Authors: Patricia Kiyono
Love's Refrain (2 page)
“May I know this young lady's name?” Lady Covington's question took them both by surprise. Quickly recovering, Laura made the introductions. “Yes, my lady. Allow me to present my sister, Lady Miranda, daughter of the Earl and Countess of Norwood.” She glanced at her sister, who curtseyed to the dowager.
“Miranda, is it? Your parents were wise to name you for a beautiful literary heroine. Lady Miranda, I would like you to meet my son, Lord Covington.”
Miranda dipped into another curtsey. Andrew bowed deeply, murmuring an appropriate response.
“Lady Miranda, my son is somewhat out of practice on the dance floor. Perhaps you could help him recall the steps to the quadrille that is about to start?”
Lady Covington's request was totally unexpected and unusual, but other than the widening of Miranda's eyes and a blink from Andrew, neither party reacted, other than to accept the situation. With a nod, he led her to the dance floor.
And that is how it is done
, thought Laura. She settled back to watch yet another woman live the life she could only experience in her dreams.
****
Andrew's eyes were on the lovely woman dancing with him, but his mind was on the chaperone sitting by his mother. She'd looked familiar, but he couldn't remember where he'd seen her. What was her name? Laura? He'd known several women named Laura. And of course his wife had had hundreds of acquaintances.
“Don't you agree, my lord?” his dance partner asked.
He blinked, quickly bringing his mind back to the present. He'd missed the topic of their conversation. Not wanting to admit she hadn't held his complete attention, he searched for a non-committal response. “Er, I couldn't say.”
“I understand, my lord. I suppose if Lady Marlborough were to learn you disapproved of her staff's livery, it would amount to an insult from which she would not recover.”
Andrew wasn't sure Lady Marlborough would care one way or another, but he nodded, and made a conscientious effort to keep his attention on the woman in front of him. “Er, have you had the opportunity to attend any of the events at Covent Garden?”
“Not yet, my lord. I am eagerly looking forward to doing so. Can you tell me about some of the events there?”
Here was a conversation in which Andrew could participate. He launched into a description of his favorite plays, beginning, of course, with those of Shakespeare. But halfway through his review, he noted his partner's decided lack of interest. Though her gaze still pointed at him, her mind was far away.
“Of course, the costumes are unparalleled at Covent Garden,” he improvised.
The mention of clothing brought the lady's attention back. “Oh, I can imagine the gowns are exquisite! I've always thought it must be fascinating to be an actor. One's entire life is nothing but fantasy.”
Having made the acquaintance of several notable actors, Andrew was inclined to disagree with her rather shallow perception of the profession, but he said nothing. He didn't really have to; Lady Miranda was content to do all the talking.
The music stopped, and he escorted his dance partner back to her chaperone. He bowed, assured her he would enjoy resuming their conversation in the future, and left to find some refreshment. Hopefully there was someone here who could converse about something other than fashion or decor.
The sisters, Cousin Reginald, and Cousin Augusta had just completed a rather late breakfast when Jones entered with a calling card on a silver tray. “Sir, a caller.”
Reginald Montgomery took the card and glanced at it. He handed it to Laura. “Lord Covington,” he explained. “I have no business with him. Do you suppose he's come to call on Miranda?”
Both girls stared. “Lord Covington?” Laura recovered first. “Er â will you allow her to see him?”
“Mmm? I suppose. Laura, why don't you take care of it â after all, you are her chaperone. I have business to attend to. If he's come for me, you can send him to my study.” Having settled the matter in his mind, he rose and left the table.
So, I am to grant permission for Andrew, Lord Covington, to call on my sister.
With a sigh, she turned to Jones. “Please tell the earl I will receive him in the morning room.” At the butler's nod, she made her way to the appointed place, smoothing her dress and hair as she walked. Reaching the morning room, she stepped to the center of the floor, turned, and took a deep, fortifying breath just before Jones opened the door to usher in her guest. She opened her mouth to greet the earl but paused when she realized he wasn't alone.
“Lord Covington, how delightful to see you,” Laura said as she curtseyed. “And Lady Covington, what a wonderful surprise.”
Lord Covington nodded, though she detected a bit of anger behind his polite mask.
“I asked my son to bring me here this morning,” the countess informed her, “because I was so enchanted with your sister, and I wanted to see her again.”
Laura's brows rose. “I am pleased my sister made a favorable impression, my lady.”
“Indeed she did, but she is far too pale. She needs to get outdoors more. My son will be available to take her for a ride this afternoon, if you allow it.”
****
“So
Lady Covington
invited me to ride with Lord Covington?” Miranda asked after their guests had departed.
“Er â yes. And I accepted for you. Do you mind?” Laura asked.
“No, I don't mind. Though I would have been simply agog if it had been Mr. Davis. Don't you agree, Laura?”
Laura worked hard to tamp down her irritation at her sister's shallowness. Couldn't she see that for all his good looks, Mr. Davis was nothing more than an opportunist? His sole purpose was to find a rich woman so he could live a pampered life. He had no title, no property, and no money other than what he coerced his friends into giving him. And now he needed a wife who could help him continue the life he craved.
“Mr. Davis is indeed handsome,” Laura agreed. “But Lord Covington is also good-looking,” she continued.
“Oh, I suppose,” Miranda agreed. “It will be nice to join him for a ride this afternoon. Best not to cast him aside in case I can't find someone better.”
Laura took a deep breath to keep from losing her temper. “Lord Covington will be here at half-past two.”
“But that gives me only three hours to prepare!”
“Er â do you want me to help?”
“No, no. I'll manage with Francesca's help. You're closer to his age, so I'm sure you can entertain Lord Covington for a while if I'm not ready when he gets here.” She swept away.
Laura closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. When her father had married Lady Rothschild, her stepmother had come to their home with her young daughter, Miranda. Laura had been excited about the union, having spent a lonely childhood with few friends. She'd been eager to greet and love a new sister. But the spoiled young miss had not shown any interest in forming a bond of any kind, especially since Laura had little interest in fashion, jewelry, or landing a wealthy husband.
She finished her breakfast then rose to take care of the household matters. Three hours would give her plenty of time to see to the menus, take care of correspondence, and get dressed for the afternoon's outing.
Four hours later, Laura and the earl waited in the front parlor. But they were so engaged in their discussion, neither of them noticed Miranda had yet to make her appearance.
“The last time I went to Drury Lane, it was to see a presentation of
Macbeth
,” Laura recalled.
“And did you enjoy it?”
“Absolutely. Mr. Edmund Kean's performance of Macbeth was riveting.”
“Yes, but he falls a bit short of the representation by Mr. John Philip Kemble. He was indeed a legend.”
“I have not had the privilege of observing Mr. Kemble on the stage, but I have heard his representation of the tragic heroes is truly unparalleled. Still, there are some who say his acting in other roles seems a bit - methodical.”
“Perhaps. But Mr. Kemble is a veteran of those tragic roles. I attended a performance of his eight or nine years ago and enjoyed it immensely.”
The two compared performances, and they shared anecdotes of the plays they had seen. Laura laughed aloud at a particularly funny story until a cough from the doorway interrupted them.
“It would seem my chaperone might be in need of her own chaperone. Goodness, Laura, surely you realize you need to behave with the decorum expected of any unmarried woman?”
Laura gasped, unsure how she should respond. Fortunately, Lord Covington rose, stepped easily to her sister, and bent low over her hand.
“Lady Miranda, how good to see you again. Thank you for accepting my invitation this afternoon. Your sister was good enough to help me choose a pleasant route to take. Shall we go?”
Jones appeared as they stepped into the lobby and helped Miranda into her cloak. Laura held out her cloak to Jones but froze when the earl lifted it from her arm and settled it over her shoulders. The warm touch of his fingers, even through the cloak's fabric, threatened to melt her. She leaned back, wanting the moment to last, but Jones' upturned brow reminded her of her role as Miranda's chaperone. She nodded her thanks to the earl and stepped outside, where a footman assisted her and then Miranda into the waiting barouche.
Once the ladies were settled, Andrew got in and instructed the driver to take them to the Vauxhall Gardens.
****
Andrew sat back in his seat and allowed Lady Miranda to chatter. The barouche he'd hired had a seat wide enough for three people to sit comfortably. He would have preferred to discuss topics other than the weather and fashion, but Lady Miranda kept a steady stream of commentary. And she was quite lovely.
He'd been furious with his mother for tricking him into this outing, and he'd told her as much when they'd left the Montgomery home that morning. She'd blithely informed him she'd decided to help him find a bride, since he'd been reluctant to choose one.
He had enjoyed his conversation with Lady Laura. She was pleasant enough in appearance, though she was no beauty like her sister. But Lady Laura shared a passion for the theater and knowledge about classical literature, music, and art. She still looked familiar, but he couldn't remember where he had seen her. Perhaps she'd been a friend of Priscilla's. He'd have to ask her one day.
“What do you think, my lord?”
He'd done it again. He had no idea what Miranda had said. “Er, I'm not sure.” He leaned forward and made eye contact with her sister. “What is your opinion, Lady Laura?”
Lady Laura's eyes twinkled, and her mouth curved into a wide grin. Had she guessed his dilemma? “My lord, I believe it is of utmost importance, indeed,” she replied.
Blast. I still don't know what Lady Miranda was talking about.
Laura knew she probably looked silly, but she couldn't stop smiling. The carriage ride had been a rare treat. Lord Covington had made every effort to include her in conversation, as if he were courting the two of them at once. She had to remember she, Laura, was simply the chaperone. But their conversation while waiting for Miranda had been so stimulating. He'd asked her opinion about various performers and compositions. And he'd listened to her answers.
She'd almost laughed when Miranda had asked his opinion about something. He obviously hadn't been listening because his wide hazel eyes had pleaded for assistance when he'd leaned over and asked, “What is your opinion, Lady Laura?” She would have gladly helped, if she'd had any inkling of what Miranda had been prattling about, but she too had let her mind wander.
Returning to Cousin Reginald's home, Laura decided to read. She hadn't had much time for reading since they'd arrived in town, and she had a new poetry book she wanted to browse. She let the book fall open and brightened at the first title to catch her eye:
To Hope
. John Keats' words filled her with a sense of serendipity:
'
er I wander, at the fall of night,
'
s bright ray,
Laura looked up from the page, her eyes shining, her heart filled with a joy she hadn't felt in years. Hope. There was hope. Perhaps the earl was her soul mate, and perhaps he wasn't. If he chose her sister, he would be her brother and would still be a part of her life. She could still have stimulating conversations with him, and that would be enough.