by Stella Riley
Since the day in the physic garden when she had told Ralph Sherbourne the truth, she had seen him on only three occasions and, though he had sought her out on all of them, he had not said anything to suggest that he was still considering making her an offer. Elizabeth told herself that she ought to have expected this. He was an earl, after all. And there was a vast difference between the well-dowered sister of a baron and the scarcely-dowered-at-all daughter of a vicar. She also told herself that she had no right to feel either disappointed or hurt. He had promised nothing … and she had taken Arabella’s place expecting nothing. She had certainly not expected to meet a man who made her blood run faster merely by looking at her; and one whose deep and impenetrable loneliness made her heart ache.
The concert was less than a week away and, after it, she must face music of a different kind at home. She did not delude herself with the notion that she would forget Ralph Sherbourne. She simply told herself that dwelling on her memories would bring nothing but misery … and life had to go on.
* * *
It took the best part of three hours to re-tune the harpsichord and Rob insisted on staying throughout. When it was done, Julian rolled his shoulders to ease the stiffness in them and then sat down on the bench.
‘Are you going to play something?’ Rob asked.
‘Yes. All instruments have their funny little ways so I need to get to know this one.’
Rob nodded and made himself comfortable on the first violinist’s chair.
Julian was part-way through a piece he’d originally considered for his debut concert but decided to hold in reserve for a future occasion when he realised Rockliffe had wandered in and was standing some distance away, listening. Julian stopped playing and said, ‘Were you looking for me, your Grace?’
‘No. I was merely curious. I take it that the harpsichord is now at … do we call it concert-pitch?’
‘We do and it is.’ He sent a smile at the boy, ‘Rob’s been helping me.’
‘Excellent. And the piece you were playing just now?’
‘A good test for both the instrument and myself.’ Julian added a few more bars. ‘Fandango by Antonio Soler … a Spaniard.’
‘Ah.’ The duke strolled closer and asked curiously, ‘You don’t require sheet music?’
‘No. I have some, of course – like the Mozart concerto. Newer pieces I was still working on when I left Vienna. But once I’ve learned the music, the pages are just a distraction.’ He stopped playing again and turned around. ‘May I ask how we are going to keep the concert programme secret? Given half a chance, Arabella will be listening at the keyhole or in here hiding behind a curtain.’
‘Ah. Then I shall have the room regularly scoured for spies and a footman on guard at the door.’ Rockliffe smiled back. ‘That should do the trick, don’t you think?’
* * *
Choosing to do a little eavesdropping of his own, Julian lurked in a small room near the ballroom until the attendant footman informed him that all the members of the ensemble had arrived.
Nodding his thanks, Julian folded his arms and leaned against the wall by the partly-open door. From inside the ballroom came the sounds of instruments being tuned and snatches of desultory conversation. Then, after a few minutes, someone said clearly, ‘I thought the soloist was supposed to be here today. Has anybody been told different?’
‘No – which means he could walk in at any minute. And since sitting about waiting won’t create a good impression, I suggest we get busy. Take it from the top, shall we?’
Julian smiled to himself. Musicians didn’t vary much the world over, it seemed. He remained where he was, listening to the opening bars of the Allegro minus his own part and then sauntered quietly into the room. The first person to notice him was the cellist, swiftly followed by the second violin. Gradually, everyone stopped playing … came to their feet … and stared at him as if he had two heads.
‘Good afternoon, gentlemen,’ he said. ‘You look surprised. Weren’t you expecting me?’
‘Yes.’ The first violinist laid down his instrument. ‘Yes, we were. But for some reason, we all thought you would be … older. However, I am Henry Bassett, first desk, sir.’
‘I’m pleased to meet you, Mr Bassett.’ Having shaken the fellow’s hand, Julian said, ‘And your colleagues?’
Having been introduced to the other six musicians, Julian said bluntly, ‘I daresay you’re all wondering if I’m any good. In your place, I certainly would be. So let’s get that out of the way, shall we?’
And taking his seat, he launched into a furiously dramatic piece he’d be playing towards the end of the recital. After some three minutes of it, he broke off to look at them. All seven were staring at him open-mouthed.
‘Well?’ he asked. ‘Will I do?’
‘Yes,’ agreed Mr Bassett weakly. ‘I reckon you will, sir.’ And then, ‘What was that?’
‘Pancrace Royer. Something of an acquired taste, isn’t it?’ Julian stood to shed his coat and roll up his sleeves. ‘Your turn now, gentlemen. Let’s attack the first movement and see what comes of it.’ He grinned suddenly. ‘Don’t worry. I know my absence has caused you some difficulties but I’m here now and we’ll work through them as they arise. So, if everyone is ready …?’ He lifted one hand and with a seemingly careless gesture, brought them in.
For the first few minutes, Julian gave way to the sheer elation of playing with an ensemble. Gradually, however, he forced himself to play closer attention to his fellow musicians. And when they arrived at the end of the Allegro, he was able to say, ‘Well, that could have been worse, couldn’t it?’ Before adding, ‘But I hope we can all agree that it could also have been better. The horn is a fraction too loud throughout, Mr Grey … and something peculiar happened between yourself and the oboe at the recapitulation of the main theme. Can we try oboe one and horn two at that point?’ He waited while everyone shuffled their pages and scribbled notes. ‘Good. Now again, from the top.’
~ * * ~ * * ~
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
After the Audley supper-party, Lord Sherbourne did not see Elizabeth again for four days – despite attending two balls and a soirée purely in the hope of finding her there. He had been teetering on the brink of a marriage proposal for two weeks but still hadn’t taken the ultimate step and wasn’t sure why he hadn’t. It wasn’t because he thought she might refuse him. He had sufficient experience to know when a woman wanted him; and beneath Elizabeth Marsden’s cool and extremely proper demeanour he had occasionally glimpsed a look he knew very well indeed. Neither, oddly enough, was it because he had believed she came with a substantial dowry and now knew she didn’t. In truth, he was surprised how little her changed identity mattered to him. And he was sure, wasn’t he? Sure that Elizabeth was the only woman since Philippa Wilkes with whom he could contemplate sharing his life; sure also that, unlike Philippa, Elizabeth did not possess feet of clay. True, he did not entirely understand his feelings for her and was oddly afraid to probe too deeply. And equally true that, if he didn’t do something soon, he might find himself chasing her to Yorkshire.
* * *
Julian’s third day in London began with the information that Rockliffe’s own tailor was to attend him immediately after breakfast.
He said, ‘I don’t need a tailor. I had a new suit made in Newark and --’
‘In Newark,’ agreed Rockliffe with a faint shudder. ‘Yes. I can imagine.’
‘But I don’t have time to waste on --’
‘Please do not argue, Julian. You will see Mr Lassiter this morning and that is the end of the matter. Good tailoring may not be the most important thing in life but there are times when one must treat it as such. This is one of them.’
So Julian gritted his teeth through two seemingly interminable hours with the damned tailor and then, learning that Arabella and her mother had taken the children shopping, fled to the ballroom and locked himself in. He went through his solo pieces three times and then worked solidly on
his arrangement of Mozart’s cadenza. He was still doing it when the ensemble arrived and had to hammer at the door to be let in.
The afternoon’s rehearsal went relatively smoothly. Having solved the last of the problems with the first movement, they were able to progress into the Andantino and, at the end of the session, he went in search of the children feeling moderately cheerful. He eventually found them in the billiard room where Max Brandon and a red-haired fellow Julian thought looked vaguely familiar were attempting to teach Tom and Rob the rudiments of the game while Ellie circumnavigated the table, towing a large fluffy dog on wheels. As he entered the room and in her haste to reach him, Ellie’s new pet collided with Tom’s shins, causing him to take his next shot with more force than accuracy. The ball flew off the table and would have hit the red-haired gentleman squarely on the nose had he not caught it in time.
Tom apologised, adding, ‘Nice catch though, sir.’ Rob dissolved into gales of laughter. And Ellie cried, ‘Look, Sir Julian! See what Aunt Louisa bought for me so I won’t miss Figgy. Isn’t she pretty? Her name is Amelia.’
‘Whoever heard of a dog called Amelia?’ snorted Tom. ‘It’s worse than Figgy.’
‘I can call her what I like! I can, can’t I, Sir Julian?’
‘Absolutely.’ One glance at the children’s new clothes told Julian that Amelia wasn’t the only thing Lady Brandon or Arabella had bought. ‘But perhaps you could take her for a walk in the hall while the boys finish their game?’
‘I suppose I could,’ she sighed grudgingly. And heading for the door, said, ‘Heel, Amelia. Good dog.’
Throughout all this, Max had been resting on his cue, silently laughing. He said, ‘Try some practise shots, boys – but remember the rule about keeping the cue tip off the baize or the duke will have all our heads on spikes.’
Meanwhile, the man Julian felt he ought to know strolled forward with his hand outstretched saying, ‘A pleasure to see you again, Langham. Or should I call you Chalfont?’
‘Langham will do.’ Julian accepted the proffered hand, wished Max would help him out by supplying a name and then, realising he wasn’t going to, said, ‘I’m sorry. I know we’ve met but I can’t recall where.’
‘Cambridge,’ came the cheerful reply. And taking pity on him, ‘Sebastian Audley?’
Light dawned. ‘Oh. Yes – of course. You used to play by ear.’
‘I still do,’ grinned Sebastian. ‘You, on the other hand, are the fellow who got drunk with Mozart – which is a thing I wouldn’t mind hearing about.’
Julian flushed. ‘There’s not much to tell. I remember the first part of the evening and the crashing headache when I woke up on the floor next morning but not very much in between.’ He caught the look on Tom’s face and added, ‘You didn’t hear that.’
‘Didn’t hear what?’ asked the boy – before spoiling it with, ‘Does Miss Belle know?’
‘Who do you think told Mr Audley?’ muttered Julian. ‘Where is she, by the way?’
‘Drinking tea with Lizzie, my mother and Audley’s wife,’ replied Max. ‘They’re all going to some ball or other this evening so Audley suggests dining at his favourite club. Join us.’
‘No. I mean – thank you for the invitation but I lost half the morning with the blasted tailor and I need to work.’
‘Rubbish. You can’t spend every waking hour locked in the ballroom, only emerging to eat. You need to relax and have a little fun.’
‘But I don’t play cards or --’
‘Or drink very much, by the sound of it,’ laughed Sebastian. And to Max, ‘Only think … if we get him drunk enough, he’ll tell us all his secrets.’
‘I don’t have any -- ’
‘Excellent,’ said Max, clapping him on the shoulder. ‘You can just tell us about your concert programme instead. And now take Ellie and Amelia up to the ladies while we and your boys finish the game.’
* * *
Upon learning, with some amusement, that the gentlemen were intent on dragging Julian to Sinclairs, Arabella elected to miss the Bedford House assembly in favour of a quiet evening with the children. Elizabeth wasn’t sorry to be spared her cousin’s company. In the last couple of days, Arabella had had far too much to say about what appeared to be Lord Sherbourne’s withdrawal and, aside from being heartily sick of the subject, Elizabeth didn’t trust Belle not to say something embarrassing directly to Ralph’s face if she got a chance.
At Bedford House and although Elizabeth had ordered herself to stop hoping, the habit of searching the room for one particular face seemed impossible to break. Then, when she did not find it, she danced the opening set with Lord March, promised the supper-dance to Richard Penhaligon and let her dance card gradually fill up with the names of any gentleman who asked her.
Ralph walked in mid-way through the evening and saw Elizabeth immediately. The corn-gold hair gleamed in the candlelight, her skin glowed with pearl-like lustre against the rich blue of her gown, she was smiling brightly at Lord Rayne … and she looked tired. Something shifted inside Ralph’s chest. He told himself it was relief. Then he conversed desultorily with one or two acquaintances whilst waiting for the dance to end.
The first Elizabeth knew of his presence was when he emerged at her side, frightened poor Lord Pelham away with a single look and calmly placed her hand on his sleeve. Her nerves vibrating like violin strings, she said unevenly, ‘That was naughty of you. This was his lordship’s dance.’
‘Was being the operative word. Do you have any objection?’
‘Would it make any difference if I did?’
‘Usually, yes. But not tonight.’
Elizabeth became aware that he was leading her away from the floor. Surprised, she said, ‘Are we not to dance?’
‘Later, perhaps.’ He sent an obliquely amused smile in her direction. ‘Your card may be full … but you have seen how slight an impediment that can be. First, however, I would like to hold an entire conversation in consecutive sentences … and for that, a degree or two of privacy would be helpful.’
‘Privacy?’ She managed to ignore the sudden thud of her heart and gestured to the crowd around them. ‘Here?’
‘There is generally a way. And I am an expert at finding it.’
If there was an answer to that, Elizabeth decided it was better left unspoken. She merely let him lead her from the ballroom, along a slightly less congested corridor and eventually into a small parlour, lit only by the light from the flambeaux outside the windows.
‘This will do,’ remarked Ralph, gently closing the door behind them and turning to face her. ‘We should not linger here longer than necessary, so I will come directly to the point. Since you reclaimed your own name, your reason for being unable to contemplate matrimony no longer exists. If you are inclined to contemplate it now, I ask your leave to approach Rockliffe with a formal offer.’
She stared at him, half-inclined to wonder if she had misheard. He looked as coolly composed as ever and if one listened to the tone of his voice rather than the words, he might have been asking whether or not she thought it would rain tomorrow. She said faintly, ‘Are you … are you asking me to marry you?’
‘Yes. Was I not clear?’
‘N-Not … entirely.’ She found herself struggling with a slightly hysterical bubble of laughter. ‘You might have wanted to m-marry Rockliffe.’
Ralph frowned. ‘That’s nonsense.’
‘I know.’
There was a long enigmatic silence. Then, with a hint of strained patience, he said, ‘Perhaps I should begin again. Would it clarify things if I went down on one knee?’
She shook her head. The bubble was expanding into something different; something that was slowly filling her with wonder and joy; something that, even now, she could scarcely believe. She said truthfully, ‘I didn’t expect you to speak of marriage at all. I thought … I thought that, having learned I am not who you thought I was, you wouldn’t --’
‘You are exactly who I thought you were.’ A
nd before she could ask what he meant, ‘If you disliked me … would you marry me purely to become a countess?’
‘No. I wouldn’t.’
‘Precisely.’
‘But fortunately I don’t dislike you. You must know that.’
‘I have thought it – but I thank you for saying so.’ He hesitated, opened his mouth to speak – and was suddenly conscious of a feeling of paralysis. The internal barrier he’d set around himself seven years ago might as well have been a granite wall … and the words he needed were trapped on the other side of it. But she was waiting and he had to say something so he unlocked his tongue and, with a lack of expression that made him despair, said, ‘I would be deeply honoured if you would consent to be my wife, Elizabeth. I hold you in great esteem and – and affection. I believe we would deal comfortably together and, along with my respect, you have my word that I would do my best to make you happy.’ An unkind little voice at the back of his mind said, Esteem? Affection? What woman could resist? So, in desperation, he added, ‘I can also promise physical pleasure … if that helps. But if none of this is enough, please tell me now.’
His tone throughout had been as calmly dispassionate as ever but, for the first time, Elizabeth saw a flicker of anxiety in his eyes and guessed that, on some level, he had disappointed himself. She drew a long steadying breath and, repressing the temptation to say that she would love him if he would let her, contented herself with reaching out to touch his hand.
‘It is enough. It is more than enough.’
He shook his head ruefully. ‘I had hoped to do better. But perhaps I will, in time.’
She smiled at him and shook her head.
‘You should learn to like yourself more, Ralph.’
His fingers curled around hers. ‘You think so?’