Love's Refrain (5 page)

She's forgotten the words.

Laura knew she wouldn't be much help. The lyrics had not been copied onto the piano part. She quickly segued into a transition and ended the piece. There was an awkward pause, and then a pair of hands led the applause. Lord Covington. Others followed suit, and Miranda, red-faced, made a slight bow before acknowledging Laura as her accompanist. Laura turned and nodded, then turned back to leaf through her music for the next piece.

“Lord Covington, do you have your flute with you tonight?” Mr. Pembroke asked.

At the question, Laura's hands froze. Flute? Lord Covington?

She glanced at Miranda, fearful the interruption of her second piece might have caused her irritation, but to her surprise, her sister smiled.

“Please, Lord Covington,” Miranda requested. “I would love to hear you play.”

The earl hesitated. “I was hoping to hear you sing another piece. Perhaps we could do a duet?”

Miranda blushed. “My lord, it would be an honor!”

Lord Covington signaled a servant to fetch his instrument, which, he told the young man, was in the pocket of his overcoat. He turned to Laura. “Lady Laura, I noticed you have the music for an Irish ballad as your next piece. I assume Lady Miranda was to sing it?” At Laura's nod, he continued. “I am also familiar with the melody. Let's all perform it together, shall we?”

The servant returned with an oblong bundle, which the earl unwrapped carefully, revealing three wooden pieces. He put them together and brought the instrument to his lips, blew a few experimental notes, and nodded his readiness. Laura played the introduction, and Miranda began to sing, much more comfortable with the ballad than the art song.

****

Much later, the sisters bade their guests good-night. Laura stifled a yawn as she mounted the stairs to their rooms.

“Laura, I think Lord Covington is interested in you,” Miranda observed as she followed.

Laura stifled a gasp. “What makes you think so?”

“He watched you quite fondly while he played his flute.”

“Nonsense. The earl enjoys good music, and it probably made him happy to be making music.”

“Will you never marry, Laura?”

The question had Laura freeze momentarily. “I don't know, Miranda. I think perhaps I am too old to attract someone.”

“You had a number of suitors during your season. Didn't any of them ask for your hand?”

“Yes, there were one or two.”

“There were three, according to Father. What was wrong with them?”

“I don't remember.”

“Let me refresh your memory. There was Lord Morgan.”

“Miranda! Surely you wouldn't want to see me wed to a gentleman three times my age?”

“I suppose not. But he was quite wealthy. You would have been a widow already and could look for someone younger.”

“Put those morbid thoughts away, Miranda. I'm not interested in looking for anyone.”

“And then there was Earl Benton.”

“He was a skinflint. I would have had to watch every ha' penny of the household budget and would have had to apply to him for even the smallest extravagance. I'm not a spendthrift, but I wouldn't want to live that way.”

“I didn't know that about him. I wouldn't want him, either. Well, what about Lord Dander? He's not so old; he's rich, and not at all unpleasing to the eye. What on earth did you find wrong with him?”

Laura paused. How could she give voice to her misgivings? Lord Dander had been a pleasant companion. He'd been kind, and she'd seriously considered accepting his proposal. But something kept her from saying the words. She wasn't sure what. “He was good friends with An— Lord Covington,” she began. “Though why Lord Covington would want to be friends with him, I can't imagine. He teased the earl constantly about his interest in music and the arts when it was clear that he—”

She stopped mid-sentence, appalled at what she had been about to say. Miranda wore a wide grin.

“You were in love with the earl, weren't you?” Miranda asked.

She had always been in love with Andrew.

The truth was out. Long ago, she hadn't dared admit it, of course, because he'd been betrothed, and then married, to her good friend. No other man had ever measured up to him. No other man could engage her heart as well as her mind. But now — could she dare to hope? He'd been a regular visitor at their townhouse, and he seemed to pay as much attention to her as he did to Miranda. Her heart swelled with optimism.

****

Back in his own townhouse, Andrew mulled over his evening with the Montgomery family. Phillip had definitely been correct. Laura was a much better match for him. She was closer to him in age and interests, and she held herself with a quiet dignity suitable for a countess.

Even better, she stirred something deep within him, a yearning he thought he had buried with Priscilla all those years ago. Her features were unremarkable at first glance, but her wide brown eyes projected honesty, sincerity, and loyalty. She had been the one with the compassion and presence of mind to care for his mother at the recital in Lady Hamilton's home. Tonight, when her sister had forgotten the words to her song, Laura hadn't panicked but simply brought the performance to a graceful end. His applause had been for Laura as much as it had been for Miranda. He couldn't ask for a better life companion.

A few weeks earlier, he'd scoffed at the idea of remarrying. Now, he had not only made peace with the idea, he eagerly embraced it.

Hopefully, Lady Laura would agree.

The sun shone brightly the next morning, reflecting Laura's mood. She'd been apprehensive about hosting the dinner party, but now that it was over she could consider it a success. Miranda had gained the attention of a gentleman she admired, and Laura herself had experienced bliss while making music together with the earl.

She'd been afraid to ask him directly if he'd been the mystery flautist outside her window, but he most surely had been. They'd played song after song, and the guests had cheered and clamored for more, until Miranda's voice was weak and the earl declared he couldn't play another note.

After the guests had left she'd slept soundly and awakened full of energy. At breakfast, Reginald had expressed his thanks for her efforts. He'd been avoiding social functions, he told her, but thanks to Laura's work he'd enjoyed himself far more than he'd thought he would.

It was still early, and knowing her sister wouldn't be up for several hours, Laura decided to walk through the gardens behind the townhouse. The courtyard was well kept, with walkways and benches, and at this hour it was empty. She could walk and enjoy the fresh air and beauty of the gardens. Summoning her maid, she gathered a light shawl and stepped outside. Francesca followed behind her.

She hadn't gone far when she heard a voice calling her. Looking for the owner of the voice, she found Lord Covington's face smiling at her over the newly trimmed hedge bordering the courtyard.

“Good morning, Lady Laura. I see you too are an early riser.”

“Good morning to you, my lord,” she replied, dropping to a curtsey. “To me, this is the best time of the day.”

“I quite agree. Though you and your sister must be exhausted after your lovely dinner party last night.”

“We are most honored you could join us. And I slept most soundly afterward, so I'm quite refreshed.”

“The evening was quite a success. I especially enjoyed the musicale afterward. I think Mr. Pembroke is quite enamored of your sister.”

“I think the feeling is mutual,” she said with a laugh. “Though I think Mr. Pembroke felt he was competing against you for her affection.”

His face darkened, and he turned away. “I couldn't subject her to that,” he said somberly.

Laura stilled. “What do you mean, my lord?”

“Lady Miranda needs someone who will always be attentive to her. I'm not that way. At least I wasn't. I – I wasn't the best husband to my poor wife.”

“No? Why ever not?”

“She was sadly neglected. If I had been here with her instead of on the continent, fighting against Bonaparte, I might have seen how delicate she was. I would have secured better physicians who would have saved her. She was forlorn and malnourished because she was a neglected wife.”

“That's rubbish,” Laura blurted.

He whirled. “What?”

She bit her lip and stepped back, mortified she had spoken the words aloud. “Forgive me, my lord. I meant no offense, though I realize it sounded that way. I meant Lady Priscilla's death had nothing to do with the care, or lack of care she received.”

“And how would you know this?”

She drew herself up. “Lady Priscilla and I attended the same finishing school. We were actually close friends. But she was always — preoccupied with her appearance.”

Andrew knew that. His wife had spent hours preparing for even an afternoon stroll and would often cry hysterically when she couldn't get her hair right.

“Lady Priscilla did, indeed, miss you while you were on the Continent. But your absence was not the cause of her decline. She was… with child.”

Andrew's head spun. Priscilla had been with child? “But she — she never told me. And my mother never said anything—”

“She didn't tell anyone. I only knew because I came upon her as she was — ill.”

“Why wouldn't she tell anyone? I would have been ecstatic at the news. I would have come home earlier—”

“She didn't like the idea of her body growing larger. Her increasing size caused her to fret, and she did all she could to disguise it. She stopped eating and bound her abdomen to hold it in. But no matter how little she ate, her size kept increasing. She literally starved herself and the babe to death.”

“But — but why didn't the doctors discover this? Surely they would have been able to discern her condition and warn her.”

“The night she finally agreed to let me summon a doctor, there was an emergency — a fire at the local pub, and there were several badly injured who needed his help. By the time he arrived, it was too late.”

Andrew paced, turning away from the hedge. He took a deep breath, and Laura wondered if she had been wrong to tell him. “Forgive me, my lord. I would not have given you such disturbing news, but I couldn't allow you to continue to blame yourself—”

He cut her off with a wave of his hand. “I am indebted to you. This was something I, as her husband, should have known.” He paused, sighing deeply. “If only my wife had felt the same.”

There was nothing more for Laura to say. He would always love his late wife, and there was no room in his heart for another. Laura curtsied and left the earl to his own thoughts.

Miranda met her at the door. “Laura, I've been looking for you! I just received a letter from Mama. She's fully recovered, and she and Father are coming to London. They'll be here within the week.”

“That's wonderful news, Miranda.” Her heart agreed with her words. With her parents there, she would be relieved of her duty as Miranda's chaperone. She had just delivered devastating news to Lord Covington, and he would always associate her with it. In freeing his conscience of guilt so that he would feel free to marry, she had placed herself out of his consideration for that honor. Now, after her parents arrived, she could go back to the estate and resume her solitary life. It would be better than being in London, pining after someone who could never be hers.