Mary Blayney - [Pennistan 03] (36 page)

“Yes, I have.” Her answer was brusque.

Miss Castellano volunteered the next sally. “I was wondering if Mr. DeBora will bring the Verano violin this evening.”

“I invited him to bring the violin with him but he told us he is not worthy to play it.” Lady Monksford spoke with enough disappointment for them to realize it was not what she wished.

“Do you think he would allow someone else to play it?” Meryon risked a glance at Elena, again, and found he had her complete attention.

“Do you play, Your Grace?” Lady Monksford asked.

“No, my musical abilities are limited to the appreciation of music. But I imagine that Signora Verano plays. Perhaps I could prevail on Mr. DeBora to allow the Signora a few minutes with the violin, in private, of course.”

Meryon could not think of a word to describe Elena’s
reaction, other than “speechless.” Mia, however, never failed for words or enthusiasm.

“How perfectly wonderful and generous of you, Your Grace. Elena would love it and so would I. To hold something so dear to Edward. Thank you, thank you so much.”

“I do not know if he even brought it and I am not promising that he will agree,” Meryon cautioned.

“Of course he will. You are a duke. He will agree, either because of your rank or because he is thrilled to be able to help you.”

Lady Monksford laughed. It was the slightly embarrassed laugh common among those who did not know Mia well.

“How can I thank you, Your Grace.” Elena’s words were not much more than a whisper.

“Smile sometime tonight.” He bowed to her. “I will leave you to prepare for your performance.”

Meryon walked out of the room without looking back and through the crowded antechamber. He spent the next hour talking with almost every person in the room, happy for the first time in days, if not months. It felt so totally and completely right to do something kind for no reason other than to make her happy. He did not expect a kiss or so much as a curtsy.

Meryon’s conversation with DeBora lasted all of two minutes, without one moment of negotiation.

“I am sorry to disappoint you, Your Grace, but I no longer own the Verano violin. I sold it to the Duke of Bendas yesterday.”

“Tell me why you did that,” Meryon demanded.

DeBora stepped back, flustered. “He—he wanted it and I sold it to him.”

“He had no possible use for it. You should have asked Signora Verano if she wished to purchase it.”

“Your Grace, I had no idea that the Signora could afford it.”

“You fool, you should have given it to her. Do you not understand that it is one of the few true connections she has with her husband, who died playing it?” Meryon forced himself to relax his fist, more angry that he would have to disappoint Elena than at what DeBora had told him. DeBora answered to Bendas. Meryon knew that as well as he knew his name, but the old duke’s interest in the Verano violin was more difficult to tease out. It struck Meryon as odd and worth investigating.

The bell sounded and the guests were invited into the ballroom for the music.

Meryon followed the crowd. His palms were sweaty, his heart would not slow. He was not nervous for her this time. His anxiety was all his own.

Of course he had to wait until the last to hear Elena. The violin, pianoforte, and voice were featured and Rosemary Monksford, who apparently had no musical talent, recited poetry at the breaks between performers.

Rosemary had a pretty voice, and she recited with confidence and insight, overall a pleasure to listen to. How interesting that the girl had some actress in her, though he would never say that aloud. And how clever of Lady Monksford to find a way to showcase her daughter’s talent.

Mia Castellano played the pianoforte with more skill than luck, her ability far outshining that of all the other young ladies her age. The force with which she played Beethoven was almost shocking, but like Elena she had perfected a smile that made it seem as though the passion was part of the performance as learned as the music.

At last Lord Monksford came to the front of the room and announced that Signora Verano would sing with the accompaniment of Miss Castellano. They would perform a traditional ballad for which the Signora had recently composed new music.

The pianoforte introduction was long and lovely, the mood soul-searching. When Elena began to sing the audience had to strain to hear her, but it was not the words that were important so much as the sensibility she was conveying. As Meryon listened and watched Elena sing he realized that Elena Verano’s great talent was how she shared herself.

As Elena’s voice grew stronger, Mia’s playing quieted and the words became clearer. They were the same lyrics she had sung as a ballad at the Regent’s dinner party, but what had been sung with humor then was filled with heartache now.

Love left a heart in ruins if we did not respect its power.

When she finished there was little doubt that she knew this from her own experience. Singing this piece appeared to have taken all her strength. She curtsied, lowering her head as if exhausted and when she straightened her smile was a weak imitation of happiness.

He stood, ready to rush to the stage, thinking she was going to faint. The audience followed his move and rose to applaud with gusto until Signora Verano recaptured her good humor. She thanked them with a happier smile, then gestured to her ward, who stood and gave a small curtsy.

Meryon sat back down, as drained as if he had given the performance. The room began to empty. Elena Verano was surrounded by well-wishers and Mia Castellano and some young man played at the pianoforte while Meryon realized that he knew now why he had avoided this meeting.

To see her again reminded him of all that he had lost.

Meryon watched her as she nodded her thanks and smiled at the compliments she received. He wanted that smile turned to him. Meryon could think of nothing else that would ease his cramped heart.

She had offered that smile, more than once, and he had ignored it, abused it, and lost whatever chance he had. Now he had to tell her that he could not give her the only thing he had offered that she did want.

When the crowd of well-wishers eased, he stepped forward. Elena saw that he waited and stepped away, her face composed but unsmiling.

“I am so sorry, signora, but DeBora tells me he no longer owns the violin. He sold it to the Duke of Bendas.”

“What?” Elena swayed, all color draining from her face. Meryon reached for her, steadying her with both hands at her shoulders.

Mia was at her side immediately.

“Mia, I need to go home. Now.”

Elena turned away from Meryon with no further explanation of her distress. The two women left the ballroom through the little door at the back, the same one they had come through before.

It took all his ducal self-control not to hurry after her—not to find out why such news would upset her so, but to find out what he could do to help her. As quickly as those thoughts flew through his mind the answer came: Leave her alone and find a way to buy the violin for her. Give it to her as a gift, anonymously even. He never wanted to see her that upset again.

Meryon asked a footman to call for his carriage and on his way out he thanked Lord Monksford and his wife, explaining very briefly DeBora’s sale of the violin.

There was one other thing he could act on. He could send another apology to Elena. One from the heart. If Elena Verano could stand before strangers and share herself through songs of love, life, and loss, then he could write a letter to her that told the truth.

At home, in his study, he poured a brandy but did no more than sip it once.

Picking up his pen, he stared at the blank sheet of paper. It stared back, daring him to be as honest as Elena Verano had been. Meryon might have no hopes for a future with her, but he could prove that he did not need a dark room and anonymity to speak meaningfully and from his heart.

He called a picture of Elena to mind. The moment before she kissed him in the carriage, her eyes alight with laughter. Never, not once in his life, had he thought of
laughter and kissing in the same breath. But with Elena it had seemed natural to smile back as their lips met. He realized now that that kiss had been only the beginning.

He would write the end now, with all the feeling he could wring from his aching heart.

E
LENA AWOKE MUCH TOO
early to rise when she had not gone to bed until two. She felt as though she had not slept at all, waking groggy, confused by dreams that she could not recall. Restless sleep was rare for her. It was her blessed godmother who had given Elena the key.

“You do not have to tell people, but …” Her
madrina
would always raise her finger to emphasize the word. “You must know for yourself the truth of yourself.”

Elena had lived by that rule. Alas, not perfectly, as last night’s sleeplessness proved.

Why in the world would the Duke of Bendas want Edward’s violin? Because he knew how much it meant to her. Because he wanted reconciliation and the violin would compel her to meet with him. Those were the two
most viable reasons. Unfortunately, one did not exclude the other.

Elena could not know the answer without asking Bendas. The question she
could
answer was how she felt about a reconciliation or, at the very least, the need to approach Bendas about buying the violin from him.

She was tired. Tired of trying to understand. She wondered why her mind knew that but her heart had refused to give up.

She would reconcile with her father if it came from his heart. The “if” was too big. And that is what held her back.

Tears welled in her eyes. She had been so wrong about Meryon that she could not trust her judgment where any man was concerned. With Meryon she had come so close to finding love again, then discovered that he did not understand the concept at all.

Meryon had never told his wife that he loved her
. That was a bit of honesty that told her more than all the other words between them. Now she was afraid that the Duke of Bendas was not capable of love either. Elena was not sure her heart could take that risk again.

She would live without them. Elena fell asleep, so very sorry for both Meryon and Bendas and sorry for herself.

T
HIS TIME MERYON
had no expectation of an answer from the Signora and lost himself in the various prospectuses his brother David had sent. He had examined them
before. This time he made a list of detailed comments and asked David to add any questions he might have, meet with the men whose projects had been selected, and start the contract process as soon as possible.

Meryon had completed his letter to William Wilberforce and was rereading it when there was a scratch at the door.

John Coachman came in, hat in hand, looking embarrassed but determined. The duke acknowledged his salute with a nod.

“You have something to tell me.”

“Yes, Your Grace. I’m sorry, Your Grace.”

“Tell me.” Meryon could not imagine it was nothing, not if the majordomo had allowed the coachman to come to his study.

“It’s the boy, Wilson, Your Grace. I saw him yesterday talking to a man out in the square while he was walking the dog. They were arguing, and the man made as if to take Magda, and the boy ran off with the dog. That ended it, Your Grace. But this morning he would not take the dog out to the square, only walked her up and down the mews, and swore at anyone who questioned him.”

“I see. He has been a competent employee as far as I can tell. And honest. Tell me if I am wrong.”

“Yes, Your Grace. Happy as a lark most days except for when he has to take his wages to his mother. He comes back no happier for the visit home. Your Grace, I think this is his home now. But it weren’t right, yesterday. I could see he was angry and scared, if you know how you can tell that by the way someone stands.”

“Yes, yes, I do. Thank you.”

“Oh, no need to thank me for bringing what could be bad news, Your Grace.”

“Yes, there is, Coachman. You could have more comfortably ignored it.”

“Not really, Your Grace. This is my home too, and I like the boy and would hate to see him take a wrong turn.”

“I still say thank you.” Meryon stood up and nodded.

“Then you are welcome, Your Grace,” the servant said as he bowed himself out of the room.

Meryon wasted no time sending for Wilson. The boy came to him, smiling and proud. Meryon wasn’t sure if the livery added to his cockiness or made it less offensive. Meryon stood behind his desk, towering over the boy.

“Wilson, I can see that you like it here.” He would not be angry, Meryon reminded himself, not before he knew the truth. “At the very least you like the clothes you wear and I can guess you like the food you eat.”

“Yes, sir, Your Grace,” the boy said, his smile fading.

“And you like Magda.” He could not help but smile a little. He had seen Rexton and the boy playing with the dog, all three acting like puppies, which none of them were.

“Yes.” The smile was back, a grin now.

The boy did love that dog.