SoundsofLove

by Marilyn Kelly

  “Waldemere?” Cathryn echoed. “Yes, he said he would help me, if ever I needed anything. He knew Geoffrey quite well.”

  “Does every member need a major literary accomplishment to be considered?” Rune asked.

  Julian nodded, but his eyes were soaking in the sight of his lady so consumed with happiness.

  “What was your contribution to philology?” Rune pressed.

  “I translated the surviving works of Aristophanes.”

  “The Greek playwright?”

  Julian nodded.

  “When did you do that?” Cathryn asked.

  “After my grand tour, I inherited Lindenhorn, which has two thousand acres. I became a gentleman farmer for several years—I still return to help with the planting and harvest. My evenings were often free.”

  “And here I thought you spent all your time chasing skirts.” Cathryn laughed lightly, and Julian wished to hear the sound as often as possible.

  “We could read them together.” He glanced at the other couple. “Aristophanes’ comedy is still very apropos. It would make for a lively evening.”

  “Unlike the Digenis,” Violet muttered and Julian’s head snapped around.

  “You’ve read the Digenis Acritas aloud?”

  “Cathryn and Geoffrey did.” Violet waved her hand. “It was not a lively evening.”

  Cat flushed. “I’m sorry, Vi. We had already begun when you came to us.”

  Julian glanced at Rune and saw that he shared his astonishment. Both men shrugged as Julian asked, “Which translation?”

  “Oh, no, we weren’t translating it. We were reading it aloud, in Greek.”

  Violet made a face. “I nearly jumped out the window of their parlor.” She turned to Rune. “Do you speak Greek?”

  “I can read it, a bit.” He shook his head and stared at Cathryn. “You speak Byzantine and ancient Greek?”

  “My father is a Greek scholar, as was my husband.” She said it calmly, as if that explained her astonishing accomplishment, and she failed to mention the more obscure dialects she had obviously mastered. “I meant to ask you, Julian, which translation do you have at the copy maker’s?”

  “It’s only a decoy, truly.” He flushed at having to admit his meager effort. “I wrote to my brother-in-law, Wallace Garretson, at Cambridge. He sent what little he had, and Giles dug out my old school essays from Eton and Trinity on the Acritic songs.” He wished this were more impressive. “I pieced together about fifty pages the best I could and asked the copy fellow to duplicate it eight times in one text, so it will be about the right length.” He shrugged. “I only meant to have something to show, in case we needed a document to destroy.”

  “That’s brilliant,” said Cathryn as she leaned over to kiss his cheek. “Very clever indeed.”

  Her sincere appreciation melted the worst of his tensions. “I didn’t know you spoke Byzantine Greek, or I would have shown it to you before I sent it off.” He made a mental note not to underestimate her again. She proved more remarkable with each encounter.

  “I’m certain it will be perfect as a prop, should we need one.”

  “It won’t fool the duke.”

  “Not for long, but we must use our wits, my lord, now that we are engaged with these wily men.” Cathryn echoed Fiona’s words and Julian laughed.

  “Engaged, betrothed, fiancée, marriage,” Violet muttered. Julian shot her a quizzical look. “Words, my lord. I collect groups of words, it’s how I devise my puzzles.”

  Cathryn laughed again. “You should see our word lists.” She faced Rune. “Perhaps you could publish a book of them, as a writer’s aid.”

  Violet nodded. “We have lists of colors, smells, tastes, flowers, and emotions.”

  Cathryn took up the refrain. “Time, food, gender, travel, and common foreign phrases.” She laughed. “Even words coined by Shakespeare.” She winked at Julian and his heart swelled with pride. “For four years, we have been scouring our dictionaries for additions.” Relief flooded him when she did not tell the story of challenging him at the Philological Society meeting.

  “I think all writers would want such a reference book,” Rune said, and everyone agreed.

  “Cat’s been working on interjections and onomatopoeias,” Violet added. “I brought your journal.”

  “No, Violet, please,” Cathryn protested. “It’s been weeks and I don’t like showing my work without reviewing it first.”

  “I’d like to see it,” Julian said with a gentle squeeze of her hand. “Show me, please.”

  Cathryn softened beneath his touch. “As you wish.”

  He’d been wrong about his desire being sated, because hearing her say those words made his cock swell.

  Violet retrieved a green leather book from her reticule and handed it to Julian. He opened it to Cathryn’s neat cursive and glanced at the first few entries.

  Ah interjection used to communicate relief, delight, regret, or contempt

  Aha interjection used to articulate triumph, surprise, or derision

  Ahem clearing one's throat

  Ahoy interjection used in hailing a ship or sailor

  “Very clever, Cathryn. I imagine novelists will be particularly interested in this reference.”

  She had a page for each letter of the alphabet and he flipped to the middle to look at M.

  Moan a long low inarticulate murmur

  Mum not wanting to speak

  Mumble to speak indistinctly

  Munch to chew steadily

  Murmur subdued continuous sound

  Mutter to speak almost inaudibly with closed lips

  Murr a new word to describe the sound ‘mmm’

  “I prefer your definition of murmur,” he said as he glanced down the list.

  “Yes, Johnson’s was ‘to grumble, mutter, complain,’” she said. “I prefer a more neutral accounting.”

  “Well done, love.” He scanned the other pages and realized this had taken her many hours.

  “You can see where your first gift was especially appropriate,” Violet added. “For two women who love words as we do.”

  “Mrs. Burns will be happy to see murr added to your list,” he said idly as he continued to enjoy her choices. Something struck him as odd and he glanced at Cathryn. “When did you last work on this?”

  “I’m not certain.” She reached out for the book.

  Did he sense defensiveness? “You said it had been weeks.”

  “We’ve all been terribly busy,” offered Violet. “I’m certain it’s been weeks.”

  His ears pricked. Something smelled rotten here. “You didn’t learn of Mrs. Burns’ request until the 24th.”

  “Mrs. Burns’ letters have been coming for months,” said Violet offhandedly.

  “You correspond with Melina Burns?” The deception shook him to the core, and now Cathryn avoided his eyes. This was no trivial oversight. There had been ample opportunity to mention this previously.

  Violet gave Cathryn a remorseful look, which was returned with obvious discomfort. Julian’s ire rose several degrees. He looked a fool to be so deceived, and he hated looking the fool.

  Cathryn took a deep breath before she responded. “Yes, she first wrote me last spring, when her letters to you went unanswered. I’m sorry for the oversight. I meant to tell you sooner, but the subject never came up.”

  That was a load of horse manure. She had withheld this important information on purpose, and he needed to let her know that was unacceptable.

  Before he could speak, her eyes narrowed and she faced him. “Why did you hold on to her correspondence until nearly October?”

  He tilted his head, as if to deflect the remark. “Touché.” Why had he delayed bringing Melina’s request to the society? Like Fiona, she made his blood boil—for a variety of reasons he preferred to ignore.

  He reached for his glass and took a drink of sherry before he confessed the simple source of his discomfort, “I believe Melina Burns is Fiona’s lover.”

&
nbsp; Cathryn and Violet both gasped, and Rune’s jaw slackened. Julian’s jealousy had survived two decades intact. Being beaten to Fiona’s affections by a woman had emotionally devastated him for years, and each encounter with his beautiful opponent brought guaranteed new humiliation.

  “My interactions with her have been…unusual. She is…outrageous, much like Fiona.” The room was still as he took another drink, wishing he could shift the conversation in another direction, wishing he had not disclosed his deepest wound, wishing yet again that he had never been bested by such a woman.

  Cathryn touched his arm and reminded him that these people knew little of his history. “You said she is Fiona’s lover. Do they still…?”

  He had no proof, but the facts were clear. “Fiona visits her a few times per year, without fail, and rarely brings my father. They bathe together.” The Gorham baths had played a part in his fantasies for as long as he could remember.

  “Dear heavens,” cried Violet. “You said her misdeeds were behind her.”

  He didn’t like Violet’s outbursts, much preferring Cathryn’s calm demeanor. “I said she has no interest in molesting children, and what she does in her distant junkets is no reflection on her capacity for charitable acts.”

  Cathryn intervened. “I agree with Julian. Her swordplay lessons to the children very possibly saved my life.”

  All thoughts of deception and humiliation vanished as he faced her, overcome with gratitude for her lovely presence when she’d been nearly taken from him. “I look forward to thanking the children.”

  Her bright smile dispelled the dark clouds that had collected over his head. “I understand you’ve been sending new gifts every hour.”

  He wanted to make her proud, and he and Millman had enjoyed the task. He returned her smile and his sense of calm reappeared. “Not every hour, and only sensible items.”

  “Well, in two days we’ll attend their performance at the poorhouse, and then we’re off to Gorham House.” Cathryn shook her head slightly. “From poverty to decadence—it will be quite a hectic day.”

  “Master Aubrey has turned her classes over to her assistants for the next week,” said Rune. “Is she going with you?”

  Julian shrugged, but the thought turned his stomach. Cathryn and Fiona were becoming too friendly, bonded by violent encounters and heartening displays of support. Fiona knew him too well; he wasn’t certain he wanted Cathryn wielding the same power quite so soon.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Julian’s grim recollection of the dilapidated poorhouse was wiped clean the moment he saw the new windows and fresh paint on the renovated building. With a swell of pride, he squeezed Cathryn’s hand. “Well, this is more the thing, isn’t it?”

  “It’s a vast improvement, Julian. You’ve done a great service to these people.”

  Rune added from across the carriage, “All the city’s poorhouses are reporting massive donations following your accounting, Cathryn. It took courage to speak out as you did, but witness all the good it’s done.”

  “Thank you, Rune. I believe Julian and I are an excellent team,” she responded with a charming smile.

  Julian wanted to sweep her away and show her exactly how good they could be together. He was falling in love with her, and he could barely contain his emotions. Soon he would tell her, and complete their bond. He only need endure an hour of the children’s gratitude before he could rush Cathryn away to Gorham House to plumb delectable intimacies in decadent depth.

  His side barely pained him as he stepped out of the carriage, and he was grateful again for the shallowness of the wound. Reaching up to help Cathryn down the steps, he returned her broad smile. “You look especially beautiful this morning.”

  “You bring out the beauty in me, my lord.” She leaned close to him as they waited for Violet and Darbonne to exit the coach.

  “Are you suggesting I look beastly?” he joked.

  “Lady Sibley, Mrs. Pickering, what a pleasure to see you.” A tall, thin older woman in the drabbest dress Julian had ever seen charged towards them and pumped Cathryn’s hand vigorously, then moved on to Violet.

  “Mrs. Fry, may I present Lord Julian Ahlquist, Earl of Trenchford.”

  The dowdy matron turned and grasped Julian’s hand with a steely grip. Her pale blue eyes clouded as she spoke with a rush of emotion that touched his heart. “My lord, I am at a loss to express the depth of my gratitude.” She stared at their clasped hands and seemed to realize her breach of etiquette, because she released him and dropped into a deep curtsy. “My lord, thank you for all you have done.”

  “Please, Mrs. Fry, I am the indebted one—your children saved my future countess.” He helped her rise. “I suggest we call our tallies even and save our thanks for the one true Lord.”

  “Amen, Lord Ahlquist, but I fear today you will be overrun by appreciation.” She gave him a dingy smile. “I will try to contain myself, but I can’t speak for the others.”

  She turned to Rune, and Cathryn finished the introductions, “And this is our dear friend, Mr. Rune Darbonne.”

  Mrs. Fry extended her hand. “Mr. Darbonne, a joy to meet you. Thanks to you, as well. Mrs. Aubrey said you provided the horses for today’s performances.”

  “At her suggestion, yes.” The tall man grinned. “It’s nothing, really.”

  “Horses?” Julian tucked Cathryn’s hand into his arm and followed the matron to the front entrance.

  “I have no idea.” Cathryn shrugged ignorance as she greeted the boys holding the doors. “Good morning, Henry and Andrew. You both look very fine today.”

  Julian nodded his acknowledgement to the lads, but his attention was drawn to the interior, where a row of grinning children lined each wall. Boys and girls alike each held a wooden sword tip to the ground, and when the visitors crossed the threshold, the swords rose in a clattering salute and formed an honor guard for Julian and his party to pass between.

  The hardness in his heart over the events of the past days softened as he escorted Cathryn through the stand of swords and accepted thanks from each child. They all appeared clean and happy, although many bore scars of past abuse or neglect.

  Mrs. Fry urged the four visitors into the large common room, which had been transformed into a theatre of sorts. Dining tables lined the walls, with plain wooden benches placed on top of them in a long row. A sturdy box acted as the step up to the tabletop, and he noted that Cathryn seemed very accustomed to such lack of refinement. He settled into the seat of honor and determined to enjoy himself. After all, he wasn’t often lauded, and his glorious ladylove was by his side.

  A parade of children approached and he roared with laughter. Each rode a fine stick horse with red, blue or white cloth streamers. “I see the cavalry has arrived,” he said to Cathryn and the others. He noticed Violet holding Darbonne’s arm and wished Cathryn closer.

  As if reading his thoughts, she scooted slightly and leaned into him. “I believe the residents are being presented to you.”

  A young man in a tattered suit stepped forward and bowed before he introduced himself. “Lord Ahlquist, I’m James Connolly, father to Jimmy.”

  Cathryn whispered, “Jimmy’s the one who saved me.”

  Julian’s throat tightened at her words, and he took a deep breath to steady himself. He was not here to relive his failure to protect her, he was here to honor those who had done his job for him. “Pleased to meet you, sir. Where’s your son?”

  Connolly stood tall and proud. “He’s Wellington today, my lord. Mrs. Aubrey has him in the back.”

  “Wellington? Ah yes, Waterloo is today’s reenactment.”

  “Yes, my lord. Before we begin, my lord, we have a small gift for you and Mr. Darbonne.”

  Two teen-aged girls came forward bearing black bicornes with large white plumes. Julian removed his top hat and set it by his chair, replacing it with the bicorne and feeling instantly ready for a bit of fun.

  “A splendid gift, Mr. Connolly.”

  Th
e Irishman looked pleased by the response and accepted Darbonne’s thanks before he said, “Thank you, my lord. I should like to introduce some of our residents to you, if you please.”

  One by one, hundreds of poorhouse inhabitants filed passed and bowed or curtsied, as Connolly introduced them by their full names. Most thanked him for some personal kindness his acts had brought to them—a wool blanket that soothed a sore shoulder, a dry bed after a night of rain, the rats gone from the pantry, the full belly, the warm feet, the beautiful roses.

  He had always been generous, but he had never seen the face of his charity. Now that the reality of their circumstances were hitting him, he vowed to do more. All told, he’d invested less here than a fine racehorse would cost. Cathryn would be an excellent countess for a man of his charitable inclinations, and he found himself watching her as much as he did the crowd. She knew many of the residents and spoke lovingly to each. He said primarily, “you’re welcome” and “it was my pleasure”. The youngest children and the cripples were the most heartrending, but he managed to get through the procession without an embarrassing display of emotion.

  Cathryn and Violet fared less well and both soaked two handkerchiefs during the half hour. A trumpet sounded the call to battle and the room quieted. That was Wellington’s cue, and he strode onto the battlefield on his cockhorse and reared back the chestnut head. Young Jimmy Connolly played Wellington with all the seriousness of a Shakespearian actor as he handled his wooden steed. “Whoa, Copenhagen, we have a long day ahead. We have a Corsican outlaw to outwit, and we will do it here, at Waterloo.”

  A red-coated lad came forward and stood in front of the sign Mont St Jean, facing Wellington.

  Cathryn whispered, “Tommy led the charge against Hedges.”

  Julian was amazed that such a small boy could have defeated the baron, when Julian had failed twice. It was a humbling moment.

  Wellington spoke in a loud clear voice. “Ah, Lord Uxbridge. Even though you stole my brother’s wife to replace your own, we must each do our duty in this campaign against the outlaw Bonaparte. I give you my right flank to oversee.” Wellington turned his backside on Uxbridge and walked away, causing Julian to wonder if the double entendre was deliberate. With Fiona as playwright, the biting humor was likely intentional. The crowd twittered in amusement, and he joined them. Wellington continued to speak as he moved off stage. “Come, tonight we must dance at the Duchess of Richmond's ball and calm the fair citizens of Brussels. Later we will defeat the small man.”