Prelude for a Lord (18 page)

“Indeed, Lady Alethea, your harp playing at Mrs. Isherton’s card party was exquisite,” Lady Whittlesby said.

“You would be a welcome addition to our amateur performances,” she said to him. “Perhaps you could compose something, such as an aria for our Signora D’Angelo.”

His polite mask subtly hardened. He was aware of her goading him. She did not care. She had no patience with frauds who would speak one thing to one person and the opposite to another.

“I’m afraid I have not the skill to compose vocal pieces, especially any that would properly flatter the lovely soprano.”

Alethea took this opportunity to escape him. “I was hoping to claim a few minutes of her time to praise her performance tonight. I beg you both will excuse me.” She curtseyed and headed toward the ladies’ withdrawing room.

She had just entered the hallway when a hard hand grabbed her elbow. “A word, if you please, Lady Alethea,” Mr. Morrish hissed in her ear.

She yanked her elbow but could not dislodge his fingers, which bit into her skin. The only way to extricate herself would have been to physically push him, but it would draw attention, and she did not want to cause a stir in the home of Lady Rollingwood, a good friend of her aunt. Alethea had already caused Aunt Ebena to lose her friendship with Lady Fairmont.

She planted her feet, staring Mr. Morrish into his serpentlike eyes since they were of a height.

“You will stop interfering in my business or I shall shred your good name and that of your aunt.”

“My aunt is one of the most respected women in Bath. What do you suppose people will believe—her word or yours? You are a stranger, Mr. Morrish, and the Bath residents are very loyal to each other.” Alethea wasn’t certain that was true, but she was reasonably sure her aunt’s friends would stand by her over a fortune-hunter.

His rosy cheeks grew dark and blotchy, and his sneer emphasized his protruding front teeth. “You dare threaten me? You are merely a weak woman.”

“You are merely an ineffectual bully.”

His grip on her elbow clenched, crushing her bones. She could not school her expression against the pain, and she turned away as tears sprang into her eyes and she grit her teeth.

“Do not underestimate what I would do to anyone who stands in my way.”

She was about to tell him not to underestimate a woman who knew exactly where to place a well-aimed kick when a voice called, “Mr. Morrish, your uncle is in immediate need of you.”

Dommick stood a few feet away. His gaze was stormy, but
Alethea immediately felt a steadiness under her feet as though she had found a rock to stand upon.

Several people milling around nodded to Dommick and looked curiously at Mr. Morrish. Mr. Morrish’s grip spasmed even tighter, causing her to hiss with pain.

Dommick stepped between them and forced Mr. Morrish to break his hold on her. Mr. Morrish stumbled to prevent falling down on his elegantly clothed behind.

Dommick’s tall figure shielded her from Mr. Morrish, and she clung to his arm with trembling fingers, trying to slow her breathing.

Dommick cast a scornful glance over his shoulder. “Your uncle seemed most urgent in requiring your services, Mr. Morrish. I suggest you make your way to him posthaste.”

Alethea raised her head to look at Mr. Morrish. He stood with his hands fisted low at his sides and cheeks sullen, which made his weak chin almost disappear into his cravat. He gave Dommick’s broad back a stiff bow and left them.

She gripped his arm tightly and closed her eyes, concentrating on her rapid heartbeat. His warm hand covered hers, the fingers gently massaging her knuckles.

After several moments, she opened her eyes to find his face very near. He smelled of soap, and something that brought to mind walking in the oak wood at Trittonstone Park on a cool autumn day. Mr. Morrish melted away, and she felt as if she were home again, safe.

But suddenly his mouth firmed and he jerked his head away. The moment broke as if a crystal goblet had shattered.

She pulled her hand from his arm and stepped back. The noise of the party swept in around her. Thankfully, no one noticed them for there were more important and interesting people to gossip about than a spinster and a once-popular nobleman musician, and none of them had known Mr. Morrish.

“Thank you, my lord. I beg you will excuse me.” She turned
to go but he reached out to clasp her elbow. When Mr. Morrish had done so, her arm had shrunk from his touch, but Dommick’s gloved hand was gentle. She stopped.

It seemed he had reached out to her without consciously thinking of it, for he dropped her elbow like a hot coal. He cleared his throat. “Where are you going?”

“I wanted to speak to Signora D’Angelo about the initials.”

Dommick gave a wince. “I shall spare you the effort. I spoke to her before the concert.”

“Was she able to identify them?”

“I didn’t ask her. It would have been of no use.”

“No use?”

“Did you know that I speak Italian?”

Alethea blinked at him. “What?”

“For I can assure you that ‘Signora D’Angelo’ does not.”

“You mean—?”

Dommick nodded. “She isn’t Italian.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

W
hen Alethea knocked on the door to the Marquess of Ravenhurst’s home the next day, she was surprised to find it opened by Clare herself, with the butler hovering behind her. “Miss Clare . . . ,” he said in a pained voice.

The girl pulled Alethea inside. “Thank goodness you’ve come.”

Alethea said to her maid, “Sally, feel free to have a cup of tea in the kitchen.”

“You may send your maid home after she has her tea, if you prefer,” Clare said. “When Bayard returns, he can accompany you home.”

Alethea nodded to Sally, who curtseyed and headed to the kitchen. The butler moved to accept Alethea’s cloak.

Clare led Alethea toward the drawing room. “Mr. Morrish arrived half an hour ago. Bayard is on some errand, Ravenhurst is attending to estate business, and Ian is paying a call on a friend of his mother who lives outside of Bath. Mother is complacent about allowing Mr. Morrish to sit beside me, and quiz me about my embroidery, and comment on my dress. Next he shall ask to see my teeth.” Clare stomped up the last few steps.

“I shall pay my respects to your mother, and then we can remove into the music room.” Alethea handed Clare the sheaf of music she had brought. “Here is the Andantino, for violin and piano, by Pergolesi.”

“That melancholy song from last night? Oh, thank you.” Clare riffled through the music as she walked.

Lady Morrish lounged on a chaise in the drawing room, her embroidery a tangled mess about her but her face revealing only a languid contentment. “How lovely to see you, Lady Alethea. Do sit and have a cup of tea.”

Mr. Morrish had risen to his feet, and the smile he gave to Alethea was wide and cold.

“Thank you, my lady.” Alethea positioned herself next to Mr. Morrish so that Clare sat next to her mother instead.

“How is your aunt, Lady Alethea?” Lady Morrish asked.

Clare handed Alethea a cup of tea. “Quite well,” Alethea said.

“I am so distressed by what happened at Lady Fairmont’s ball,” Lady Morrish said. “I have asked among my acquaintance, but I cannot find out why she would have behaved so.”

“She has removed to her country house for the winter, I believe.”

“Yes, more’s the pity. But I am likely to see her in town this spring when Clare has her come out, so if I have an opportunity, I shall speak to her for you.”

“Thank you, that is very kind of you.”

“Indeed, Aunt.” Mr. Morrish flashed a toothy smile at the lady. “I was not present when Lady Fairmont spoke to Lady Alethea, but I heard about the incident and it grieves me greatly.”

Alethea was sure it did, about as much as a tickle in his toe.

She had taken her second sip of tea when Clare jumped to her feet. “Mama, Alethea and I shall be in the music room. She has brought some new music for me.”

“Certainly.” Lady Morrish returned to picking at the tangle of
her embroidery silks. “Mr. Morrish, will you assist me? I cannot seem to . . .”

Mr. Morrish’s pained expression was the last thing Alethea saw before she left the room.

“You have made it clear that you do not wish to entertain Mr. Morrish’s suit, have you not?” Alethea asked as they made their way down the hallway to the music room.

“Yes, but Sir Hermes simply laughs and says I am yet too young to know my mind firmly. Mother goes along with everything he says.”

“Has he no respect for your wishes?”

“Sir Hermes desires the match. Bayard would have refused Mr. Morrish entry into the house, but Mama prevailed upon him, saying it would cause too much talk to deny Mr. Morrish his uncle.” Clare huffed. “And so nothing prevents Mr. Morrish from inflicting his presence upon me.”

Alethea’s opinion of Clare’s stepfather sunk lower. The man may be a jovial personality, but he was also thoughtless of others and selfish. He reminded her of her father and brother, although with less cruelty. But unlike herself, Clare had a brother and his friends to protect her. Alethea had only had Calandra and Lucy and, most of all, herself to depend upon.

Clare threw open the double doors, and a bright shaft of light nearly blinded Alethea. The Ravenhurst music room was even grander than the drawing room. Tall windows drenching the room in light flanked bookcases of sheet music. She was immediately engulfed in the spicy aroma of hothouse flowers, which sat on tables set against the walls in front of large oval mirrors that reflected the sunlight, making the room even brighter. A large, impressive pianoforte sat in the far corner next to a large harp, and Lord Ravenhurst’s violoncello rested next to it on a stand.

Some movement caught her eye. She turned to look, but saw
nothing except the two tables set up in the other corner of the room with instruments scattered across them, and next to those a heavy wooden desk piled high with paper, both blank and manuscript music. The blotter was heavily dotted with ink. Dust motes floated in the air, illuminated by the window behind the desk. All the windows had their curtains drawn back so that as much light as possible filled the room.

“Did you see that?” Alethea asked.

“See what?”

She stared out the window, then shook her head. “I must have seen a bird outside.”

Clare sat at the pianoforte. “Should you like to play the violin portion?”

Alethea scanned the violins on the tables. “Will Lord Ravenhurst object if I use one of his instruments?”

“Oh, those are Bayard’s. Choose any one.”

While Clare picked out the piece on the pianoforte, Alethea studied the violins and spotted the Stradivarius immediately. It was older than hers. She could tell by the feel of the wood. There was another violin even older, which she thought might be a Guarnerius. She played a few measures on each and chose the possibly-Guarnerius since it had the more beautiful tone. But she felt her own violin had more velvety depths to the lower notes and more jewel-like brightness to the higher ones.

They practiced together for nearly half an hour. Clare was quite accomplished at the pianoforte and picked up the music quickly, and Alethea had played the piece many times with Calandra.

There was a gentle tap at the music room door. Clare stopped playing. “Come.”

Lucy entered the room and shut the door behind her, then drew close to the two women. Her dark eyes were somber. “Miss Terralton, Mr. Morrish has just left the house, but I have been in
your bedroom for the past three-quarters of an hour. I came upon Mr. Morrish’s servant in your bedchamber.”

“What?” Alethea exploded. The violin bow slipped through her fingers, and she grabbed at it quickly before it fell to the rug. She set the instrument upon the table.

Clare’s face was frighteningly pale in the light from the windows.

“I confronted him and he left,” Lucy said, “but I thought it prudent to remain in your bedchamber while Mr. Morrish was in the house.”

Clare was still silent and shocked. “Was anything taken?” Alethea asked.

“I don’t believe so.” Lucy laid a hand on Clare’s shoulder and said in a gentle voice, “Do you feel quite able to come upstairs with me to make sure?”

Clare inhaled a short breath, then firmed her chin. “Yes, let us go up.” She took Alethea’s hand to pull her along, and Alethea could feel the girl’s fingers trembling.

Clare’s room had been a guest room decorated in shades of pink and red, but the girl’s personal items were easy to spot because they were all in what appeared to be her favourite colour of blue. “Lucy, where was Mr. Morrish’s servant when you saw him?” Clare asked.

Lucy pointed to the dressing table. “He had opened the top middle drawer, miss.”

“That would be the first place I would look,” Alethea said. “Perhaps Lucy interrupted him before he had time to search.”

Clare said nothing, but she went through all her drawers at the dressing table, then through her clothespress, although Lucy said she had checked and nothing seemed to be missing.

Finally Clare sank onto the sofa in front of the fireplace. “Lucy, you may go. I know you have much to do before this evening.”