Mistress of Melody

by Anthea Lawson

  “I think displaying the proper amount of enjoyment is only polite,” Lady Anne said. “One wouldn’t want to offend.”

  Jessa glanced from the prim young lady to Louisa, who had a bit of jam smeared on her cheek and a look of pure contentment.

  “I know which life I’d choose,” she said. “Happiness is more important than respectability.”

  “I disagree.” The earl’s expression was set. “Respectability is paramount. It cannot destroy happiness, despite what my aunt thinks. While the opposite, abandoning hard-won respectability in the foolish pursuit of happiness, is all too common.”

  Jessa bit her lip. She wanted to argue, and yet was not her own life a result of her mother’s choice to abandon respectability in the face of love? A choice that had ultimately brought only sorrow.

  “Just so.” Lady Dearborn gave a sharp nod.

  “I believe there must be a balance,” the earl’s cousin said. “It shouldn’t have to be one or the other.”

  Lady Anne smiled gently, seeming in agreement with the young man, but the earl set his teacup down firmly.

  “You will learn the truth of it, Geordie. I only wish I’d been wiser at your age.”

  “Well,” Lady Agatha cut in. “I think we might all safely enjoy a stroll in the garden without jeopardizing our reputations. Or our complexions, as I’ve had the maids fetch our hats. Ladies?”

  She rose and gestured to the French doors that led onto the terrace—the same terrace where Jessa and the earl had shared a midnight conversation. His study must be next door.

  The women donned their bonnets, and the earl offered his arm to Lady Anne. His cousin glanced at Louisa, then Lady Dearborn. Hastily, he stepped up to Jessa.

  “Might I accompany you?” he asked.

  She could hardly refuse, although she longed to safeguard her sister from Lady Dearborn’s sharp-tongued comments. Of course, Louisa would smile blithely through them, but she was not insensible to the venom that lurked behind people’s words. Jessa was relieved to see Lady Agatha put Louisa on her right side, while gesturing Lady Dearborn to her left.

  The sky was strewn with clouds, the sun beaming down for a few minutes, then sliding away to hide behind the puffs of white. Canterbury bells and dame’s rocket bloomed in the borders, and the lawn edging the flowerbeds lay smooth and perfectly green beneath her boots.

  “So.” The earl’s cousin bent toward her. “What brings you and your sister to reside at Trevethwick House? It’s quite outside the normal course of things, especially where Morgan is concerned.”

  “We are staying at Lady Agatha’s behest.” She hoped he would not notice that she’d sidestepped his question.

  “Mother has her opinions, that’s certain. She’s set on shaking Morgan’s principles, though he’s immovable as marble.”

  Not nearly so cold or hard as he would have people believe, however. Jessa could not help glancing ahead, to where he escorted Lady Anne, and her heart lurched at the sight of them in close conversation.

  Ah, she was a fool. There was no place for her in Morgan’s life, or his bed.

  “They’ll announce the betrothal any day,” Mr. Fielding said. “As soon as my cousin feels it’s appropriate to ask her to marry him.”

  “Appropriate?” Jessa turned to him. “Are they not in love?”

  He let out an ungentlemanly snort of laughter. “Love? My cousin’s immune to such emotion. No, he has settled upon Lady Anne as the most suitable candidate to continue the Trevethwick line.”

  “That seems rather unfortunate for her, to be thought of as a broodmare.”

  “It’s how things are done among the ton. Oh.” He glanced at her. “My apologies—I forgot that you’re part of the gentry.”

  She sent him a wry look. The earl’s cousin was endearingly frank. “I might bear the bloodlines, but I’ve not had the upbringing. As you know.”

  He pressed his hand over hers. “You seem to be doing well enough. It’s plain your mother brought you up to be a lady.”

  And her father had brought her up to be a wild Gypsy girl.

  “I can perform a proper curtsy, and sew and make lace, and play the violin—”

  “Clearly!”

  She smiled up at him. “I confess, however, that I am not completely sure about place settings. And I never learned how to dance.” Beyond the turnings and twirlings of the traditional Rom dances, which bore as much resemblance to the ballroom stylings of the ton as a tiger bore to a domesticated cat.

  “Then we will have to teach you. You and your sister, both.” He looked over to where Louisa and the older ladies strolled beside the hedge. “My mother has been rather lonely of late. It is good to see her back in Society. The spark has returned to her eyes.”

  “She’s a delightful lady.”

  “If by delightful you mean dreadfully outspoken and opinionated.” Despite the words, his voice was fond.

  “I value such things over what one ought to do and say. No doubt a sad result of my upbringing.” And once again a stark reminder of how ill-suited to this world she was.

  Yet where did she fit in? She and Louisa were adrift in cold currents, belonging to no place, no people. The sun slid behind a cloud, and she shivered.

  “Mother will look after you,” he said. “She was always tending to strays—animal and human both—when I was a boy.”

  “Yes, but she doesn’t usually reside here at Trevethwick House, does she?” Jessa had gathered as much at the musicale.

  “Well, no.” Mr. Fielding gave her an apologetic look. “But with Morgan’s upcoming nuptials, I’m certain she’ll stay for quite some time.”

  She glanced again at the older ladies, who seemed in deep discussion while Louisa watched a silver-blue butterfly hover among the flowers. No doubt they were planning details of decorations and food for the wedding. Despite herself, she let out a low sigh.

  If not for Louisa, she would leave that very afternoon. Already she had embarrassed herself with the earl, and she had little taste for becoming Lady Agatha’s pet charity project. But the alternatives were even worse.

  “Don’t fret.” He patted her gloved hand. “Come, let’s join Lady Anne and my cousin. He looks a bit glum.”

  It was true: there was a resigned look on Morgan’s face, but as she and Mr. Fielding approached, his features settled back into imperviousness.

  “Excellent,” he said. “We were just discussing the garden party I am hosting next week.”

  “And here is Miss Lovell to consult with.” Lady Anne gave her a cold look. “Since you will be the hired musician, where do you think the music should be—under the trellis, or by the rose garden?”

  Jessa blinked. The young lady seemed determined to bring her down in Morgan’s eyes, and Jessa did understand, though she did not like Lady Anne any better for it.

  “How kind of you to ask,” she said. “The shade of the trellis will protect my violin. And it can be rather awkward trying to perform whilst bees attempt to land on you.”

  As intended, Mr. Fielding chuckled, and Lady Anne’s eyes widened. Morgan, of course, said nothing.

  “Has that happened?” Mr. Fielding asked.

  “Yes. I imagine I appeared engaged in a most peculiar dance as I sidestepped and swayed. However, I did manage to keep playing, even when a bee landed atop my bow. It stayed there for the entire piece, and finally flew away when the music stopped.”

  “It seems your playing entrances every listener,” Mr. Fielding said. “I haven’t had the opportunity to hear you, and I’m greatly looking forward to it.”

  Morgan sent him a sharp glance, as if in warning. It made Jessa’s heart stutter briefly. But no—the earl had made his disinterest in her quite clear.

  “Miss Lovell is rather talented,” Lady Anne said. “We’re all so very pleased that you will be able to perform at the party. Have you other upcoming hired engagements?”

  “I’m currently taking a short hiatus,” Jessa lied. “With the exception of the ea
rl’s party, of course.”

  A calculating light came into Lady Anne’s eyes, and it seemed she clung harder to Morgan’s arm. “Perhaps, Miss Lovell, you might be prevailed upon to play another event in the near future. A very happy one. Don’t you think, my lord?”

  “Certainly.” The earl’s voice was cool, and his cousin gave him a thoughtful look.

  For her part, Jessa did not want to understand the tangle of her emotions at the thought of seeing Morgan and Lady Anne wed.

  “Look, Mother is waving at us to come in,” Mr. Fielding said. “Morgan, do part with Lady Anne and allow me to escort her back to the house.”

  “Do not fill her ears with lies about me,” the earl said.

  “Never.” His cousin’s voice was full of laughter as he extended his arm to the young lady. “We will simply pass the time in discussing your shortcomings.”

  “Oh, I’m sure the earl has very few of those,” Lady Anne said, sliding him a glance. “You are a most exemplary gentleman, Lord Silverton.”

  “Then I must tell you about the summer he tricked me into jumping, fully clothed, into the lake at the country estate,” Mr. Fielding said, leading her away.

  “Shall we, Miss Lovell?” The earl held out his arm.

  Jessa took it, still pondering Lady Anne’s naiveté. Did she truly think the earl was a paragon of virtue? Could she not see the fire lurking in his eyes, or feel the suppressed heat of his body?

  It was a pity the earl insisted on maintaining such a cold façade. He would certainly gain more enjoyment from life if that shell were cracked open. Some imp seized hold of her tongue, and she looked up at him.

  “Have you kissed her?” she asked.

  He missed a step, then gave her a quelling glance. “That is absolutely none of your concern.”

  Heat stormed into her cheeks, and she studied the grass beneath their feet. “You’re right. That was far too presumptuous of me. However, as you are aware, I’m no exemplar of ladylike behavior.”

  “And you’re implying I’m not the gentleman Lady Anne thinks me to be.” The coolness in his voice was marred by a warm streak of anger.

  “I’d wager that midnight gallops and stolen kisses do not fall within Lady Anne’s parameters of propriety.”

  “You are hardly one to make accusations, what with sneaking naked into a man’s bedchamber and attempting to seduce him.” His hand closed firmly over hers, as if preventing her from escaping.

  Not that there was anywhere in the garden she might flee. Besides, she relished cracking his cool façade, welcomed the undercurrent of roughness in his usually controlled voice. It meant she still had an effect upon him.

  “I was wearing my nightdress.”

  “As if a thin layer of cotton could conceal your…” He checked himself. “I am not pleased that you and your sister will be here a few days more. During the remainder of your stay, there will not be a repeat of last night’s folly. Understood?”

  She glared up at him. “You’ve made your position quite plain, my lord.”

  “Good.”

  Despite his words, she was almost certain he still desired her. Yet if he were determined not to act upon it, there was nothing she could do to sway him. And no matter how much she might contemplate sneaking back into his bedroom at midnight, the regret she’d feel when he turned her away again would be too much to bear.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The Tattler has it on good authority that the Earl of Silverton, usually an unshakeable pillar of polite society, has two most unusual houseguests. Trevethwick House now shelters the Gypsy Violinist, Jessamyn Lovell, and her sister. One cannot help but speculate as to the circumstances!

  -Tilly’s Mayfair Tattler, July 16

  The day of the garden party dawned clear and blue. Morgan stood at his bedroom window and scowled at the azure sky, scanning it for any hint of cloud that might enable him to cancel the event. The serene arc overhead stared placidly back at him.

  Blast.

  He did not want to endure another afternoon of playing the attentive suitor to Lady Anne. He did not want to host the gossips of the ton, not with the Lovell sisters still living beneath his roof. And he most especially did not want to put Jessamyn on display and watch the gentlemen slaver over her, while giving him the wink and nod for keeping her so close.

  Any man with red blood in his veins would have leaped at the chance to take her for his mistress. Half the time he cursed himself for not doing so—but he could not allow her to ruin herself. Or everything he had worked for over the past ten years. No matter how very, very tempting she was.

  He had to force himself not to watch her eat strawberries at breakfast, gave her a wide berth whenever they encountered one another in the halls, and tried not to breathe in the scent of her when he entered the drawing room where she had taken to practicing.

  But even when she was out of sight, her music sang through the house. Despite himself, he listened. Usually she began by playing scales, the ascending and descending tones a warning that he should either leave immediately, or become ensnared by the sound of her playing. Over the last several days, he had stopped resisting. Whenever she began to play, he sat back in his study chair and let the sound wash over him.

  He did not understand why the music affected him so, but as long as he was unobserved, he accepted the siren song. It was as though the notes were a balm to his long-abraded soul. In an odd way, he felt the music understood him, though that was simple foolishness.

  The music transported him to a place beyond his everyday cares, his worry over Geordie, even the thorn of Mr. Burke. Whether Jessamyn played slow and sweet melodies, or rapid and tempestuous tunes, the music slid beneath his skin. There were only patterns of notes and silence, of breath and song, and the beat of his own heart.

  It was why he had not pressed Aunt Agatha yet—but he could wait no more. Despite her residence at Trevethwick House lending their guests a certain measure of propriety, he could no longer house the Lovells.

  On the way to breakfast, he caught his aunt in the hall.

  “Aunt, a word,” he said, gesturing her to his study.

  She lifted her brows, and the hem of her gaudy cobalt dressing gown, and stepped into the wood-paneled room.

  “You’re looking imperious this morning,” she said. “Do you have last-minute instructions for the garden party?”

  “Of sorts. I need this business with the Lovell sisters settled. Today.” He would be able to still the gossiping tongues and parry the speculative glances if he had a firm answer to give as to why the sisters were still there. And when they were leaving.

  “Can’t you wait another few days?”

  “You know full well I cannot.” With effort, he kept his voice from rising. “How do you expect me to propose to Lady Anne with two other unmarried women living indefinitely beneath my roof?”

  “I suppose that is true.” His aunt smoothed the bright silk of her robe thoughtfully, but there was a glint in her eye.

  “What are you scheming at? I thought you wanted to see me married and settled.”

  “Nothing would give me greater pleasure,” she said briskly. “Except, perhaps, seeing Geordie happily settled, as well.”

  “Then help me in this.”

  “I am helping—but I do take your point. Luckily, I have come to a decision.”

  He braced himself for her next words. When Aunt Agatha made up her mind, she was nearly impossible to turn.

  “I’ve so enjoyed being here, Morgan. It’s helped me see that, although I was content before, I was not truly happy.”

  “Contentment is the same thing as happiness,” he said.

  She shook her head at him, her gray ringlets bobbing. “They are similar, but no. Contentment is floating down a lazy river. Happiness is being borne by a rushing current, full of sparkle and spray.”

  “You’re quite the poet this morning. But I cannot agree with you.”

  “I know you cannot.” She patted his arm, then gl
anced about the study and out the mullioned windows at the brightly lit flowerbeds. “I wish you might understand. Well, perhaps you shall in time.”

  “What is your decision?”

  She turned back to him and smiled. “I would like to engage Louisa Lovell as my companion.”

  “What? But she’s—”

  “She’s delightful, and just what an old woman needs to bring freshness into her life. We will get on very well together. I’d like to take her on a tour of the Continent.”

  He stared down at her, concern foremost in his mind. “I can’t help but worry that you will find her more burdensome than you think. Certainly, she is a sweet girl, but her mind is so childlike.”

  “Tut.” Aunt Agatha swatted his arm. “I’ve raised three children, if you recall. I’m well aware of the amount of exertion it requires. I’d far rather be put to some small effort with the reward of Louisa’s joy than sit at home embroidering pillowcases and waiting for the days to pass.”

  “I didn’t realize you were so lonely.” He ought to have visited her more often, and made Geordie do the same.

  “To be frank, neither did I.” She patted his hand. “Coming up to London has been very salubrious for my state of mind.”

  “If you’re determined, it seems a fair solution. But what of her guardian, Mr. Burke? A legal wrangle in the courts would be difficult. I might be an earl, but blood is stronger than a title.” He frowned at her. The arrangement was not quite satisfactory.

  “I’m working on a remedy for that. Mr. Burke is not the only, or best, relative to take responsibility for the girls. Now, do I have your approval?”

  Morgan firmed his mouth. “You’ll go ahead whether I approve or not.”

  “Well, yes.” Her eyes twinkled at him. “But I’d rather the earl not look quite so forbidding when I tell the girls at breakfast. Speaking of which, I’m certain our toast is growing cold.”

  She turned to leave, but he caught her elbow. “What about Jessamyn?” he demanded.

  “Oh, I’ve plans for her as well.” His aunt gently pulled out of his grasp and opened the door.

  “Wait, Aunt. I demand you enlighten me.”