‘Hello, Grace,’ he said. There she was. Not his fantasy Grace nor the virtual Grace of her website. She was real, in a duffle coat and even more beautiful than he remembered.
‘Todd…’ she said, smiling but with worry in her eyes. ‘I do so hope you will forgive me.’
‘Forgive you?’ he said, startled. ‘Whatever for?’
‘Because I haven’t been in touch to thank you.’ She bit her lower lip and held out something in her hand but he didn’t want to take his eyes off hers. ‘I had a concert up in York. I know I could have phoned, but I wanted to come personally. Here,’ she said. ‘I’ve bought you something. Really though, it’s not much of a thank you.’
‘Will you come in?’ said Todd. ‘It’s perishing out here and I could do with some coffee.’ He turned to his front door, without taking whatever it was she held out. She might go away if he did and he so didn’t want her to.
‘Oh, yes please,’ she said as if it was exactly what she wanted.
This time the raw energy of hope wouldn’t be denied. Yes, he’d seen loss and he’d used its black shadow to cocoon him from the worst that war could sling in his direction, but in this bright moment he saw he owed his lost friends and he owed his child: he must make an effort.
‘Ian not with you?’ he asked.
She looked confused. ‘Ian?’
‘Yes…at the hospital, Ian.’
‘Oh, that Ian,’ she said. ‘He was my deputy examiner. I had to give him the results.’
He ushered her into the sitting room and busied himself with the cups, coffee and kettle to avoid singing the Hallelujah chorus out loud.
From the next room came the sound of his piano like he’d never heard it before. Still the same old clanking but notes trapezed from bottom to top then…silence.
‘Don’t stop,’ he yelled.
‘I only wanted to see what it was like.’ Grace was standing at the door. ‘I see you have one already,’ she said, holding the concert ticket. Then she held up another. ‘Not much of a thank you then, is it? Can I get you something else?’
He handed her a mug of coffee. ‘It’s enough that you’re here. And –’ he said feeling a bit light-headed ‘ –you can tell me why someone who’s performing solo concerts needs to spend time examining the likes of me.’
As soon as he said it, he realised his gaff.
‘Well…’ said Grace, her eyes twinkling. ‘What can I say?’ His embarrassment set them both giggling like children. ‘It’s steady money,’ she went on. ‘There aren’t many musicians who make money actually doing it.’
It was his turn to pretend shock.
‘Stop it,’ she said, amidst more laughing and with a feeble wag of her finger. She put the tickets on the worktop. ‘I’m very flattered that you have one already. Thank you.’
‘Em got it for me after I told her what had happened.’
‘I wonder if you told her what a hero you were.’
‘I was hardly Superman.’
‘You were to me,’ she said.
‘Anyone would have done –’
‘No, no,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘Not anyone. You.’ Why was he holding the kettle and not her?
‘Did you retake?’ she went on. ‘I was wondering how you got on.’
‘I nearly did but…’ He shook his head, feeling sheepish.
‘Oh no,’ she said, and the two little dents he remembered reappeared on her forehead. ‘But you were doing so well!’
‘You’re only saying that,’ he said, handing her a mug. ‘Besides, I failed the scales.’
‘How do you…’ Her eyes widened then she laughed. ‘You bad man! You peeked.’
‘Of course, I did. Wouldn’t you? Left alone with temptation?’
She tapped a finger on her lips. ‘Hmm, yes, probably. But I’m sure you would have passed. You were getting better and better. That little lullaby was very persuasive.’
Todd, mouth full of coffee, nearly choked. ‘Persuasive!’ So that’s it. Not ‘peculiar’ then.’
‘No,’ she said, bewildered. ‘Definitely not. It was lovely. Very persuasive.’
‘Really?’ He moved towards her, expecting she might retreat at any moment.
‘Yes,’ she said, looking directly up at him. ‘In fact, I thought you were very persuasive in almost every respect.’
‘Only almost?’ he said.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘But I could be convinced.’
Without taking his eyes from her, he took her mug from her hand and set it down on the worktop.
‘Like this?’ he said, as his lips touched hers.
‘Not quite,’ she said. ‘Would you like to try again?’
‘I think I might need to practise.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Practice makes…’
He kissed her again. What better moment to begin?
Minuet – A Georgian Romance
Sarah Mallory
Sarah Mallory
SARAH MALLORY was born in the West Country and grew up with a love of reading and history. Since her first book in 1983 she has had over twenty historical romantic novels published. Writing as Melinda Hammond, she won the Singletitles.com Reviewers’ Award in 2005 for Dance for a Diamond and her novel Gentlemen in Question was a Historical Novel Society Editors’ Choice in 2006.
She is now concentrating on writing her romantic historical adventures for Harlequin Mills & Boon and won the Rona Rose Award from the Romantic Novelists’ Association in 2012 and 2013.
Minuet – A Georgian Romance
‘You want me to do what?’
‘Hell, Marcus, it’s not such a big thing I’m asking.’
‘You want me to go to Bath and dance attendance on your sister.’ Marcus, Lord Geringham, shook his head. ‘I am sorry, James, we may be lifelong friends, but that is too much to ask. I came to Wiltshire to get away from society.’
‘Only because London was too hot for you. You almost killed your man in that last duel.’
‘No, no, I merely pinked him. He forced the quarrel on me. The lovely Bella had been sharing her favours between the two of us. I was quite prepared to retire gracefully, but he wouldn’t believe it, insisted upon meeting me.’
James grinned. ‘If you will indulge in wild flirtations with expensive lightskirts…’
‘Safer than dallying with débutantes on the look-out for a husband,’ said Marcus grimly. ‘Which is why I have no intention of going to Bath. Now, drink your brandy and change the subject, or I shall regret inviting you to dine with me.’
‘You didn’t invite me,’ objected James, a stickler for the truth. ‘I heard you were back at the Hall so I rode over from Kellands to take potluck with you. Just being neighbourly.’
‘Neighbourly my eye! You want my help to marry off your little sister. Admit it.’
‘Oh very well, I did think you might help.’ James glanced around, as if to reassure himself that they were alone in the dining room. ‘You know we had to put off Livvie’s presentation when Papa died so suddenly. Well, she’s one-and-twenty now and Mama is worried that she’ll become an old maid. Set her heart on Olivia marrying Sir Jolyon Fawcett, but he is dithering about it. Well, you know Fawcett, if he thinks you are interested…’
‘But I’m not.’
‘No, no, of course not, but you can pretend. It’s not as if you don’t know Livvie.’
‘That’s the problem,’ said Marcus. ‘I’m not sure I can be convincing as a suitor for a girl I’ve known all my life, especially your little sister. She was a hoyden.’
James reached across for the decanter.
‘She wasn’t always a nuisance. Remember when she took the blame for breaking the orangery window, when Papa had said he would thrash us if we caused any more damage that holiday? And then the night she waited up to let us in, after we had been on a spree in Marlborough –’
‘All right, I admit she could be helpful.’ Marcus grinned suddenly. ‘Remember when your father caught her with his Manton pistols?�
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‘Lord, yes. He was as mad as fire to think she had taken them without permission.’
‘And, in fact, you and I had been looking at ’em and she was trying to put them back.’
‘Loyal little thing,’ said James. ‘She would have taken a beating if we hadn’t owned up.’ He studied his nails. ‘That’s why I thought you might help her out.’
Marcus regarded his friend across the table, his eyes half-closed. He exhaled loudly.
‘Oh very well, I will go to Bath.’
‘Capital!’ cried James. ‘I knew we could rely upon you!’
‘I make no promises. I can’t see myself convincing Fawcett that my interest is genuine,’ said Marcus. ‘Last time I saw Olivia she was a grubby brat.’
James laughed.
‘That was more than seven years ago, Marcus. She’s changed a bit since then.’
Marcus recalled his friend’s words as he stood in the New Rooms, watching Miss Olivia Canning dancing with Sir Jolyon Fawcett. The sturdy girl he remembered had blossomed into a slender young lady and the wild curls were tamed into becoming ringlets that bobbed around her head as she moved. The brilliantly coloured flowers on her tabby silk gown caught the light as the full skirts swayed and billowed with the movement of the dance. To his experienced eye she was not the most beautiful woman in the room –there was at least one ripe brunette far more to his taste –but she was a graceful dancer and when her partner led her off the floor the delicate flush mantling her cheek made her look quite pretty. Marcus watched with no little satisfaction as the casual, almost indifferent glance she first gave him deepened into recognition.
Olivia’s heart gave a little skip. She had not seen Marcus for years –since he was eighteen –but she had followed his career with interest. He had gained a reputation as a wicked flirt but any comfort she drew from his continued bachelorhood was destroyed by the knowledge that he could have his pick of the most beautiful women of the ton. He would never be interested in little Olivia Canning. Still, he had come to Bath, so she was thankful for that.
She said, in her best society manner, ‘Lord Geringham, how delightful to find you here!’
His eyes glinted as if he was about to tease her, but instead took her hand and bowed over it before straightening to greet her companion.
There could be no greater contrast. Sir Jolyon with his powdered wig and heavily embroidered coat was the epitome of the old style, while Marcus favoured a plainer coat and wore his brown hair tied back with a simple ribbon. Also, Sir Jolyon’s narrow shoulders did not show to advantage next to Marcus’s athletic form, enhanced by the superbly tailored coat and tight knee breeches. Olivia sighed. She must be practical: Sir Jolyon was an excellent match and Lord Geringham was not in the market for a wife. However, he was here now and she would make use of him if she could.
‘If you are not engaged, Miss Canning,’ said Marcus, ‘I would be honoured if you would stand up with me.’
‘I would delighted to dance the next country dance with you, my lord.’ She heard a murmur of disapproval and swept an innocent glance over Sir Jolyon. ‘Did you say something, sir?’
‘I rather expected you to dance with me.’ Fawcett’s tone bordered on a whine, like a child denied a treat.
Olivia gave him a beaming smile.
‘What a pity you did not ask me sooner. Look, Miss Appleton is free, I am sure she would be delighted to stand up with you.’
Thus dismissed he walked away and Olivia turned to Marcus, smiling as she placed her fingers on his arm.
‘James told me you were coming,’ she confided, as they waited for the music to begin. ‘I refused to believe it until I saw you for myself. Have you seen Mama?’
‘Not yet. I thought it best to claim you for a dance first.’
‘Excellent, this is exactly what I need from you.’
His eyes narrowed.
‘Yes, I guessed this idea was yours. How did you know I would be in Wiltshire?’
‘Mama takes the London papers.’
‘And?’ he raised one enquiring brow as he led her down the line. She said nothing until they were close enough for her words to be heard by him alone.
‘It was in the society pages: “Lord G—was forced to fly the capital after wounding his man in a duel.” It was over a woman, I suppose?’
‘That is none of your business,’ he retorted, startled by her candour.
‘No, of course not. I beg your pardon.’
She looked so downcast that he squeezed her fingers, smiling to show he was not angry with her, and they finished the dance in perfect harmony.
He led her to the tea room, where Mrs Canning was waiting for them. She greeted Marcus with all the lack of ceremony of an old family friend.
‘My dear boy I never thought to see you in Bath. What brings you here?’
Olivia’s fingers pinched his arm.
‘Oh, I was passing and heard you were here, ma’am.’ The years slid away. He was a schoolboy again, spending time with his best friend’s family, laughing and joking with them. He had forgotten what easy company they could be: Mrs Canning was so jovial and Olivia was no simpering miss, wishing to please him at all costs. She had opinions of her own and was not afraid to air them. By the time he escorted her back to the ballroom they were on the easiest of terms.
Marcus relinquished her to her next partner and would have made his way to the benches but the Master of Ceremonies had other ideas. He was partnered with a young lady who was too shy to do more than blush and giggle when he led her out. Marcus pressed his lips together. Why the devil had he allowed James to persuade him into this? The ballroom was crowded and overheated, as bad as ever he remembered it. By the end of that dance Marcus had recalled every reason why he disliked Bath, and as soon as he could he sought out Olivia, determined to quit the place with all speed.
‘You do not need my help, brat,’ he said, leading her to a quieter corner where they were not overheard. ‘There are any number of gentlemen here only too willing to flirt with a pretty young woman.’
She blushed rosily. ‘Do you really think I am pretty?’
He passed a knowledgeable eye over her.
‘Yes, you are well enough. Your figure is good, your features regular and there is nothing to disgust one in your manners.’
She dropped him a curtsey. ‘La, thank you, kind sir!’
‘Well, what do you expect from me? Surely you don’t want flattery.’
‘Of course not, but I do want you to help me.’
‘I have just told you, Livvie, you do not need my help.’
‘Oh but I do,’ she said, hands clasped and pressed to her bosom. ‘I want to make Sir Jolyon jealous, so that he will offer for me.’
‘And you know how to do it.’
She looked away, her cheeks flaming. ‘Whenever I try to f-flirt with any of the other gentlemen they think I am serious, and, and then they want to, to squeeze and fondle me.’
‘Damn it all, Livvie, you mustn’t let them do that or you will soon find yourself in the suds.’ He frowned. ‘But are you sure you want Fawcett? I would have thought you could do much better for yourself.’
Her shoulders lifted a fraction and his eyes were drawn to the fine line of her collarbone and the creamy skin of her décolletage.
‘He is very rich, which Papa wants. He is also well-bred, which suits Mama.’
‘But do you love him, brat?’
She looked away.
‘Mama says that will come, once we are married.’
‘I am sure it will.’ He paused, suddenly uncomfortable. ‘I wish you every success, Olivia, but you can manage this without me.’
‘Please, Marcus.’
He shook his head. ‘No, my mind is made up. I leave Bath in the morning.’
She said quietly, ‘So be it.’
She was staring down at her hands. They were folded in her lap, the knuckles gleaming with the pressure of her grip. Most women of his acquaintance would have tri
ed to cajole him into aiding them. They would have argued, resorted to tears. Olivia did none of these things. She merely sniffed.
Marcus had a flash of memory. Olivia had fallen out of a tree. He and James had shown her little sympathy, and she had declared there was nothing wrong as they began to walk back to Kellands. Then, just as now, he had heard her sniff. He remembered looking back to see her sitting at the edge of the path, trying hard not to cry as her ankle swelled to twice its normal size. He had taken her on his back and carried her to the house.
Now, just as then, he heaved a sigh.
‘Very well, brat. I will stay and see what I can do for you.’
He was rewarded with a delighted smile, although her eyes were still suspiciously bright.
‘Thank you, Marcus!’
The following week he devoted his energies to escorting Olivia. They were seen together in the Pump Room, shopping in Milsom Street and at the Cotillion Ball, where he watched with wry amusement as the gentlemen queued up to dance with her. Even outside London, it appeared that where the rich and fashionable Lord Geringham showed an interest, other gentlemen were eager to follow. After the first dance Marcus stood aside, noting with satisfaction that Sir Jolyon had to jostle in the crowd of admirers to secure even one country dance. Mrs Canning approached him, smiling.
‘Olivia confessed her plan to me, my lord. Naughty puss, but it is good of you to pay her so much attention. It smooths the path considerably.’
‘But to what end, ma’am?’
‘Why matrimony, of course. What else is there for a young woman?’
He murmured some reply, but as he left the Assembly Rooms that evening he was aware of a nagging dissatisfaction and a wish that there was an alternative for Olivia, rather than marriage to Sir Jolyon Fawcett.
Two days later Marcus took her driving in his curricle. Olivia was wearing a gown of green velvet and a pretty straw bonnet held in place over her curls by a green ribbon, tied in a jaunty bow beneath one ear. She was simply dressed, but as he set the team in motion he complimented her upon her appearance.
Truly, Madly, Deeply Page 33