Authors: Patricia Kiyono
Love's Refrain (3 page)
She read the words again, her spirits rising with each line. The words suggested a melody, slightly melancholy, beginning in the lower part of her vocal range and gradually rising in pitch, reflecting the dawning of hope. The music in her head cheered her so much she began to sing out loud, her voice slowly gaining intensity and assurance, until she threw her entire being into the song.
A second melody began to weave its way through hers. The mellow tones of a wooden flute played a merry dance with her song, sometimes echoing, sometimes dipping below to accompany, sometimes soaring above to embellish. She rose, going to the open window, and continued to sing, hoping to see where the music came from, but no mystery musician stood in the courtyard below.
The flautist was so skilled he seemed to anticipate her every turn. Entranced, Laura forgot about the words and danced about, though she continued the melody, substituting “la” for the lyrics.
She didn't know how long she and the flute player engaged in their duet, but the door slamming open behind her had her gasping.
“Laura! Didn't you hear me calling you? I need your help getting ready for the Dunwiddie party tonight. I simply can't abide Francesca's careless hairdressing again.”
Her spirits still floating after the music session, Laura beamed at her sister. “I guess I was daydreaming, Miranda. I'm sure some handsome gentleman will sweep you off your feet. Maybe tonight.” She rose, clasping her sister's hands. “You'd admired Lady Amanda's coiffure at the concert last week, so I spoke with her mother, Lady Fitzhugh, and inquired about the maid who arranged it. She has agreed to let the girl come over as soon as she's finished with Lady Amanda's hair and do yours. This means we will be a little later arriving at the ballâ”
Miranda's bright blue eyes widened and she bounced with excitement. “Oh, Laura, this is perfect! I shall be sure to make a grand entrance if we arrive later tonight. Thank you, sister.” She squeezed Laura's hand and then turned away, assured the crisis was solved. “Now, I just have to decide whether to wear the blue or the green gown.”
Laura felt the shade of green made her sister look rather ill, but kept her opinion to herself. Miranda, she knew, would wear what she liked, regardless of what anyone thought.
****
On the other side of the hedge separating the Montgomery courtyard from that of their neighbor, Andrew put his flute back in its case and returned to his own townhouse. Now, he knew the identity of the mystery singer who had entranced him before. The angelic voice belonged to Lady Laura Montgomery. Though the shrubbery prevented him from seeing her clearly through her open window, he'd caught a glimpse of her dancing about. Her auburn hair gleamed, and she seemed younger and more vibrant than at the Kentridges' ball.
He prepared for the evening, his heart lighter than it had been for some time. Perhaps he should continue to court Lady Miranda. If they were to wed, he'd have a talented sister-in-law.
Sister-in-law?
He paused with his arm halfway into his shirt sleeve, causing his young valet to eye him curiously. Somehow, the title didn't seem right. But that's what she would be, if he continued to court, and eventually marry, Lady Miranda.
Why couldn't Miranda be more like her sister?
Andrew stepped out onto the crowded street, his thoughts on the meeting he'd just held with his solicitor. It seemed his mother might get her way yet again. Cousin Nelson, it seemed, was an unsuitable heir. In order to preserve his lands and title, he would have to remarry. Men married for far worse reasons than to gain an heir. At least Lady Miranda was pleasing to the eye. He could do far worse than to marry her. Why, then, did he have the feeling such a course wasn't right?
He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he gasped when a strong hand gripped his arm, stopping him in his tracks. Seconds later, a rapidly moving carriage, pulled by four huge horses, passed in front of him. Had he stepped onto the cross street, he would have been crushed.
Gathering his wits, he turned to thank his rescuer. His long-time friend Phillip Peartree, Duke of Bartlett, stood behind him, his hand still wrapped around Andrew's arm.
“Bartlett!” Andrew cried. “Thanks, friend. My daydreaming nearly killed me.”
His friend's eyes were as wide as his must have been. “Are you all right?” Phillip asked.
“I'm none the worse for wear, I suppose,” Andrew replied as he dusted off his coat. Looking up, he realized Phillip, having lost his hearing in a hunting accident, hadn't heard his response. Andrew repeated his answer, careful to keep his face toward the duke, who depended on reading lips to understand what was said. “I'm fine, Phillip, thanks to you.”
Reassured, Phillip released his hold on Andrew's coat. “I'm just headed home for tea. Would you care to join us? Amelia would be pleased to see you again.”
Phillip had wed Lady Amelia Partridge only a year before. The new duchess was a delightful woman, intelligent, and passionate about her role teaching the poor children in the Cheapside neighborhood near St. Paul's Cathedral.
“I would be pleased to join you,” Andrew replied.
The duke and his new duchess lived in a modest home, rented for the season so Phillip could tend to his duties in Parliament. He spent most of his time and energy on his estate, rebuilding the financial mess his father had left him. But Phillip's sister and Amelia's brother lived in London, so the couple came often to visit.
They walked to the townhouse, chatting as they went. The spring chill had warmed to a pleasant degree, and the men shrugged off their overcoats as they walked. Phillip led the way to a less affluent area, to a row of smaller townhouses. Though the neighborhood was well kept, the homes were much more modest than the one Andrew occupied.
“Here we are,” Phillip announced. He stepped up to the door just as the butler opened it. Andrew followed, wondering if his friend was in worse straits than he had thought.
But as he entered the cozy setting inside, he knew Phillip was rich in another sense. Amelia, Lady Bartlett, put down her stitching and rose quickly to greet her husband. Andrew watched their brief interaction, noting the light in both their eyes, the love filling the room. Their hands entwined, and he knew their greeting tonight was much more modest than it would have been had he not been a witness.
“Lord Covington, how good to see you again.” Lady Amelia turned her still shining face to her guest. “How is your dear mother?”
“Very well, thank you,” Andrew replied as he bent over her hand.
“Please make yourself comfortable. Connors will be in shortly with tea.”
Andrew sat, engaging in small talk, but absorbing the harmony so evident in Phillip's life. He and his wife clearly adored each other, and they had shared interests.
This is what a marriage should be like
, he thought.
He blinked when he realized the conversation had paused. Both Phillip and Amelia had turned toward him, wearing expressions of polite interest.
Drat
. What had he missed?
“Sorry, I was woolgathering. What did you say?”
“I had asked about the lovely lady with whom you danced at the ball a week ago,” Phillip told him. “I heard a rumor you took her for a ride later. Lady Miranda, I believe?”
“Yes, she's the younger daughter of the Earl of Norwood.”
“Miranda?” Amelia blurted. “She's a child!”
Andrew stared agape at Amelia, who blushed. “Forgive me,” Amelia murmured. “My tongue has engaged before my mind again. It is not my concern, and I should not wonder what a man our age would have in common with a young woman in her first season. I shall let you gentlemen talk. I need to plan this evening's lessons at the chapel.” She rose and swept from the parlor.
Andrew was at a loss. Had he insulted Lady Bartlett? Should he leave?
“I'm not certain what my wife said, but please forgive her for her outburst,” Phillip began.
Andrew waved a dismissive hand. “She didn't say anything I haven't said to myself in the last several days. Lady Miranda is indeed quite young.”
“Then why are you calling on her?”
“I'm not exactly calling on her, but Mother seems to have taken a liking to her and seems keen on having her for a daughter-in-law. She's lovelyâ”
“True. And what do you talk about?”
“Er, the weather, her new gowns, her headaches⦔
“Fascinating,” Phillip quipped. “Does she ever inquire about your interests?”
He thought. Did she really care about him at all? “I'm an earl, and I have the money to buy her more gowns. It's probably all that matters to her.”
“So you would be proud to have her on your arm, but nothing else about her appeals to you. Is that enough?”
“It bothers me when she keeps me waiting. The time would be boring if it weren't for Lady Laura.”
“Her older sister.”
“Yes. She's quite knowledgeable about the arts.”
“Amelia and my sister Desiree have heard her sing. They say she's quite wonderful. And I know you love to attend the theater. Have you taken the Montgomery sisters to Covent Garden?”
“Not yet. I suggested it during our ride. Lady Laura seemed excited at the prospect, but Lady Miranda wasn't eager to attend a performance of
Macbeth
. Said the story was too distressing.”
Phillip sat back and turned a stern eye toward his friend. “It would seem, old friend, that you are courting the wrong sister.”
Andrew's mind whirled. Courting the wrong sister? Court Laura? She wasn't even a part of the marriage market. She was Lady Miranda's
chaperone
, not a debutante. Though she was a young and pleasant-looking chaperone.
He knew she had a kind heart. She listened to him when he talked, and she appreciated the same things he did.
Perhaps Phillip's idea had merit.
Laura adjusted the skirt of her muslin dress and settled into her seat. She tried not to look at the gentleman entering the row ahead of her and to the right. Lord Covington assisted his mother as she sat and then took the chair on the outside of the row.
The sisters had received an invitation to attend a private concert at the home of Lady Hamilton, who had sponsored a young pianist about to embark on his professional career. Laura had been eager to go, but Miranda had been reluctant. She'd agreed only when she had learned the pianist was young and quite handsome.
Laura sat up in her seat as the pianist, a Mister Randall, approached the piano. She had heard reports of this man's dazzling technique and expressiveness. Mister Randall bowed deeply then settled on the bench, placed his hands on the keys, and closed his eyes in concentration. He then launched into a new sonata of his own composition.
The first movement, as in most sonatas, began with a stately theme, reminiscent of a royal fanfare. Laura, an accomplished pianist herself, wavered between awe and envy for Mister Randall's fine technique. His scales were even and precise, yet the melody was flowing and lyrical. It was a true testament to the genius of the composer, as well as the virtuosity of the performer.
The pianist finished the first movement of the sonata with a flourish and waited for the echoes of the last chord to die away before beginning the second movement. This section was slower, more melancholy, as if the pianist mourned the loss of someone dear. Laura marveled at the musician's ability to play the phrases so smoothly. She leaned forward, entranced, as the pianist coaxed the velvety tones from the instrument. But someone's constant movement to her left intruded upon her enjoyment.
Beside her, Miranda fidgeted in her seat. To be fair, the chairs were a bit uncomfortable, and Laura knew she would be glad when the intermission came so she could stretch her legs. But Miranda's fussing was far more than the uncomfortable seats warranted. She turned to her stepsister, unsure how she would be able to communicate a warning to her. But the sight she beheld filled her with horror.
Miranda wasn't wiggling from discomfort. She was engaged in a silent conversation with her friend, Lady Lucinda Warren â pantomiming, gesturing, making faces. Lady Lucinda had already gained a reputation as a troublesome debutante who liked to flaunt convention and push the limits of acceptable behavior. Laura had often worried about the girl's influence on Miranda.
Laura discreetly nudged her sister, who ignored her. She nudged again, harder. Finally, Miranda turned to her, an angry scowl marring her beautiful face. Laura simply shook her head, warning of her improper behavior. The reprimand was met with a toss of Miranda's dark head, arms crossed. Laura pressed her fingers to her forehead, trying to massage away the ache she felt whenever having to deal with her sister's stubbornness. She allowed the tranquil music to calm her.
Too soon, the slow movement ended and the pianist took a moment to prepare for the final movement of the sonata. This time, he launched into a spirited gigue, and the cheerfulness brought to mind a lively country dance.
The piece ended to thunderous applause, and Laura clapped enthusiastically then stood as the rest of the audience did. Sensing Miranda's movement at her side, she followed her toward the refreshment table.
“Miranda, I know you don't enjoy these events as much as I do, but you must show some decorum.”
“I'm showing as much decorum as I can. Listening to this music is absolutely painful,” groused Miranda. “I couldn't have borne another moment of it. I'm going to talk to Lucinda. Maybe she'll have an idea how to escape this dreadful evening.” Without another word, she flounced away.
“It appears your young charge has a mind of her own,” a deep baritone rumbled from her right.
Laura gasped in surprise and colored as she realized what the earl might have overheard. “I â er, please forgive Miranda's manners,” she hedged. “I imagine she is upset about her own mother not being here to accompany her.”