Baron Tillingford looked at the men before him, men he had known and respected for more than 20 years, and was deeply grateful for having them as friends.
His heart felt lighter for the conversation, no matter how depressing talking of one’s own forthcoming death was, and he breathed easier knowing that someone else shared his cares.
“I thank you both. It is a great relief to me, to know that someone else will care about the fate of my title and lands, as well as that of my daughters. And, speaking of my daughters, I must ask, Setford, if you have any information for me, about the doings of that young popinjay that Cordelia seems to have conceived an affection for.”
Setford laughed lightly, breaking the sombre tone of the discussion.
“Popinjay indeed! A good description for the boy. I’ve been delving a bit into his habits and friends. Nothing specifically wrong that I’ve found, but I agree with you, it’s very odd that he’s not gone off to war after his father. Smacks of disrespect. His brother George doesn’t seem to have much time for him either. George is a good sort, manages the estates well – he’ll make a good Earl for Bolton when his father’s gone.”
The Duke looked at Tillingford for a moment, absorbing what Setford had said, then spoke.
“Bolton’s boy, you say?” He stroked his clean-shaven chin and drew on his pipe of sweet Virginia twist. “I know the Earl well enough. Fine fellow. Good man. Wellesley speaks highly of him. But I do not know either son.” He paused to sip from his brandy.
“I am, however, in agreement with you it is odd that the boy has not done his patriotic duty and bought a commission – I am most curious to learn why the young shaver is not serving King and country with his father against the blasted French in Spain.”
Tillingford nodded.
“That is why I asked Setford to look into it, quietly. I have not, myself, yet spoken to Fitzhugh about the matter and I did not wish to upset my daughter who is clearly infatuated with him. Yet, in truth my dear Canterwood, from Miss Millpost’s report of what she saw in London, he seems remarkably evasive when confronted with a direct and simple question on the topic.”
Setford nodded and continued with his commentary.
“Edward is another matter entirely from his brother. Spends his days with other young fribbles, delights in the cards, and always seems to win. A little too often, if you ask me, although I’ve nothing to say it’s not just luck. Always seems to have money to burn too, and I’ve not uncovered any hidden debts… yet. Still, all in all, I don’t like the feel of it. So, for now, I’d say it’s a watching brief.”
“Ah, that does not reassure me, my friend, not at all. We shall see how he behaves over the next week, he and his friends, and hope that my daughter sees sense, instead of continuing to harbour a tendre for him.”
~~~~~
Also amongst the first to arrive, but a few hours after the Duke and Setford, was the dashing Lord Edward Fitzhugh and his three titled companions.
Their coach was drawn by four matched blacks and lavishly decorated within and without. The carriage doors bore the Earl of Bolton’s coat of arms and the coachman and guard wore the Earl’s distinctive green and gold livery.
The vehicle was as comfortable as the skilled craftsmen and coach-builders could possibly make it, with over-stuffed, padded leather seating and an inlaid ebony case in the centre of the floor that securely held both wine and crystal glasses and spirits for the passengers’ pleasure and comfort. It was a marvel of the age and had cost the Earl a small fortune to commission and build – a fortune he had spent for his wife’s benefit.
Upon her death, he had asked that the coach be stored away, and refused to use it himself.
But the Earl was with the King’s army in faraway Spain, fighting the forces of Napoleon, and his son had thought it a waste and a sacrilege to leave such a fine and handsome carriage unused in a humble stable block on his father’s extensive estate. He’d ordered the coach brought to London for his personal use and its polished and painted woodwork soon became a regular sight on the capital’s streets as it conveyed Edward and his companions to the fashionable salons and drawing rooms where he loved to play cards.
The Baron smiled as he stood at the top of the wide stone staircase to welcome his guests. He extended a firm handshake to young Lord Edward and introduced himself with a polite nod of the head.
Edward’s manners were impeccable and he exerted his charm on the elderly Baron, complimenting his host on the elegance of the great house.
It was impossible not to find the young man pleasing, as he moved with studied poise and grace, lifting his chin to toss his oiled and coiffed curls and smiling at all and everyone.
Even at Miss Millpost, to whom he extended an exaggerated and courtly bow as if he were in the presence of an empress. She appeared slightly less convinced of the young man’s sincerity than the rest of the staff.
The gossip below stairs talked of little else other than engagements and weddings and a match made in heaven. Cordelia agonised in her chamber over which dress to wear that evening, when she would meet Lord Edward again after two whole months’ separation.
She had thought of precious little else. He occupied all of her waking thoughts and feelings, and had taken full possession of her heart without the slightest hint of resistance. She was seventeen and everyone with eyes to see could tell that the young Lady Cordelia Branley was head over heels in love with Lord Edward Fitzhugh.
One glimpse of his dashing smile and refined manners, and everyone could understand why. Everyone, perhaps, except for Cordelia’s younger sister, the energetic Georgiana.
She watched the young Lord with wide eyes as he bowed and made elegant flourishes with his scented kerchief to underline his words, and could not for one moment begin to understand what all the fuss was about. Cook laughed when Georgiana (who was in the kitchen in search of biscuits for an afternoon snack) explained that Edward seemed to her to be a great deal of fuss over nothing.
“You’ll think differently when you’re a little older, my poppet!”
Georgiana had looked up at the plump cook and declared in a solemn voice, “Why, I hope I have much more sense than that,” and the entire kitchen staff had roared with laughter.
At that, Georgiana had turned up her nose in a huff, and gone to spend the rest of the afternoon in the stables. They might be smaller than the stables at Casterfield Grange, but the grooms who had come with them knew her, and, anyway, there were kittens, tucked away in the straw in the loft. She hoped that she would never be so air-headed as Cordelia was being, all because of a handsome man.
~~~~~
Her equilibrium restored by her afternoon in the stables, Georgiana had rushed into her sister’s chambers to see if she had finally chosen a gown for the evening, and then stated, in innocent sincerity, that she thought absolutely any dress would be suitable because Cordelia was so beautiful that she could wear anything. Cordelia smiled at the compliment, beaming joyfully at her little sister.
“And what do you think of Lord Edward, Georgiana? Is he not the most handsome man you have ever seen?”
Georgiana was not particularly gifted in the art of diplomacy and could no more lie to her beloved sister than sprout wings and fly.
“He reminds me of a story that Papa read to us.”
“A story, you say? Of gallant knights rescuing fair damsels from captivity and slaying dragons to save the kingdom?”
“Not really.” She pursed her lips in concentration. “I was thinking more of the story of the clever monkey that learned to walk on two legs and talk and ape the manners of gentle folk.”
There was a hushed silence in the bedchamber. Cordelia slowly drew in her breath. Then Georgiana smiled.
“But he became very famous and met the king because a talking monkey was such a funny thing that everyone in the whole wide kingdom wanted one as a pet.”
With a laugh, and an impish smile, she turned lightly on her heel and ran out of the room, ha
ppy to have shared her views and confidently not expecting her sister to take any offence at her words. The chambermaid shook her head, tutted and laughed.
“She is still but a child, Your Ladyship, even though she has just turned sixteen this past week, she might as well still be thirteen, for all that she notices men. Children know no better at that age, and care not at all, until the day that they look at a man and see more than a nuisance. I seem to remember that you were not so different…”
Cordelia sighed.
“I believe you are right, Mary. She knows no better and we should be patient with her. But, in faith, to compare Lord Edward to an ape! That is most unfair and an outrage, no mistake.”
Baron Tillingford had ordered the kitchen staff to prepare a supper with a fine selection of wines to welcome the first of his guests that evening. A log fire warmed the dining room and the conversation touched on the war with France, the shortages of French wine that had been occasioned by the Royal Navy’s blockade of Bonaparte’s ports, the state of the government and the health of the king.
~~~~~
When the Duke first entered the room, he had, as was his habit, looked at all of those present, assessing and considering the possible conversation. As introductions were performed, and he bowed over the hands of Tillingford’s daughters, he found himself struck by Lady Cordelia. There was something about her, with her pale glowing skin and rich dark hair, she was undoubtedly beautiful, and unaware of just how much so.
Something about her seemed familiar, it nagged at his memory. He hated not remembering things.
It would come to him, he was sure. He would simply watch her, as the evening wore on – surely something in her manner would bring to mind the reason that she seemed so familiar.
~~~~~
Cordelia sat quietly, trying not to stare at Lord Edward, deeply self-conscious about her appearance and fearful that the mist green satin gown might not be to his liking. She ate sparingly, butterflies springing up and taking riotous flight in her stomach.
Edward displayed his wit and cleverness with words, making puns and playful expressions that kept the table amused until the pudding had been served and consumed.
“Friends,” said the Baron, “let us adjourn to the drawing room and perhaps persuade the more musically-inclined to offer us the benefit of their gifts.”
The dozen or so guests applauded the Baron’s suggestion and retired to the comfortable drawing room where Cordelia was requested to play and sing for them. Blushing and with a degree of reluctance, she took her place at the pianoforte and closed her eyes for a moment to gather her thoughts. The room became silent as she lifted her delicate fingers above the keyboard and began to play.
An accomplished pianist, with her mother’s pure and lucid voice, she enchanted the company with a gentle song about two young lovers who were, in every verse, separated by their sworn duty, and the guests joined in with the lilting chorus that cast a melancholy air over the candlelit room.
Cordelia’s father stood to applaud his daughter’s beautiful playing, beaming with pride at her performance, moved by the lilt of her voice and his memories of her mother’s enchanting power to hold a room with a simple tune, and then he demanded something more jolly to lift their spirits. Cordelia smiled and launched into a rousing country song that everyone knew, and soon enough even the servants and footmen were joining in with the merry chorus and the room was filled with cheering voices and stamping feet, laughter and gaiety, smiles and applause.
After that, Cordelia excused herself from the pianoforte with a small curtsy, and the Baron asked for a volunteer to raise the roof and dazzle the assembly with more singing and playing. Lord Edward’s friends made a great play of trying to persuade him to take his seat at the pianoforte and, despite his protests that he possessed only the most pitiable and meagre talents as a musician, he finally, reluctantly, agreed to offer what he could.
But, he declared, on the strict condition that they all refrain from throwing rotten fruit and vegetables at him! He smiled at Cordelia as he took his seat and her heart nearly leapt out of her chest.
He cocked his head for a moment as if in thought and then he announced to the room that he would like first to offer an instrumental piece for their amusement, a tune that did not involve the use of his coarse and untrained cowherd’s voice! The guests laughed good-naturedly but could not possibly know what was to follow.
Edward adjusted his lace cuffs and began to play. His command of the pianoforte was simply breath-taking. He played one of the most complex and demanding pieces anyone in the room had ever heard and he played with a fluency and sensitivity that brought tears to Cordelia’s eyes. It was one of the most moving performances that any of them had ever witnessed. At the close of the piece, Edward closed his eyes for a moment in the silence that followed and then stood up and bowed formally to the other guests before again taking his seat, and beginning a song that took their breath away.
He played a ballad, and sang with a beautifully measured baritone that made the guests shake their heads in wonder. He was truly gifted. He was a prodigy. He played and sang as if the ancient classical gods of music had taken possession of his mortal frame and endowed him with the gifts of Apollo. Even the Baron was moved by the beauty of the performance. As he brought the piece to an end, he laughed out loud and immediately launched into a rousing song that had the guests clapping their hands in time to the rhythm and shouting their way through the chorus.
It was a wonderful way to while away the evening and the footmen charged the guests’ crystal glasses with fine ports and sherries, as well as offering Miss Millpost her favourite Madeira.
~~~~~
The Duke barely watched the performance – he was, instead, watching Lady Cordelia, who was, quite obviously, thoroughly enamoured of the young man.
In the end, it was her expression as she watched Lord Edward that brought to his mind where he had seen her before. There had been one evening in London, some months before, at Lady Wellport’s soiree, when he had, after a most satisfying game of cards, watched a young Lady as she was captivated by the antics of an extravagantly dressed young fop at the card tables.
Of a certainty, it had been Lady Cordelia he had watched that night. She was, now that he saw her again, no less attractive – more so, in fact. He felt an odd need to know more about her – not just that she was Tillingford’s child, but what she thought about the world, what she did to amuse herself, and other minutiae like that. As he had that evening in London, he shook his head at his whimsy, and turned his attention back to the performance, as the talented young man finished playing.
~~~~~
Baron Setford watched the performance with an appreciation for more than the music – he freely admitted that the young Lord was musically gifted, more so than the average young man or woman, but it seemed to him that the evening’s performance also demonstrated other gifts. The boy appeared to be rather a master at playing to an audience, at manipulating the responses of those around him, to suit his own desires.
Currently, it seemed, his desire was to set everyone at ease, to be seen as everyone’s friend – a harmless and charming young man to enjoy a few days company with.
Setford thought that he was overdoing it somewhat.
Many years of training men for undercover work had given him a sixth sense about it. This boy just seemed entirely too smooth. Even the best of men did not get on with everyone. Hopefully, a messenger would arrive tomorrow. He wanted but one more report from his sources, to have all of the information possible about young Lord Edward. Perhaps that missive would throw better light on what was behind the boy’s shining surface.
~~~~~
As the evening drew to a close and the Baron rose to thank his guests, he coughed a little and quickly covered his mouth to conceal the small flecks of blood that spilled from his lips, excusing himself for the hint of port that he claimed to have gone down the wrong way! It had been an entirely pleasing and satisfacto
ry evening and bode well for the Ball that was arranged for the following night. With a courtly bow to the room, the Baron took his leave, his kerchief pressed firmly to his lips and a cough shaking his chest, whilst Cordelia lingered by the fireplace in the hope that she might be favoured with a few minutes of Lord Edward’s time.
He was standing with his coterie of friends, laughing and basking in their admiration, his oiled and curled blue-black hair shining in the candlelight, when he turned and smiled at Cordelia. She raised a hand to her throat as he inclined his head and walked over to the fireplace to stand next to her.
“Lady Cordelia, you have deceived us all most cruelly by hiding your talents from the world and never once mentioning that you play and sing like an angel. Pray, how do you explain such an oversight?”
She blushed from the tips of her fingers to the tip of her pretty nose.
“Why, Sir, tis you who plays and sings most divinely.” She looked down at the toes of her satin shoes and whispered. “You are indeed a wonder.”
He waved the compliment away with a gentle toss of his lace kerchief and laughed.
“I would sooner listen to you than any other, Lady Cordelia, for you most surely do the greater honour to the pianoforte and your voice is a silk-spun gift from the heavens above. But tell me, are you absolutely sure you did not bewitch an angel and steal away their voice that you may charm the breasts of unwitting and mortal men?”
Cordelia laughed at the elegant compliment and looked up into Lord Edward’s pale grey eyes. “Pray tell, my Lord, where did you learn to play and sing with such beauty and grace.”
Lord Edward smiled, his gaze holding Cordelia, and her heart beat harder in her chest, so loudly that she was certain he would hear it.
His voice was a soft caress when he spoke.
“Ah, my dear Lady, but I must confess that I sold my soul to a wily imp for a portion of the Devil’s musical craft, and now I am cursed for all eternity to wander the earth, and to forever be denied the warmth of a woman’s gentle and restorative love.”
Enchanting the Duke: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 5) Page 4