by Diane Gaston
‘Perhaps they knew your mother well enough to realise she did the right thing,’ he said.
She stiffened. ‘Right for her, perhaps.’
He walked her around the room and introduced her to guests who were not deep in conversation. It seemed as if most of the guests were high in rank or important in government and all were quite uninterested in her.
‘Ah, Vespery is here,’ Rossdale said. ‘Now, he is someone you must meet.’
He brought her over to a rather eccentrically attired gentleman, his neckcloth loosely tied, his waistcoat a bright blue. His black hair was longer than fashionable, very thick and unruly. As were his eyebrows.
The gentleman’s eyes lit up upon seeing Rossdale.
‘Rossdale, my lad,’ he said. ‘Are you in good health?’
‘Very good, Vespery.’ Rossdale turned to Genna. ‘Miss Summerfield, allow me to present Mr Vespery to you.’
‘How do you do?’ Genna extended her hand, over which Vespery blew a kiss.
‘Charmed,’ the man said.
‘Vespery is a friend of the Duchess’s,’ Rossdale explained. ‘He is painting portraits of her and my father.’
‘You are an artist!’ The first true artist she’d ever met.
His eyes assessed her. ‘Are you in need of an artist? Please tell me you wish to have your portrait painted. I would be more than delighted to immortalise you on canvas.’
She laughed. ‘I am not important enough to be immortalised.’
‘Miss Summerfield is an artist herself,’ Rossdale told him.
‘Are you?’ Vespery’s rather remarkable brows rose.
Genna rolled her eyes. ‘An aspiring artist is more precise. But I am very serious about it.’
Vespery leaned forward. ‘Do tell me. What is your medium?’
‘Watercolours,’ she replied. ‘But only because I’ve never been taught how to use anything else.’
At that moment the Duchess of Kessington came up to Rossdale. ‘I need you Rossdale. I must take you away.’
* * *
The Duchess took him out of earshot. ‘What are you about, Ross? Spending all your time with the Summerfield girl? We have other guests.’
‘Is that why you took me away?’ Ross frowned.
‘You know how it will look if you favour one young lady.’ She kept her smile on her face. ‘Especially a Summerfield.’
‘Both Lord Tinmore and her sister left her standing alone,’ he said. ‘There is no one of her acquaintance here. Would it not be rude to leave any guest in that circumstance?’
‘Well, be careful,’ the Duchess said. ‘You would do well to join some of the conversations among the peers tonight. These are very important times, you know. You will learn much from the experience of these gentlemen.’
‘Constance.’ He looked her directly in the eye. ‘Do not tell me what I must do.’
She released his arm. ‘I speak for your father.’
Ross doubted that. Although her father and she were perfect partners, both working hard to further his political power and influence, Ross was reasonably certain his father was motivated by duty to the country and its people. Ross feared the Duchess merely liked power and influence for its own sake.
Ross’s father married Constance when Ross was in school. Her connection was to his father and his role in society, not to Ross. It was fortunate that she had no interest in mothering Ross, because no one could replace the mother he had adored. The duty in which Constance revelled was what had killed his mother.
Ross scanned the room and found his father deep in conversation with his cronies. Tinmore, who looked very gratified, was included.
‘I dare say the Duke has not given me a thought since the party began,’ Ross told her. ‘So do not tell me he has spoken of me to you.’
‘You are impossible.’ She swept away.
Ross glanced towards Genna, who seemed to be delighted to be in conversation with Vespery. As much as he hated to admit it, the Duchess was correct that people would notice if he spent the whole of the evening in Genna’s company. He must make the rounds of the room and speak with other guests before returning to her. That should keep his father’s wife satisfied.
He approached Dell, who still remained at Lady Tinmore’s side, obviously not feeling the same obligation to limit his time with any one person.
‘Is Dell taking good care of you?’ he asked Lady Tinmore.
She blushed, although why she should blush at such a statement he could not guess.
‘He has been very kind,’ she said.
Ross glanced over at her husband, who was listening intently to something Ross’s father was saying. ‘Lord Tinmore seems quite preoccupied.’
‘Indeed,’ she said. ‘I fear Lord Penford took pity on me. I am grateful to him.’
Dell looked like a storm ready to spew lightning and thunder.
‘I know some ladies who might be very interested to speak with you.’ Ross meant the Duchesses Archester and Mannerton.
‘Would you like that?’ Dell asked her.
‘Of course.’ She lowered her lashes. ‘And it would free you from having to act my escort.’
Dell nodded, but Ross could not tell if he wanted to be rid of Lady Tinmore or not. Nor could he tell what Lady Tinmore really wished.
Lady Tinmore took Ross’s arm and Dell followed.
Ross presented Lady Tinmore to the Duchess of Archester and the Duchess of Mannerton. ‘The Duchesses told your sister that they knew your mother,’ he told Lady Tinmore.
‘Come sit with us, dear.’ The Duchess of Archester patted the space next to her on a sofa.
Ross bowed and he and Dell walked away.
‘Tinmore appears to have forgotten his wife,’ Ross remarked.
‘Yes.’ Dell’s voice was low. ‘I thought it my duty to step in.’ He took two glasses of champagne off a tray offered by a passing footman and handed one to Ross. ‘Cousin and all. Why ever did your stepmother invite them?’
‘Do not call her my stepmother.’ Ross had told him this many times. She was his father’s wife, but not any sort of mother to him. ‘She invited them at my suggestion.’
‘Your suggestion?’ Dell gaped at him.
Ross shrugged. ‘I had a desire to see Miss Summerfield again.’
‘Miss Summerfield?’ Dell took a sip of champagne. ‘I am surprised.’
‘Are you?’ Ross responded. ‘She is refreshing.’
Dell’s brows knit. ‘Your father will not approve, you know.’
‘There really is nothing for him to approve or disapprove,’ Ross said. ‘I merely enjoy her company.’
‘Will you court her?’ Dell asked.
‘I do not intend to court anyone,’ Ross replied. ‘You know that. I am in no hurry to be leg-shackled or to be shackled to a title. Time for that later.’ His father was in good health. The need to produce an heir and be about the business of a duke was some years away yet.
Dell put a stilling hand on Ross’s arm. ‘Take care not to trifle with that young woman. She’s got enough of a trial merely living with Tinmore. Besides, she’s barely out of the schoolroom.’
‘She’s not as young as all that. She’ll reach her majority within a year.’ A friendship with Genna was sounding more and more impossible.
But it should not be. They should be free to be friends if they wished to.
‘Take care, Ross,’ Dell said. ‘Tinmore means for her to be married. And he is just the sort to force the deed, if you give him any reason.’
* * *
Genna could not help but keep one eye on Rossdale. She fancied she could tell precisely where he stood in the room at any time. It made her heart glad merely to be in the same room with him, knowing he would eventually speak t
o her again. In the meantime what could be more delightful than to be in the company of a true artist, a man who made his living by painting! There was so much she wanted to ask Vespery, so much of his knowledge and skill she wished to absorb.
She asked him about the paintings.
‘What of this one?’ She pointed to a nearby landscape, a pastoral scene with a cottage, a stream, horses and a wagon, cattle, men working.
He pulled out spectacles and perched them on his nose. ‘This painting? This painting is Flemish, of course.’
She wondered how one could tell a Flemish painting from a Dutch one. Although even she had been able to tell the Dutch painting was not Italian.
‘It is a Brueghel, I believe,’ he went on. ‘Jan the Younger, if I am not mistaken. There were several generations of Brueghels. Some of them painted fruit.’
‘How old is it?’ she asked.
‘Oh, possibly two hundred years old. Seventeenth century.’
She looked at it again.
Vespery moved closer to the painting. ‘Notice the composition. All the triangles.’
She stared at it. ‘Yes! The roof of the cottage. The shape of the stream. Even the tree trunks.’ Patterns. Like the pattern of curves in the hall of this house. ‘It makes it pleasing to look at.’
She wished she could find Rossdale and tell him what Vespery had taught her.
She glanced around the room and saw Rossdale speaking to an older woman and a younger one, possibly the older woman’s daughter. The excitement in her breast turned into a sharp pain.
Why should she ache? Rossdale was merely speaking to a young woman who was his social equal. Genna could not aspire to be anything but a friend to him, not that they could manage a friendship in London during the Season when everyone and everything centred on marriageable young ladies finding eligible gentlemen to marry.
CHAPTER TEN
The musicale was announced and the guests filed out of the drawing room.
Genna excused herself from Vespery. ‘I should find my sister.’ No doubt Tinmore would leave her to walk into the music room alone.
She found Lorene near where Tinmore had first deposited them.
‘I have had the most remarkable conversation with two duchesses,’ Lorene said when Genna reached her. ‘You spoke with them, too, Rossdale said. They knew our mother.’
The Duchesses of Archester and Mannerton. ‘Yes. I did.’
‘They knew her when she eloped with Count von Osten. I must tell you all about it later.’ Lorene glanced around the room.
Tinmore had attached himself to another grey-haired gentleman and was leaving the room, but Lorene did not remark on it. Genna walked with Lorene as if it was the most natural thing in the world to be left without an escort.
Except Lord Penford appeared. ‘I will escort you ladies to the music room.’
They followed the other guests to another huge room, this one painted green with cream accents and more gold gilt at the border of the ceiling and along the chair railing on the walls. Chairs upholstered in a brocade the same shade as the walls were lined up facing an alcove whose entrance was flanked by two Corinthian columns, their elaborate ornamentation painted gold.
‘This is a lovely room,’ Lorene exclaimed.
‘Let me find you seats,’ Penford said.
Tinmore hobbled up to them. ‘There you are!’ he said peevishly. ‘Come. Come. Let us sit.’
Penford stepped back and when Genna next glanced his way, he’d disappeared.
‘Here. Sit here.’ Tinmore gestured with his cane.
They were near the centre of the room, several gentlemen having chosen seats in the back and Tinmore knew better than to take the front seats that more properly went to those of higher rank. On each chair was a printed card edged in gold like the invitation had been. It listed the program.
When everyone was seated, the butler stood at the front of the alcove and announced the program. ‘Mozart’s Quintets in D Major and G Minor.’
He backed away and five musicians entered the alcove through a door hidden in the wall, two violins, two violas and a cello. They sat and spent a few minutes tuning their instruments before beginning the first piece.
Lorene gasped and leaned forward, her colour high and the hint of a smile on her face. Genna silently celebrated. Her dear sister was awash in pleasure from the beautiful music. It was a joy to see her so happy. Genna glanced around the room, looking for Rossdale.
He stood in the back of the room, his arms folded across his chest, looking perfectly comfortable—and slightly bored. And very handsome. How lovely to have a handsome friend.
But she must not be caught staring at him.
She turned her attention instead to the lovely array of colours of the ladies’ gowns, like so many flowers scattered about. She looked for patterns and shapes, but, unlike the symmetry of the room’s decor, the guests were a mishmash. How would one put a pleasing order on a painting of this event?
Feeling like a hopeless amateur, she gave up and closed her eyes.
To her surprise she heard a pattern of sounds in the music, a repeated melody, but as soon as she identified it, the music changed and the pattern was lost. Sometimes it came back; sometimes a new pattern of notes emerged. Frustrating.
After talking with Vespery she’d entertained the idea that all art used pattern. Hearing it in the music expanded the idea. But then Mozart broke the pattern and her idea seemed suddenly foolish.
She opened her eyes again and looked around her.
Lord Tinmore leaned on his cane, his eyes closed and his breathing even. The music had put him to sleep. Goodness! She hoped he would not snore.
Rustling in the back suggested that other guests were restless. Lorene, though, was rapt and that was enough for Genna.
She wanted to glance behind her to see Rossdale’s reaction to the music, but she feared it would be noticed.
* * *
When the first piece finished there was a short intermission during which the musicians left the room and the footmen served more champagne.
Some guests rose from their seats, but Lorene and Genna remained seated. Tinmore woke, but his eyes remained heavy.
‘What did you think of the music?’ Genna asked her sister.
‘I thought it marvellous.’ Lorene said. ‘I wonder if there is sheet music for piano. I should love to learn it.’
‘Perhaps we can visit the music shops and find out.’ The shopping was another of the delights of London. There was a shop selling anything one could imagine.
After a few minutes the glasses were collected and the musicians returned to the alcove.
They began to play.
This piece was not as light-hearted as the first. It was melancholic. Sorrowful.
It reminded Genna of all she had lost. The home in which she’d grown up. Her mother.
And now her sisters and brother whose lives really did not involve her any more.
She blinked rapidly. She would not give in to the blue devils. She would not. No matter how dismal her life became. She was in London, a city of many enjoyments. She would enjoy as many as she could and would take it as a challenge to thwart any of Tinmore’s plans for her to marry.
She would do just as she pleased.
The last movement began, a slow cavatina. It was a veritable dirge, pulling Genna’s spirits low again. Then the music paused and Genna braced herself against a further onslaught of depression.
Instead, the music turned ebullient. Genna almost laughed aloud in relief as the notes danced cheerfully along, brushing away all that darkness.
That was what she would do. She’d brush away the darkness, make her own happy life and leave the rest behind.
She smiled and dared to glance back at Rossdale.<
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* * *
Ross scanned the supper room, although he knew precisely where Genna sat. Lord Tinmore had brought his wife and her sister into the supper room, but Ross’s father had called him over to his table and Tinmore never looked back. The ladies were again left alone. Ross had been ready to cross the room to them, but both Dell and Vespery approached their table and sat with them. So he made the rounds again, but kept his eye on her, determined to spend a little more time with her before the night was over.
He moved through the room and finally stopped at their table.
Genna smiled up at him. ‘Might you sit with us a little while?’
‘I would be pleased to,’ Ross answered truthfully. ‘I do not believe I have sat down since the evening began.’
‘Not even during the Quintet,’ she stated.
‘I stood in the back.’ He turned to Lady Tinmore. ‘Did you enjoy the performance?’
Lady Tinmore certainly had appeared as if she had. Of all the guests, she was the one whose attention to the music did not waver.
Her face lit up. ‘Oh, yes! I do not know when I have so enjoyed music.’
He was baffled. The music had been competently played by the musicians and the pieces were pleasant enough. ‘Why do you say so?’
‘The first piece. In D major. It lightened my heart. There were so many musical ideas in it that I could not see how Mozart would be able to make it into a coherent whole.’ She smiled. ‘But, of course, he did.’ She looked at the others. ‘Did you not think so?’
‘I listened for patterns of melody,’ Genna said. ‘But as soon as I heard one, the music changed to something else.’
‘That is what I mean! So many ideas,’ her sister cried. ‘Please someone say they heard what I heard.’
Vespery threw up his hands. ‘I do not analyse. I merely listen.’
Dell’s chair had been pulled back as if he were not quite a part of this table. He stared into his glass of wine. ‘I thought it complex. And beautiful.’
Lady Tinmore nodded. ‘Yes,’ she whispered. She looked shyly at Ross. ‘What did you think?’
‘I agree it was pleasant to listen to.’ Music had never captured his interest. Neither had art of any sort, really. He liked what he saw or not, liked what he heard. Or not.