Courtesan's Kiss (16 page)

“No, miss, everyone is as I expected.”

“Thank goodness.” She relaxed her deathlike grip on her robe. “I will dress and be downstairs as quickly as I can.”

“Thank you.” He nodded and turned away before she closed the door. Mrs. Cantwell had explained his decision to come to the house. How noble of him to risk illness himself in order to care for them.

Now, if it had been Lord David at the door, he would have pushed his way into the room and berated her for still being abed. And, as a punishment for his rudeness, she would have made him wait an hour. Mr. Novins deserved her full cooperation, and surely he would have a few minutes to talk with her about Miss Horner. If she could find no novels to read, she could certainly enjoy a real-life story, particularly one she might be able to move along toward a satisfactory conclusion.

Mia raced through her toilette. She managed to lace her stays and slip into her gown, tie it, and find shoes, dismissing stockings. She left her hair down, settling for brushing it free of knots and tying it at the back of her neck. Janina would scold her endlessly for her casual air. Mia could hear her.

“You must always look your best. You never know when the man of your heart will appear.”

“Mr. Novins will never be the love of my life, Janina,” Mia announced as if Janina sat next to her. Then Mia held the brush close to her heart and closed her watery eyes.
Please, please be well, Nina, and come back to me soon
.

As she hurried down the steps Mia decided that she would write Janina today and tell her all that she learned about Mr. Novins and Miss Horner.

Mia hurried into the salon and then stopped short. She had not been in here before. This room had more light than the hall. It benefited from a west-facing window, and the light gave the space a golden glow that accentuated the yellows and golds that colored the walls and upholstered furniture. A huge arrangement of white and yellow summer blooms spiked with bright blue hydrangea brought the room to life.

If there had been a pianoforte she would have called this room perfection.

Mr. Novins stood at the window, his hands behind his back, as still as a statue. The view from the window had much to recommend it. The trees mixed green against a startling blue sky, but Mia knew the prospect was not what Mr. Novins saw.

She waited so long that Mia thought she would have to clear her throat to draw his attention, but just then the surgeon turned to face her.

“Good morning, miss,” he said, as if just noticing her.

“Good morning,” she echoed with a small curtsy. “This room is lovely and those flowers spectacular.” Their
earlier conversation came to her. “Did Miss Horner make this arrangement?”

“Yes, she did. But they are not half as lovely as she is,” Mr. Novins said with a proud nod.

Oh
, Mia thought,
his heart is so very involved
.

He cleared his throat and Mia pretended not to notice his embarrassment at so revealing a sentiment.

“I brought a package for you, Miss Castellano. It arrived last night from Pennford. I left it for you in the kitchen.”

“A package! Is there a letter as well?” Of course Elena would have written. “Never mind, I will go see for myself.” She spun around and had almost reached the door when Mr. Novins stopped her.

“Lord David told me today that he has a headache.”

His words froze her in place.

“No.” She spoke it firmly, her back still to Mr. Novins. “Lord David cannot be sick. No.” She turned to face the surgeon. “I will not allow it.”

“I hear desperation in your voice, Miss Castellano.”

He went on talking but Mia had no idea what he said. Fear edged with guilt stole her breath and she sat on the settee, her legs weak, her head light.

This was her worst fear. If Lord David took ill, he who seemed as healthy and strong as an elephant, then what were the chances the rest of them would be spared? She rocked back and forth, fighting tears and anger.

“Miss Castellano, do not dissolve into hysterics.” Through her light-headed fog it seemed that Mr. Novins sounded hysterical himself. “It will make me regret telling
you.” She felt him sit beside her and wave something under her nose.

Ugh. A vinaigrette. Mia gasped at the awful smell and coughed herself back to normal. “I hate that smell.”

“Yes, but it does work.” Mr. Novins slid it back into his pocket. “Are you steady enough to listen now?”

“Yes.”

“Miss, Lord David is not sick, nor do I think he will be.”

Huge relief overtook her fear.

“He is upset about the others and worried about you.”

“Worried about me? No, he is not.” Not because he cared about her or would be devastated if she took ill. “But I will concede that he is worried that my death would upset Elena, my guardian.”

“Your death?” Mr. Novins took her hand. “Are you feeling unwell?”

“No. Not at all.” The man missed the point completely. “Or Lord David might be worried that he is going to be late for his appointment in Manchester. But he is not worried about Mia Castellano, I assure you of that. Not any more than I worry about him.”

“I see.” Mr. Novins said the two words as though he were imbued with some sight other than visual.

“If all you wanted to know is if I am feeling well, the answer is yes. No pain, no aches, no bruises from the carriage ride.” Mia was desperate to see what Elena had sent her. Instead she sacrificed that immediate pleasure to pursue Mr. Novins’s best interest and felt all the more angelic for it.

“Since we have dispensed with my well-being, do tell me how the people in the village are handling this upset.”
Especially Miss Horner. Especially Miss Horner
. Mia tried to send the ideas through the air and into his brain.

“Miss Horner tells me that everyone is concerned and fearful for Mrs. Cantwell.”

“For Mrs. Cantwell?”

“Mrs. Cantwell is better known than you and Lord David. Even Miss Horner’s mother went to church today to pray, and it is very difficult for Mrs. Horner to move about. She must use two canes.”

“I am sorry to hear that.” Mia winced at how perfunctory that sounded. She wanted to know about Miss Horner, not her mother. “Did Miss Horner come to church as well?”

“Yes, I spoke to her afterward. Very briefly.”
I miss her
.

He did not have to speak those words. Mia could tell by the expression on his face that his loneliness went soul-deep.

“Why will Miss Horner not consider marriage? You would be willing to take care of her mother and siblings, would you not?” And if he said no then his love was as shallow as a mud puddle and as pure.

“Of course. Her family would be mine.”

“Then, please tell me, what is the obstacle?”

“I have not asked her.”

“Oh. Why in the world not?”

Mr. Novins blushed and looked at his hands.

The solution seemed simple, but men were such
prideful creatures. What she needed to do was meet Miss Horner and find out if she returned Mr. Novins’s affection and then reassure him that his suit would be welcome. But that could not happen for a sennight.

“Mr. Novins,” she began, looking him straight in the eyes. “Here is what you must do.”

“Novins, need I remind you of all the reading that awaits you?”

Mia jumped to her feet with a cry. Mr. Novins did the same minus the little screech.

“You frightened me, Lord David,” Mia scolded.

“Yes, I can see that.”

He smiled like a self-satisfied prig. Or a bully. An oaf and a bully. And a prig.

“Yes, my lord,” Mr. Novins agreed. “I will see you later today, my lord.” Mr. Novins bowed to him, then turned to her, taking her hand and bowing over it with a charming grace. “We can continue our discussion then, Miss Castellano.”

“I look forward to it.” She flashed a look at Lord David and hoped he could read her mind.
Take that, you bully
, Mia thought even as she admitted to herself that calling him names made her feel like a child.

Mia followed Mr. Novins from the salon and closed the front door after another brief farewell. Lord David had followed her into the hallway but she ignored him. She did not care about him at all, even if he did have a headache. He seemed no more ill-tempered than usual.

She would find her package and most certainly a letter. Where had Mr. Novins said he left them?

She hurried down the hall and into the kitchen, mostly to avoid Lord David, and was rewarded with her mail. Mia knew exactly what the odd-shaped package was, but still pulled the ties off the cloth covering and exposed the leather case. Inside was the guitar that she had sent to Pennford months ago. She picked it up and hugged it to her. Even before she played a note, the smell of it, the feel of the strings, the way it fit so perfectly in her arms—it was just the thing she needed.

“A guitar.”

Lord David did not surprise her this time. She knew he would follow her.

“I should have been able to figure that out from the shape of the package. But then I did not know you played the guitar, too.”

“Yes, it is my favorite thing in all the world.”

“I thought the pianoforte was your favorite thing in all the world.”

“They both are.” Why did the man bring out the snippy girl in her? She was a woman, completely grown, with a woman’s wants and needs. She could not believe that she had pretended the pillow was him when she had been experimenting with the pose in the book. Not only sinful but stupid.

“If there is anything you need to discuss with me I will be in the study.” He left the room without waiting for a reply, and Mia told herself she did not feel at all ungracious.

“Wait, Lord David.”

He stopped at the door but did not come back into the room.

“Is there no letter for me? From Elena.”

“Oh,” he said, and reached into his pocket. “There was this note tucked in with Meryon’s letter. He penned it but it is dictated by the duchess.”

“Would you have even thought to give it to me if I had not asked?”

“Eventually.”

She turned her back to him and read:

Mia read the note through again. It was not precisely impersonal, but there was nothing particularly loving about it. Why would Elena not write herself unless she was beyond angry with her? Or perhaps she was too sick
from her pregnancy. Here was something else to worry about.

This incident is no more than an unfortunate accident for which neither of you is responsible
. Couched in terms to spare David her anger, Mia knew it really meant that everyone was relieved that for once Mia Castellano was not the reason for this disaster.

With the guitar back in the case, Mia counted the months since she had played it. The pianoforte was so much more popular in London. Now she could play what she pleased. The guitar was so much more intimate an instrument, held so close to the heart.

Carrying the case by the handle, she decided to take it away from the house to tune it and practice so no one could hear her mistakes.

There were three doors leading from the kitchen and she chose the one on the right first, not sure which one led outside.

The one she chose opened onto a short narrow room lined on both sides with any and all items an angler might want, need, or wish for. Boots, rain wear, creels, nets, and the even more essential equipment: fishing rods and, on the wall, a padded felt square with at least fifty flies.

Mia took it all in with pure delight. You could angle with a fly here! This was proof that the river was filled with trout. Her papa would have loved this place.

Mia found that the door at the end of the room led to a path down toward the river. No fish worth its weight would be caught this time of day, so she headed to the river to play her guitar for them.

D
AVID TOOK HIS
second walk of the day after supper, a meal he had eaten alone since Mrs. Cantwell said Mia had sent word she would have something cold later.

The light remained strong but the sun sat low enough in the sky that the night air held sway. As he moved toward the river he could swear he heard music. He stopped, took two more careful steps, and recognized the sound.

A guitar. Someone played a guitar. And that someone could only be Mia Castellano.

David circled around the knoll where he found her sitting on a bench. As his eyes adjusted to the growing dark, what a picture she made. Mostly in shadows and not quite real. Since he could not see her clearly, he listened, gradually caught in the spell of her quiet guitar.