Especially after he had practically goaded her with his words. I would never allow a woman to play a violin in one of my concerts, for it would be most unseemly. You would do better to attempt to master the harp or pianoforte.
“I am not surprised by that information.” He cleared his throat. “I would be most interested in hearing more about your violin.”
She belatedly remembered that antagonizing him was hardly the way to solicit his help. “It was a gift from a good friend, Lady Arkright, who died three years ago.” What a paltry description for their relationship—Calandra had been the mother she’d never known.
“It belonged to her husband?”
The question irritated her. “No, it was hers. She was trained to play many instruments at the orphanage in Venice where she grew up, the Ospedale della Pietà.”
Lord Dommick’s brows rose. “I have heard of that place.”
“It is most famous for training female musicians. Calandra—Lady Arkright—trained under Vivaldi himself.”
She had his attention now. “Lady Arkright taught you to play?” he asked.
“Violin, pianoforte, and harp, although she was most gifted in violin. She always lamented that it was socially acceptable for women to play the violin on the continent but not in England.”
“How did she acquire the violin?”
“Calandra met her husband, Sir William, in Italy. On their wedding journey, he bought the violin from a peddler in Milan.”
“A peddler?” Lord Dommick looked pained.
“This is why I need help. If it were a simple matter, I could have made inquiries myself.”
“Lady Whittlesby mentioned you thought someone tried to take your violin?”
“A man stopped me on the street and asked if I would sell my violin. I refused, but I was concerned because there is no reason for anyone to know the particular violin I own. I have never played it in public, not even for my relatives, and I practice in private. A few days later my room was torn apart by someone searching for something.”
“Was anyone injured? Anything taken?”
“No one was injured, although we were shaken since it occurred while my aunt’s niece, the cook, and the housekeeper were all in the kitchen. Nothing was taken.” Alethea again thanked the shade of Sir William for crafting such a clever hiding place for it.
“You are certain it was the violin they were looking for?”
“What else could it be? None of my jewels were taken.” She did not have many, since Wilfred’s wife, Mona, had claimed most of Alethea’s mother’s jewelry and Alethea’s father had never given her gifts, but she did have a fine pearl necklace that Calandra had given to her for her season, which had been at the top of her jewelry case.
“Perhaps the thief was interrupted?”
Alethea stopped and turned to face him. She pitched her voice low, but she said firmly, “Lord Dommick, let us speak plainly. It appears you do not believe me when I say someone wants to steal my violin. And if you doubt me, how can you help me?”
Irritation flashed across his face, quickly masked by politeness. “I apologize if I have made you feel that I am not taking your fears seriously, my lady.”
She supposed she could not completely fault him for being irritated—she had verbally challenged him twice now. She should know by now that men did not take kindly to women with opinions, especially if they were different from their own. She absently rubbed the last two knuckles of her left hand.
And the truth was that she needed his help, despite his archaic thoughts about women playing violins and his tendency like others of his sex to be dismissive of women, specifically her. “We should agree upon a time when you will call to see the violin.”
“Perhaps next week—”
“I doubt my aunt’s temper would survive another intruder in her home. Are you available tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow?” He stared at her for a long moment before sighing. “Yes, I can call in the afternoon.”
“Excellent. We are at number six, Queen Square.”
He nodded and was silent as he walked her back to her aunt, but the stiff set of his head seemed to indicate he was annoyed at the disruption to his schedule. Lady Whittlesby had thankfully left her aunt. Lord Dommick bowed before marching away.
Alethea sat next to her aunt. The ballroom was hot, for there seemed to be more people than usual attending tonight. Or perhaps she was still upset from her encounter with Lord Dommick.
“What did he say to you when you first met him?” Aunt Ebena asked with a stern look in her eye. “And do not attempt to deceive me. I know something happened momentous on your part, although probably not on his.”
Aunt Ebena had a way of aiming for the truth in such a way that it robbed Alethea of any of her dignity. “He treated me as I was then, a silly girl in her first season.”
“Lord Dommick does not have a reputation for cruel wit. I cannot believe he would slice you to ribbons simply because you were being silly.”
“I was silly. It was the end of his concert, the largest that the Quartet had given that season. They were wildly popular, and I was not the first nor the last to speak to him after it ended. I was enthusiastic in my praise of the violin concerto he had composed, and then I mentioned that I played the violin. He expressed the opinion that it was unfeminine for a woman to play the instrument.”
“It is unfeminine. The use of your arms is quite excessive.”
Alethea remained silent. She had already borne the brunt of Lord Dommick’s disapproval and did not intend to also allow her aunt the pleasure of it.
“I would wager,” Aunt Ebena said, “that after that encounter, you returned home from London and worked even harder to master your violin over your other instruments.”
Alethea managed to reply in a conversational tone. “I enjoy the violin very much. And Lady Arkright favoured it as an instrument as well.”
“But you would perhaps have worked harder at the more socially acceptable instruments had it not been for Lord Dommick. Am I correct?”
“Your friends do not complain when they ask me to play the pianoforte or the harp at their evening gatherings.”
“I am not denying your talent. You are better than some of the professional musicians I have heard, which forces me to conclude that you are somewhat gifted.”
It seemed Aunt Ebena could never deliver a compliment without trying to spoil it at the same time. But her faint praise made Alethea smile to herself, although she didn’t look at her aunt.
Aunt Ebena nodded. “But now I understand your reaction to Lord Dommick.”
And his reaction to her had been supremely uninterested, which may have been why she’d spoken so bluntly. She did not care to be the centre of attention, but she also did not appreciate being overlooked.
She had not truly challenged herself on her violin since Calandra died, but perhaps now was the time to push herself to her limits, especially with her newly healed left hand. She did not know how she would accomplish it, but she would find a way to acquire a copy of Lord Dommick’s latest composition and learn to play it herself, as well as he did.
He would not overlook her then.
CHAPTER FOUR
That ugly prickle began along the back of her shoulders just as Alethea turned onto Milsom Street.
She took a deep breath, then continued on her way, head erect and eyes forward. She stopped at a print shop with large windows and peered at the reflection in the glass.
The sun was fitful today, peeking out only occasionally from behind heavy grey clouds, so she could not see as clearly as she would have liked. Many people paraded up and down the street, winding in and out of the small shops that lined the road, oblivious to Alethea’s unease. She searched the crowds in the reflection of the glass, but no one looked at her, no one loitered nearby.
What had she expected to see in the reflection? A dark hooded figure staring at her from across the street? She continued down Milsom Street.
She didn’t know what made her look slightly behind her and across the street. It wasn’t a sound, for a carriage was rumbling by and a group of old women chattered in front of her. But she turned and in the brief gap between the horses and the carriage, she saw the same cadaverous man she’d seen in the marketplace, and he was looking directly at her.
This time the prickle was a shiver that shot straight through her spine.
Then the carriage’s movement blocked her view for a few seconds, and when it had passed, the man had disappeared. There were two shop doors nearby where he’d been standing, so perhaps he had ducked inside one of them.
And was watching her, unobserved, from behind the shop windows.
She would not give him the satisfaction. She hurried down the street, out of sight of the two shops, and when she had turned the corner, she immediately entered the shop there, which was a bookshop and stationers.
The cool space smelled of paper and leather and ink. Alethea’s heartbeat slowed at the familiar scents and the soothing ruffling of pages. She made her way to a bookcase near the large bay window and picked a book at random, pretending to read while studying each person who passed the shop outside.
“Alethea, what a happy meeting.”
She started, then turned with real warmth for her sister. After the tension of the last few minutes, her cheeks felt tight as she smiled. “Lucy, happy meeting, indeed.” Lucy tried to back away, but Alethea stepped forward to kiss her cheek.
“You shouldn’t be seen kissing a maid, Alethea.”
“I don’t care what people think, and you certainly don’t dress like a maid.” In fact, she was wearing an amber-coloured dress Alethea had given to her at Christmas that brought out flecks of gold in her dark brown eyes, a slightly lighter shade than Alethea’s. “What are you doing here?”
“Running an errand for Mrs. Ramsland.” Lucy made a small gesture with her arms, full of paper and ink. Then her eyes narrowed as she studied Alethea’s face. “What has upset you?”
“Nothing.”
Lucy glared at her.
Alethea sighed. “It’s silly. I thought I saw that man from the marketplace. The thin one whom I thought was watching me but probably wasn’t,” she added emphatically.
“You saw him on Milsom Street?”
“It was only for a second. He disappeared so perhaps he wasn’t even there.” Alethea glanced outside the shop windows, but the people passing by were few. The tension across her shoulders began to ease.
Lucy’s brows crinkled. “Alethea, this is becoming frightful.”
“Bath isn’t London. It’s entirely possible I could have seen the same man from the marketplace if he lives in Bath. I’m simply nervous after what happened with my room.”
“What happened to your room?” Lucy asked.
Alethea had forgotten that the incident had been after Lucy’s last Sunday visit and before her next one. “Er . . .” Alethea pulled at her earlobe as she frantically thought about how she could tell Lucy the events without causing her to have a fit.
Her sister knew her too well. “Oh, simply tell me, Alethea.”
“Someone went through my room Sunday morning when we were at church.”
Lucy’s mouth opened for several seconds before she remembered to close it. “And after that man at the marketplace and that offensive Mr. Golding . . .”
“I don’t know that they’re connected, but it is a possibility.”
“Did he steal anything?”
“Nothing. Not even jewelry.”
“But Margaret and Mrs. Dodd were in the kitchen.” Lucy shuddered.
“They heard nothing, but it worries me that someone entered the house during the day, no less, while they were there.”
Lucy suddenly looked around. “Alethea, where is your maid?”
“Most of the fashionable set isn’t awake yet to see me maidless.”
“You are too used to country ways. You cannot go unaccompanied, and after the intruder, it would be safer if you had someone with you.”
Alethea had not thought of that. “You are right. I shall take a maid next time.”
“Alethea.” Lucy juggled the paper and ink she held in order to reach out to take her hand. “Is the violin really worth the possible danger to yourself and your family?”
“You want me to simply hand Mr. Golding my violin?”
“Think of Margaret and your aunt.”
Because she’d been left on her own at Trittonstone Park for most of her life, Alethea’s actions had rarely affected others’ safety. The newly realized responsibility seemed odd to her, settling upon her shoulders almost like a physical weight, forcing her to be stronger. Her life was now more than just her own.
But the image of giving her violin to Mr. Golding sent a wave of nausea up from her stomach and she tightened her throat. When she looked at her violin, she remembered the sunroom at Arkright Manor, the way the morning light would caress the wood of the violin almost reverently as Calandra played, her eyes closed in concentration and adoration of the music. The musical pieces would evoke emotions from Alethea like a bouquet of handpicked flowers—the bright joy of a child’s laughter, the cool stillness of the downs at dawn, the warmth and comfort of a crackling fire while rain pelted the windows. Alethea remembered the tenderness in Calandra’s hand on her head as she gave the violin to her, saying, “Now you try it, Alethea.”
Later, when Calandra grew too ill to play, Alethea would play for her in that sunroom, following her mentor’s verbal instructions until she made the music sound almost like tangible emotions. Alethea and Calandra would both be in tears at the end of the piece, and they’d laugh as they reached for their handkerchiefs. “What is music if it does not move you?” Calandra had told her.
Alethea realized she hadn’t played that way in a long time, not since Calandra had died. Now she was reduced to bright pieces on pianofortes at evening parties that most people would talk through rather than listen to. No shared tears, no musical pieces of powerful feeling. Her acquaintances in Bath already considered her an oddity for her intense attention during concerts. They would never understand how a concerto could make her cry. She was reminded that she had no one in her life who understood that deepest part of her, and it made her feel desolate.
She was brought out of her sad memories by the squeeze of Lucy’s fingers on her hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t intend to cause you to miss her again.”
“It’s been years. It shouldn’t still be so painful.”
“It’s because no one else understands you as Lady Arkright did.”
“I can’t sell my violin, Lucy. It would break my heart.” Alethea took a deep breath, feeling a little better now that she had acknowledged that fact aloud. “And I will not let a stranger take this last shred of her memory from me. I will stop them.”
Lucy nodded as she withdrew her hand. “Now, where are you going? I will accompany you and then see you home before I return to Mrs. Ramsland.”
“You oughtn’t do that. You might fall into disfavour with your employer.”
“You are my sister. You’re more important.” The look in Lucy’s eyes was Alethea’s anchor, the one connection in her life that shone brighter than the sun and was stronger than steel.
“I wanted to stop at Porter’s bookshop to see if he had any new music, but that can wait for another day.”
After Lucy paid for her employer’s items, they exited the bookshop. Alethea looked around but didn’t see the cadaverous man, so she breathed deeply of the morning air as the sisters walked slowly toward Queen Square.
“Did Lady Whittlesby give you the name of someone to help you with your violin?” Lucy asked.
Lord Dommick’s lean, handsome face flashed before her eyes. “Yes,” she answered darkly. “He’s calling this afternoon, the arrogant man.”
Lucy looked thoughtful. “You may not realize this, but you only ever spoke of one man with that kind of venom.”
Oh, no.
�
��Let me guess. A nobleman, taller than you, for a change. Dark hair, velvety black eyes—”
“He does not have velvety black eyes. And how would you know?”
“Because that’s how you described him to me eleven years ago.” Lucy grinned at her.
Alethea threw up her hands. “I confess, yes, it’s Lord Dommick.”
“I knew he would stay in Bath, despite your speculations about it after you saw his carriage.”
“He has no reason to winter in a quiet town like Bath when he could be feted in London or attend numerous house parties or just sit and count his violins at his own estate in the country.”
“Did you give him a piece of your mind when you met again?”
“It was at the assembly last night and I properly offended him. Twice.”
“And he’s to help you with your violin?”
“Lady Whittlesby introduced us and dangled her annual concert like a carrot in front of him if he helped me. I could have called him a nincompoop, and he’d have smiled and thanked me.”
“I think you’re disgruntled because you think he wouldn’t be induced to help you without Lady Whittlesby’s interference.”
“Well, he wouldn’t.”
“Perhaps he’s changed.”
“Perhaps he hasn’t,” Alethea muttered. Louder, she said, “I don’t have a choice. I can’t investigate the provenance of the violin on my own—I don’t have the contacts or the resources, and being a woman, I’m less likely to receive answers to any inquiries I send. I need someone to help me. I need Lord Dommick to help me.”
“And you certainly look cheerful about it. Positively delighted.”
Alethea laughed. “I promise to behave when I see him today.”
At that moment, they turned the corner. Alethea happened to look across the street, slightly behind them.
The cadaverous man stood at the corner. Watching her.
She saw him more clearly this time. His skin wasn’t as dirty as it had been at the marketplace, but it still had that wrinkled, leathery texture that made him appear very old. Yet he didn’t hold his bony body like an old man—his limbs were fluid and comfortable as he slumped against the golden stone wall of a building, his clothing a motley of shades of grey. The colours matched his wiry, thinning hair that floated around his wide ears and his grey, almost colourless, eyes.
Prelude for a Lord Page 6