an unholy flurry of activity and literally dashed up the stairs. It was fortunate that there was no one about to see her, for her unladylike haste would have put even the lackadaisical Ancilla to the blush.

  Miss Camfrey’s maid was partaking of an excellent luncheon of ham and cooked turnips below stairs, so even she did not witness the interesting spectacle of Seraphina’s dash from slippers to half boots, from organdie to muslin, lemon to aqua and finally to a dashing cherry-striped affair with a wrap over the front and an overdress of light, ethereal pink. She had—or so she believed—just sufficient time to stare into the looking glass and pinch her cheeks so that they attained a healthful glow before dashing downstairs again, preparatory to making a sedate entrance into the music room.

  She might have saved herself the trouble, for when she opened the internal door it was only to find the scores slightly scattered from the wind and the curtain billowing from an open exit. She glanced at the wall clock and was disconcerted to find that nearly half an hour had elapsed from the time she had promised the good captain five minutes.

  Angrily—for if she wasn’t caught up in anger she might have felt stupid and a little guilty—she trod out into the garden and across the avenue of well-tended oaks towards the open forest on the far side.

  She was glad of the chip straw, for the sun was still high in the sky and it was unseasonably hot. The half boots, however, were another matter, for they felt leaden and airless on her feet. She looked about her as far as the eye could see, but there was not a sign of her missing tutor. She did not know whether to be glad or sorry, for whilst she was still loath to begin lessons with a man so callous as to hold her to her word—what, after all, was a mere twenty minutes here or there?—she’d been strangely excited by the attention he would doubtless pay her in the tuition.

  Maddening, maddening, maddening!

  She kicked a pebble and it flew out of sight, dropping gently into the rivulet that ran through the estate. Apart from the odd call of a wild finch, she could hear nothing of any moment. For all she knew, Captain Argyll had given up his purpose and returned to his quarters. With a rather cross shrug, Seraphina sat down by the water and removed her boots. She was rather old to paddle, but since there was no one to see her and she was, after all, on her own estate, she did not consider this of any account.

  The water was refreshingly cold, and when splashed on her face it offered a wonderful respite from the noonday sun. Idly she wondered about the interview taking place within. The Dowager Duchess of Doncaster had seemed hopelessly puffed up in her own consequence—rather disappointing, in fact, when she had met a personage as elegant and civil as her son. For an instant, Seraphina thought of Rhaz, Lord Doncaster. Undoubtedly he was of the first stare, his modish evening garb proclaiming Weston or Scott at the very least. His dark eyes had been infinitely kind as he took her hand and helped her through the deplorable madrigal she’d been tricked into performing. When she thought of that loathsome Lila chit, her eyes narrowed, then relaxed.

  She would think of something pleasanter, like the possibility of an offer from the duke. This morning she had been in transports at the prospect, but then this morning she had not met Captain Argyll. Confound the man! She had no notion of his first name and he was entirely ineligible besides being arrogant and insufferably superior.

  Still, she had never been more aware of a man in her life and the sensation was driving her mad with annoyance. His clear eyes proclaimed he knew exactly what she was thinking, which was mortifying besides putting her beyond the pale.

  As she dreamily stared into the water, she was arrested by a sound unqualified in its purity. The lilting notes floated to her as if on air. High pitched, they nonetheless had a singular clarity and a conjugation of notes that were at once as unfamiliar as they were sweet. Seraphina felt her heart beat faster as she realised the music was not some ethereal figment of an overactive imagination, but the perfect, true and concordant notes of the stranger she had met earlier on in the day.

  It was true that she knew nothing about Captain Argyll other than that he was pleasing to the eye and passing expert at the finer arts. What she learned of him now, through his music, told her much more. A lot that she learned she was not yet ready to understand. So, shaking her boots out hurriedly, she stood up and made for the trees. It did not take long to find him, for the gentle notes of the panpipe filled the air and acted as a guide far more discerning than the clearest map.

  Captain Argyll, when she found him, was deposited at the banks of the river, his coat carelessly flung to one side and his mane of chestnut hair reprehensibly loose at his neck. The riband, Seraphina fleetingly noticed, was still tied at the nape, but what use it was to man or beast was questionable, since his abundant locks seemed destined to be free.

  The melody was so fraught with soft tenderness and strange counterpoints that Seraphina was terrified lest she disturb him. She watched, for a moment, as his hands curved lightly and effortlessly over the pipes. His strong jaw and aquiline profile seemed at odds with his gentle theme, but Seraphina had to admit that, odd or not, the part fitted the whole and the whole the parts as nothing she could have imagined. She was just reflecting on this philosophy when her unshod toe caught on a particularly nasty variety of stinging nettle.

  Her yelp of pain caused the music to cease instantly as the captain looked up to find his audience—he had suspected her presence long before her sudden cry—looking annoyed and somewhat conscious.

  “I have stubbed my toe!”

  “So you should have! Did I not tell you to don half boots?”

  “Ordered me more like!” Seraphina scowled, but her heart sang, for in truth she was delighted to have exchanged the tedium of the house for the exhilaration of this confrontation.

  “You shall have to get used to that, I am afraid! Military manners!”

  “You are not at all like my other tutors.” Seraphina regarded him suspiciously. The captain did not seem put out by this cryptic comment; rather he smiled his lazy, quite imperturbable grin.

  “I should hope not! My own tutors were enough to make me run a mile! God forbid I should be added to their ranks!” Captain Argyll cursed himself for a fool and hoped that Seraphina did not notice his slip. A mere tutor would not have had tutors himself.

  Fortunately, she did not seem to notice, for she was too pleased at the content of his remarks to be concerned with the particulars. She therefore nodded rather happily and unbent a little. If the captain did not intend being stuffy, she could be more than reconciled to his services. “What was that you were playing, just now?”

  “The music? Some unknown composer—I forget his name. Did you like it?” Seraphina nodded. She was surprised at the intensity of her liking but was too vulnerable, at that moment, to share it.

  The captain, however, was astute enough to sense something of her agitation and divine its cause. He smiled to himself. Though Seraphina had not so much as touched an instrument or hummed a bar that day, he felt that her f
irst lesson had progressed very well indeed.

  SEVEN

  The guest room was decorated prettily in the pastel shades Mrs. Camfrey delighted in. The captain reflected with resigned humour that the chamber was more fitting for a woman than a man, for it sported no less than three looking glasses and several rather pretty china dolls. Still, as far as comfort went, he could make no complaint, for the room certainly offered a much more charming prospect than the camp bed and makeshift shelters he had become accustomed to over the years of the Iberian campaign.

  He noticed with satisfaction that Pendleton had ordered his trunks sent up. These were now placed neatly beside a Queen Anne writing table. A pitcher of water and a washtub had been placed at the south side of the room. He walked over to them and immediately washed his hands and splashed a little water on his face. Then, throwing off his coat, cravat and shirt, he let them tumble in a forgotten heap upon the floor.

  My lord was too anxious to see whether his writing implements and instruments were intact to take note of trifles. He carefully opened the first of the bandboxes and closed it almost immediately. They contained all manner of clothing that no doubt he would never need or want in his new calling.

  His valet, used to working in an earl’s household, simply could not be convinced to desist from packing fine lawn shirts and endless neckerchiefs of Eastern silk. Had he realised, Frederick would have unloaded it all at the King’s Arms, but since he had not chosen to open that particular portmanteau, he now found himself blessed with the whole wretched lot.

  The second box pleased him better. It contained his carefully wrapped lute, a marvellously old violin and an excellent quill pen and ink. Several smaller items of clothing had been included as well. Frederick reflected glumly that, until he was in a position to purchase better, these would have to serve as his work clothes. Heaven only knew, they had seen service! It was almost with fondness that Frederick thought on the bitter battles, the hardships and the sheer ingenuity that had got him through Spain almost without a scratch.

  The haunting melody Seraphina had heard floated through his head once more. He added a small arpeggio to the opening bar, then carried the theme through to the sixth and seventh before allowing a small diminuendo to hush the lilting rhythm and cause a tension in the counterpoints to follow. He had used panpipes earlier, but strictly speaking, the fullness of the harmony would gain substance if plucked on the sweet strings of a harp.

  He nodded and began to write, bold strokes confidently crossing page after page. My lord’s extraordinary gift—that of perfect pitch—served him well. He was unhesitating in his inscription. When he finished, he lit several of the tapers that had been set out for him, for the house had sunk into a quiet darkness. He wondered fleetingly where Seraphina lay and whether she, too, was awake, pacing her chamber in the half-light. In the ordinary scheme of things it would be uncommonly easy to set up a dalliance with the youngest daughter of the household. Her eyes invited it, bewitching and innocent at one and the same time.

  The captain tried not to think of her lips or other assets, for he had a long night ahead of him and he found the contemplation strangely disturbing. Doubtless his restiveness was caused by not having had a woman recently. Fortunately, that could soon be remedied. He chuckled upon this uplifting thought and wondered whether Harriet Smith was as charming as ever—and as abundant with her favours. Doubtless she was.

  A sad smile suddenly crossed his utterly beguiling features. Occasionally—usually in the quiet shadows between waking and sleep—he indulged in what he considered “maudlin fancies.” This was that annoying, elusive time when he found himself wishing for something that quite possibly did not exist. The themes of his composition floated through his mind, adding poignancy to the thoughts that kept recurring, unbidden and unwanted.

  He reached for the quill and added another small flame to the candelabra. By morning, he was satisfied.

  Glittering, shimmering, sparkling, these are the fragments of

  my mind reflecting on you.

  You transform the darkness the deep molten shadows

  with a heart that is brilliantly true.

  Romance is a rainbow, a spectrum of

  colour that’s vividly lustrous on a sparkling wet day,

  but love is much deeper, much more than pure sunshine it’s

  starlight

  when all else is grey.

  Mirror for mirror your thoughts are like

  echoes

  of my thoughts, my psyche, my conscience, my soul.

  I love you, adore you

  I need you, my heart mate,

  for two parts make more than a whole.

  Romance is magic when mingled

  as our love and laughter and friendship shall always be.

  There’ll never be moments of dark or despairing while your light

  shines deep within me.

  The morning mail carried two letters from the captain. One was addressed to Mr. Beckett of Islington Publishing House, London, and the other was rather cryptically addressed to Mr. R. Carlisle of Huntingdon. Neither address raised any brows, nor was the coincidence of his grace the Duke of Doncaster’s hunting box lying just west of Huntingdon in any way remarked upon.

  Cordelia hastily penned her own missives, carefully crossing every line so that one sheet, not two, would be charged for. Seraphina had no such qualms and was therefore busily occupied in committing to paper tomes for her good friend Miss Sarah Appleby of Knightsbridge. Since much of this related to the stunning person of “her captain,” the note was necessarily long and brought a strange blush to her cheeks when she found the maddening man but two steps behind her. She covered up the wafers hastily, but not before she saw one of those annoying, slow and irresistible smiles cross his face. She was still debating whether the insufferable man had caught a glimpse or not when her mama looked up from her own letters and addressed him.

  “You do not dine with us, Captain Argyll?” Ancilla’s voice held a slight interrogative, for when the captain did not appear for breakfast she was concerned that he might have found himself relegated to the kitchens. She was determined that every civility be accorded to him. She would have been mortified if he was made to feel like a mere upper servant, for, though strictly speaking that was what he was, she nevertheless could not bring herself to think of him in that light.

  The captain nodded briefly. “I had an excellent breakfast in my chamber. Thank you.”

  It did not suit him to be socialising with the Camfrey sisters. For one thing, he wished to concentrate on his work; for another, he did not want to risk being recognised by some of the morning callers who might imminently appear to pay their addresses. He did not wish to dwell on the other reason, for he refused of think of it himself. If he wished to put a distance between himself and a certain Miss Seraphina Camfrey, that, too, was entirely his own business.

  “You shall dine with us this evening, I hope!”

  “Thank you, ma’am! That is very kind of you, but I prefer to eat above stairs.”

  Seraphina opened her mouth to tell him what utter poppycock he was talking when she recalled the disturbing effect he had on her person every time he entered the room. If her nerves were not to be permanently jangled, the arrangement might turn out to be a good thing. Still, she could not resist a wistful glance in the excellent captain’s direction. The first thing she encountered was the firmness of his jaw. That was followed by the delicious spectacle of his lips and further by the sardonic twinkle behind his sea blue eyes. Seraphina could swear he could read every thought in her head. She determined to veil her wayward thoughts to confound the man.

  “Quite right, too! Mama, you must not forget we are in London! It would look very odd in us to be entertaining the servants!”

  “Since when do you care about town gossip?” Cordelia was mortified by her sister’s remarks. She cast a look at the captain, hoping to discern whether he’d been offended by her sister’s unmannerly outburst. He was c
arefully putting the damask serviette to his lips, so any attempt to read his thoughts was foiled. If there was the hint of an appreciative twinkle behind his intense, dark-lashed eyes, Cordelia did not have time to notice. The uncomfortable silence was broken by Seraphina, who was half prepared to cut out her unruly tongue and half prepared to add fuel to the fire by making some other disparaging remark. Really, if the man could at least have the decency to look offended, she need not put herself to the trouble of thinking of another way to offend. His odious appearance of unqualified ease was most unnerving.

  “When would you wish to commence lessons, Miss Seraphina?” The tone was respectful, but Seraphina had the annoying suspicion that tone and intent did not necessarily go hand in hand.

  “Oh, I think I will give today a miss, Captain Argyll!” She waved her hand in an airy dismissal. “I have so much to do I hardly think I shall have time for the services of a music master!”

  She wanted to hurt him and she succeeded. For an instant, Frederick wondered why the chit was so venomous. It was either, he thought, because she genuinely loathed him or it was some sort of protective device. But protective against what? After an instant’s thought, he grinned. If Seraphina of the auburn hair found him a threat to her peace of mind, he made no complaint. Honour decreed that he not dally with her in her own home, but inclination veered decidedly on the reverse side. He would have to tread carefully, for he was in dangerous waters. Still, a dull life had never been to his taste.

  He carefully set down his cup and nodded briskly. “Very well, Miss Seraphina. You are dismissed. Miss Cordelia, I shall be honoured if you would have me teach. I noticed your music sheets the other day. If you would like to practice them, I shall endeavour to be of material assistance.”

  Cordelia, a little ashamed of Seraphina’s inexplicable rudeness, took the captain up eagerly. No doubt he was feeling a trifle strange in a household where he was employed to teach and found no opportunity of doing so. “I would love to! Thank you!”