She watched his face anxiously, but apart from a flicker in his gaze, he remained unmoving, as though carved from stone.
“You would make this sacrifice for him, then?”
“Yes.”
She detected a strong tension in his voice and in his person. What was the matter? Would he turn her down regardless? And why did she think that she’d glimpsed disappointment in his eyes?
Hart appeared to consider her offer, then gave a tight nod. “Very well. I shall speak to Miss Cartwell, though I can make no promises in this matter.”
Maggie looked into his eyes. “Thank you. That means more to me than I can say.”
Maggie did not know Miss Cartwell, but she knew that Hart wouldn’t let her down.
He could always be relied upon to set things to rights.
As she looked her fill on his dear face, she was filled with all the love she felt for him. How she wished he would return her love! More than anything…
All those girlish daydreams of hers seemed ridiculous now, compared to the real Hart, who sat opposite her in his drawing room and watched her so gravely.
“Thank you,” she repeated, hoping he knew the true depth of her feeling from that single phrase.
“It is a trifle,” said the marquess simply.
But there it was again, that peculiar disappointment, and Maggie could not guess the cause of it. Had she done something to let him down? After all, had she not just agreed to do exactly as he had wished all along? To let him take her home to her father?
Yet he was not jubilant, not a little pleased or smug. When they’d been children, he had taken smug pleasure in every victory. Now, if anything, he just seemed tired. She tried to find a trace of the boy he had been in the lines of his face, but soon gave up.
Maggie tried not to think of her promise. The thought of giving up this new freedom left her reeling and deeply heart-sick – but it was for a just cause. She had that, at least, to comfort her. She wondered how she would break the news to Cecile.
The shop had only just begun to conquer Paris, and she would miss all the excitement that would soon follow. It was unlikely she would have such a chance again. To live as her heart dictated – that was a freedom indeed. Maggie berated herself for being selfish: it was a grand gift that she had had a chance to experience such freedom at all. There were many who would never be so fortunate.
At least it was unlikely that cousin Kingsley would wish to marry her now. He was far too vain to swallow such an insult as a runaway bride. But eventually her father would find her another match. She had no illusions in that regard – there was always some gentleman in want of a dowry. And Maggie knew how unlikely it was that her future husband would let her design dresses for a modiste or visit Paris on a whim.
“I shall be ready to leave after the concert, then. I should like to see it before I depart.”
Hart was still looking at her as though trying to solve a puzzle. “That is acceptable.”
*
When Miss Frances Cartwell stepped into the main auditorium of the Comedie in the company of Madame la Baronne, Sir Lucian’s face registered disbelief and shock, promptly followed by the most tangible delight Maggie had ever seen. Her heart glowed with warmth at seeing the composer so happy.
She was certain that her promise to Hart had been entirely worth it.
Looking rather stupefied, the baronet came forward to welcome Miss Cartwell to the Comedie. Word spread quickly, and while Monsieur Parny and several other musicians gaped at the new arrival with undignified astonishment, more were already appearing in the auditorium.
“I suspect that you have worked a miracle – I cannot begin to express my gratitude for what you have done,” Sir Lucian said quietly to Maggie while his director of music stepped up to add his own greetings. “I don’t know how you did it, but you are a veritable treasure.”
She smiled at him, her turmoil momentarily forgotten in light of his joy. “Think nothing of it! It was no trouble. That is what friends are for, Sir Lucian.”
“Then you are the very paragon of friendship.”
Maggie laughed and waved him away. “Oh, come now! You’ll put me quite to the blush. Now, I think you’d better take Miss Cartwell to your score. I am very curious to hear the goddess of the keyboards play and I’m sure you must be all eagerness to show her the music.”
The pianist had turned up at Maggie’s door early that morning accompanied by Marie-Josette. The countess was all aglow with delight at Maggie’s plan to save the concert.
“It is so very clever of you to have thought of it. When it comes to music, Frances has no equal,” she declared the minute she set eyes on Maggie. Then she proceeded to introduce the two young women, convinced that they would be the best of friends.
Miss Cartwell, Maggie found, was a very mild-mannered, shy young lady. She was quiet and polite to a fault – not at all the grand diva Maggie had expected from the way everyone had spoken of her brilliance and talent. She had long, slender pianist’s fingers and a pretty face that would have been striking if she were more animated in her conversation. Unlike Maggie, who had always been of an outgoing temperament, Miss Cartwell spoke very little.
Yet the moment Miss Cartwell sat down at the harpsichord, a wondrous transformation happened before their eyes. Her face took on a look of poignant feeling in place of its unfailing serenity as her fingers easily executed the complex runs that made the first movement so difficult to play. There was not a sound to be heard from the spellbound audience. It was as though she had become a conduit for the music, in all its beauty.
Maggie stayed long enough to hear the lady play through the first few pages of the score as even more musicians crowded into the auditorium to gaze at this wonder.
She was sure of it now – sure as she had been about coming to Paris. She had done the right thing.
If what she’d heard was anything to go by, the combined genius of Sir Lucian’s composition and Miss Cartwell’s playing would make the concert a phenomenal success. It could be nothing less.
Just as she was leaving the room, some of the other musicians took up their places and joined in. The music danced and shimmered through the vast chamber, setting hearts on fire. Maggie watched as her friend took up the conductor’s baton.
She left him to it with a smile on her face.
*
With Madame Galois’s gown nearing completion, Maggie and Cecile were much too preoccupied to have a lot of opportunity to speak. Sewing as quickly as they’d had to, to have the gown finished on time, it was a wonder that neither of them had turned their fingers into pincushions.
Cecile was full of the glow of impeding success. Seeing this, Maggie found herself unable to tell her oldest friend that she had promised to return to London after the concert.
Maggie’s mind was occupied with thinking of the best way to break this news and of wondering what awaited her in England. The thought of months spent all alone at Chenefelt Park was utterly unbearable.
Frequently, she reminded herself of the reason why she had made her promise.
She was only grateful that Cecile was far too busy to notice her preoccupation.
*
When the day of the symphony was upon them at last, Maggie felt herself grow more and more nervous by the hour.
Madame Gallois’s gown was finished and ready to be collected that evening – and then there was the concert to attend! And goodbyes to say.
She spent the morning fussing over the dinner gown, getting up to check the trim or the stitching, until Cecile complained that Maggie was making her dizzy. When Madame Galois’s footman came by to pick up the gown, it was almost a relief – until they remembered that they had yet to hear the grand lady’s final judgement on the matter.
Maggie tried to throw herself into work, but to her frustration, Maison Finette closed early that day, in light of the evening’s entertainment. Cecile knew her too well.
At home, she finally sat herself down to create
some new fashion plates, furiously sketching out collars, hems and matching capes. Yet, try as she might, all of them came out completely dire.
Sheet after sheet ended up in the fire, until Cecile seemed to have had enough of that too and came over to sit next to Maggie, gently taking away her quill.
“You had better stop that, or the household shall run out of paper. Whatever is the matter? You are obviously very distressed. Has something happened, or are you merely fretting over the dinner gown?”
Maggie tried to think up a likely excuse, but the words would not come. She settled for a half-truth instead. “The gown, yes, but even more so the concert.”
“You’ve nothing to fret about on that head. Why, Miss Cartwell is the finest musician in Europe. If she does not do justice to Sir Lucian’s music, then no one ever will.”
“Yes, you are right, of course.”
“I am sure of it. And you shall be resplendent. The silver gown will be perfect for a night at the Comedie. It will look a sight against all the gilding and red plush. And you will have the sheer bandeau for your hair. I cannot wait to see it! You’ll look like the Queen of the Night. I am sure Sir Lucian will be smitten, for one.” Here, Cecile gave her friend a shrewd look, as if measuring her reaction.
Maggie thought of Hart and her eyes filled up with unshed tears despite herself. Sometimes, the unfairness of it all was just too much.
“But what is wrong, Maggie? Does he not care for Mozart?”
“It isn’t that. Oh, Cecile. You know as well as I that Sir Lucian does not love me, nor I him, because my affection belongs in its entirety to Lord Hartley.”
“Ah.” Ceclie smiled gently. “I do know. But I was wondering if you had forgotten and got yourself tangled in a romantic mess. You have been rather melancholy of late, and all since Sir Lucian lost his harpichordist.”
“Forgotten? No indeed. How could I? I never stopped loving Hart. Not for a moment. But I am certain that he can not return my love – he only wants to take me back to England. And… And I promised him that I would go, the day Sir Lucian’s musician got injured.”
Cecile looked taken-aback. “You promised Lord Hartley that you would go to England with him? But why?”
“It seemed to be the only sure way to help Sir Lucian. Hart knows Miss Cartwell, has known her since they were children. I am very sure that he is the only one who could have persuaded her to perform. But you know how much he dislikes Sir Lucian. I didn’t have time to persuade him, and I didn’t want to take the chance that I might fail. So I struck a devil’s bargain instead. I proposed that if he should help me in this, I would go back home with him. Tonight. After the concert.”
Maggie looked at Cecile to try and gage her reaction, all the while remembering the inexplicable disappointment she had glimpsed in Hart’s eyes after he had heard her offer.
“A devil’s bargain indeed.” Cecile looked pale, but determined. “But I know that you did what you felt was necessary. It was a very selfless thing to do.”
“Yes. I am very sorry I hadn’t told you sooner. I don’t think I really believed myself that this wonderful dream of Paris could come to an end so abruptly. And I don’t know how I shall get on without you. Will you forgive me?”
Cecile frowned. “Yes, of course. But… Without me? I am going with you.”
“Indeed, not. Not unless you truly want to, and I can see that you don’t. You are happy here. This world of gowns and marvels. Why should you be drawn back into the endless grey with me? You must stay here, be Madame Finette and live free for the both of us. In Paris, you can be amidst all the beauty and vivacity of the Continent – and, who knows, some gentleman could come in tomorrow and sweep you off your feet,” she said, thinking of the handsome solicitor.
Cecile chuckled and took Maggie’s hands in hers, though her eyes lacked humour.
“Gentleman! Who has time for that? But you have been a sister to me, and sisters are more important than romance.”
“You have been a true sister to me too, Cecile – and while it shall break my heart to be parted from you, I know that this is the life that will truly bring you joy.”
Cecile sniffled, and produced a handkerchief. “Dearest Maggie. But perhaps things may yet work out. Life has been rather surprising up to now, you must admit.”
“It has, hasn’t it? Do you remember that first day at Dover, when I was sure the duke and duchess would drag us back to Papa? And don’t cry, or I shall cry too, and we will both look a right mess.”
Then they were hugging, laughing and crying at the same time, as only sisters and the very best of friends can.
At last, Maggie calmed down and took a deep breath. “I think, since this is to be our last day together, and since you must now face Madame Gallois without me, we deserve to have a glass or two between us!” With an impish smile, she moved to the cupboard and produced two glasses and a bottle of sherry that she had purchased weeks ago in wait for a special occasion.
They had three glasses each and giggled like schoolgirls caught in a prank.
“But how shall Madame Finette go on without your sketches?” Cecile asked suddenly.
“Perfectly well, I am confident. There is rather a large collection already. And I will still send you my new plates whenever I am able. I think that you must appoint more apprentices to help with the sewing. Now, we know what I am to wear tonight, but what have you picked out?”
Cecile looked taken aback at that. “But I’ll not be going. There is so much yet –”
“Of course you shall. I insist on it. You can’t sit at those ledgers all night long.”
“I assure you, I do not mind it. What can be better than the shop? This is what I have always wanted – and I am determined that we must make a success of it. Besides, I find that I enjoy the ledgers. They help me think, and dream. I remember my mother best when I am in the shop – it is the sort of establishment she would have wanted for me. I feel as though she is always with me when I am there.”
Maggie suddenly felt a very strong longing for her own mother: a mother to hug her, to advise her and to help her set the world to rights. She smiled softly at Cecile.
“I’m glad. Memories are a very precious thing. And I am happier still to know that you have such a place. But it isn’t in the shop that your mother lives, Cecile – her home is in your heart. And she is always with you, whenever you need her.”
Maggie reached over to embrace her friend again. They had weathered so many storms together. Having to say goodbye felt impossible.
“Now, I am very sure that you can take a break for one night and hear Sir Lucian’s masterpiece. If I may not bury myself in work, then nor may you.”
*
Maggie wondered if Hart would be at the symphony. She’d not seen him at all since they had come to their agreement, and if she didn’t know better, she would have thought that he was purposefully avoiding her. But why should he, when he had clearly won?
The countess confused her even more when, on the way to the concert, she confided in Maggie that she was deeply concerned for Hart’s health – there was something weighing heavily on his mind.
“At the last minute, he sent his apologies that he would be unable to drive with us to the theatre tonight – he pleaded urgent business and said that he would have to be late. It is all very unlike him.”
She gave Maggie a very intense, knowing look as she spoke, and it rather chilled Maggie’s blood. How much of the truth did Marie-Josette know? Maggie did her best to look surprised at the lady’s concerns and utterly unaware of the pointed gaze directed her way.
“I am certain I could not guess why that might be, but I hope that it will pass soon. Are you certain he will be at the symphony tonight?” she asked in her calmest voice, which utterly contradicted the racing of her heart.
“Indeed I am. He promised me that he would be my escort. Such a fine, devoted young man, my nephew. Did your husband care for music at all?”
Husband? Maggie was co
nfused a moment, having forgotten all about her late imaginary spouse in the wake of the whole strange situation with Hart. She felt like a harp string wound too tightly.
“My husband?” she echoed absently.
The older woman nodded, waiting for her reply.
“Oh – yes. He liked it very much. Though I don’t think he ever had the privilege of hearing Sir Lucian’s work…”
She hastily joined Cecile in gazing out of the window at the Comedie Française, which was surrounded by carriages and lit up in a way that managed to make the building look even more majestic.
*
Maggie peered anxiously out of the box they had taken for the performance.
Hart was still nowhere to be seen.
She tried to distract herself by looking for Sir Lucian, but he had yet to make his entrance. Maggie was sorry that she had been unable to speak to him before the performance. She had glimpsed him only briefly on her way to the box, when he had been surrounded by a bevy of fashionables and admirers.
In the stalls, the audience buzzed excitedly. Everyone had heard of Sir Lucian’s near-disaster and Miss Cartwell’s unexpected rescue.
Maggie still could not believe that this was to be her last night in Paris. It seemed as though only yesterday she had first set foot in this marvellous city. And it also felt as though she had lived here all her life.
She wondered how she could ever again fit into the life she’d had at Chenefelt Park. She had grown so far beyond reach of it that she simply could not fathom the thought of taking it up again.
Hart arrived just as the lights were being dimmed and the last stragglers took their seats. He smiled at his aunt and gave Maggie and Cecile identical, polite greetings before taking his chair.
If the countess thought it odd that he knew the baroness’s reclusive cousin, she did not say so.
Despite his cool behaviour, Maggie could feel his gaze on the back of her neck, burning through her skin and making her pulse race. Did he think that she would leap to her feet and run away from him, despite giving him her word of honour?
The thought made her angry.
She wished that Frederick were there – her bother, for all his teasing, had always acted as a buffer between them.
Lady Adventuress 02 - The Education of Lord Hartley Page 15