The Baron Next Door (Prelude to a Kiss) (19 page)

His smile was relaxed and natural. “You’ll do marvelously. I only wish I could be there to support you.”

“So do I.” Though she felt the heat of a blush stealing up her neck, she didn’t regret her words. They were the absolute truth.

He sighed, his smile still in place, and held out his hand to her. She didn’t hesitate, despite the daylight. She stepped onto the balcony and lifted her hand to his. Neither of them wore gloves, and the slide of her skin against his sent a thrill all the way down her spine. His fingers were warm and gentle as they closed around her hand.

Their eyes met as he lifted her fingers to his lips and pressed a feather-soft kiss to the sensitive skin of the back of her hand. “Good luck, sweet Charity. I look forward to hearing how everything goes.”

She nodded, her heart skittering as he squeezed her fingers before releasing her hand. Licking her lips, she said, “Tomorrow night, perhaps?”

He hesitated and she held her breath, wanting him to say yes. Finally, he gave her a short bob of his head. “I’ll see you then.”

*   *   *

The contract was signed. The move was mere days away. Soon they would both continue on with their wholly separate lives. But as Hugh stepped into his bedchamber and closed the balcony door, one thing stood out in his mind among all the rest.
There are few things in life more vexing than regret
.

Lady Effington’s words of wisdom meant something. He was walking away, so there was no worry of anything more developing between them. Tomorrow night would be the perfect way to say their good-byes, especially since Charity would undoubtedly be in a good mood following the recital.

He hadn’t been exaggerating about her music just now. It truly was incredible. She had a talent that he knew was rare, even if he couldn’t enjoy it the way others might. He loved seeing the pleasure in her eyes when he complimented her—as if his opinion actually meant something to her.

It had been a long time since anyone had valued his good opinion. Being shut away in the dowager house did not exactly open one up to admiration from anyone. He scrubbed a hand over his face, rubbing at his eyes.

It had been two weeks since his last attack—practically a lifetime. It was so damn tempting to feel as though a normal life was within his grasp. What if, just once, he released the fear of unbearable pain, and allowed himself to truly enjoy an evening?

What would he do if he could do anything? If he could step outside the constant threat of his injury and live without regret? He thought of Charity’s sweet presence, the way she somehow managed to steal the breath from his lungs with a single innocent look, and knew exactly what he would do.

“Jacobson,” he called, knowing the batman wouldn’t be far.

A few moments later, the man appeared in the door. “My lord?”

“I think it’s time for a little something different.”

“I
must say, it is awfully nice to see you looking so well,” Grandmama said, pulling Charity’s attention away from the passing storefronts. The older woman had that wise, all-too-knowing look about her that immediately raised Charity’s brows.

“Thank you,” she said, unable to keep the slight question from her voice.

Chuckling, her grandmother replied, “Yes, that was a compliment. And you are most welcome. I just wondered, perhaps, if there was anything in particular making those lovely cheeks of yours so rosy.”

“It must be the new gown,” she said, smoothing a hand over the exquisite peach silk gown that had been completed only this morning. The clean lines and simple design allowed the beauty of the fabric to shine on its own merit.

“Which is glorious, but doesn’t account for the sparkle in your eyes.”

“I’m excited, Grandmama. I have a big recital in less than an hour. I think my eyes are supposed to sparkle.”

She folded her hands primly in her lap. “I’m certain that must be it. Or perhaps it has something to do with a certain gentleman.”

The blush she had been fighting came full force to Charity’s cheeks. “I have no particular gentleman, as I am certain you know full well.”

“Mmm. It’s interesting, actually.” She plucked at her rich amaranth skirts, idly arranging them. “I had thought you had interest in a certain neighbor, but now that Lord Derington went so very out of his way for your benefit, I wonder if perhaps you don’t have a particular gentleman. Perhaps you have
two
who have captured your interest.”

Well, this was a rather mortifying conversation. “For heaven’s sake, Grandmama, I do
not
have two gentlemen! Lord Cadgwith is a friend; nothing more, I assure you.” She wasn’t about to mention how much she wished he
were
more. “And I don’t even know what to make of Dering right now. He has always been a kind and generous man. I imagine when you told him of my disappointment with the selection committee, he thought it a challenge to change their minds.”

Grandmama’s silver brows came together in confusion. “Whatever are you talking about? I never told Lord Derington about the committee’s decision.”

Charity blinked, as confused as her grandmother appeared to be. “But when I asked him how he knew, he nodded to you.”

The crimson feather affixed to Grandmama’s turban swayed as she shook her head. “Not I. I have more discretion than that, thank you,” she said primly, lifting her chin.

At a loss, Charity just stared at her. She was sure of what Dering had said. He had given that devilish little grin, then nodded over Charity’s shoulder where her grandmother sat. She froze suddenly, the air whooshing from her lungs.

Hugh.

He’d been off to the side, but he had been the only other person in the box. More important, he had been the only other person she had told about the committee.

She exhaled, falling back against the squabs as her heart pounded in her chest. Hugh had gone to Dering. But why? Had he been gossiping about her? Sharing the intimate moment when she had unburdened her heart to him?

Was gossip to follow her everywhere she went? With the exception of her run-in with Marianne, things had been so wonderful this summer. The people here were kind and interesting and no one seemed interested in spreading tales about her as they had in London.

Her brow furrowed. She would have never imagined Hugh would be the type to wag his tongue. And to what end? He couldn’t have known that Dering would take it upon himself to help her. Had he been regaling his old friends with tales of his silly neighbor?

No, she couldn’t believe that of him. Or, rather, she wouldn’t. He’d been so kind since that night, sharing his own secrets with her. Surely she was missing something. Not that it made her feel any better—he’d still shared her heartbreak without permission.

“Figure it out, did you, dear?” Grandmama’s question was quieter than usual.

Swallowing against the lump forming in her throat, she offered a small smile. “Not exactly. Hopefully I can speak with Dering about it tonight after the recital.”

And afterward, she’d see what Hugh had to say for himself. She didn’t wish to jump to any conclusions, but he certainly had some explaining to do.

At last, they pulled up to the Assembly Rooms, their carriage one of a dozen queuing along the curb. Grandmama alighted first; then Charity followed her out into the drizzle. The tiger held a wide black umbrella above them and walked them the few feet to the entrance. It seemed as though half of Bath was already in attendance, with men and women perfectly coiffed and in their finest clothes clogging the corridor and milling among the chairs already set up in the Ballroom.

The performers were to meet in the Card Room, which would serve as a holding room of sorts before the recital. They were a bit late, so Sophie and May were probably already there. Leaning close to her grandmother’s ear, she raised her voice above the crowd and said, “Where would you like to sit?”

She lifted her lorgnette to one eye and perused the vast space. “Ah,” she said, dropping the eyepiece. “I believe I see Lady Stanwix near the front of the room. Perhaps I could cheer her up a bit.” She winked, and Charity had to bite back a laugh.

“A Herculean task, but if you’re up to it.”

They wove their way through the crowd to greet the lady in question. Charity’s courage wavered a bit as she realized just how many people would be watching them.
She
loved the piece they were to perform, but who was to say what the audience would think?

“Good evening, Lady Stanwix,” Charity said as they approached her chair. “Is this seat taken?”

She looked over to them, her frown firmly in place beneath the voluminous fillet of twisted satin and pearls wound about her head. “Good evening, Lady Effington, Miss Effington. I am an island unto myself tonight. You may sit wherever you choose.”

“Oh, Victoria, how you flatter me.” Grandmama’s perfectly correct tone betrayed none of the sarcasm her gray eyes imparted.

Charity bit down hard on her lip, stifling her laughter. Grandmama would be good for the stodgy old woman. After making sure her grandmother was properly settled, Charity headed off toward the Card Room, nerves rippling deep in her belly.

She had never performed in front of this kind of crowd. It was always private musicales or impromptu recitals like the one at Dering’s dinner party. Even if it was just her and her pianoforte, she’d still be nervous.

As she approached the Card Room, a woman in a blush pink gown emerged from the ladies’ retiring room and Charity’s heart fell.
Marianne.

She slowed as she saw Charity, her lips lifting in a cold smile. “Miss Effington. How interesting to see you here. And in peach again, I see.” She shook her head sadly, as though terribly disappointed in her.

“Miss Harmon,” Charity said with a shallow nod. “I’m not sure why it should be interesting—we are to perform, after all.”

“Yes, so I heard.” She patted a hand to her golden curls as if Charity’s presence would somehow have sent them askew. “I do hope you and your little trio know what you are doing. My father is so very concerned your tender sensibilities will be injured when the audience reacts poorly.” She sighed, offering a terrible impersonation of commiseration. “He did try to protect you from such an eventuality, but it’s out of his hands now.”

Even as Charity ground her teeth against the desire to shove Marianne from her way for saying such deliberately mean things, a small part of her worried that what she said was true. The fluttering in her belly turned to trembling as her fingers grew cold.

“Luckily for him, I don’t need a keeper.”

“He’s no keeper, Miss Effington. Much like an excellent modiste,” she said, looking pointedly at Charity’s new gown, “he’s a man with taste and good opinion who wished to save you from yourself.”

Clutching her fists at her sides, Charity absolutely refused to be cowed. Or, at least, not to let Marianne believe she had been. Standing up straighter in an effort to appear confident, she smiled falsely. “Thank goodness someone with higher rank and better taste had something to say about it.”

It was the boldest, rudest thing she had ever said to another person. As Marianne’s features contorted with affront, Charity nodded and swept past her, her chin lifted as high as a queen’s.

Oh, Lord, she was a terrible human being. How could she have said that out loud? Yes, the woman deserved it, but still. She pushed her way into the Card Room, heedless of polite greetings or decorum.

She spotted May easily, thanks to her height and proliferation of light blond hair. Sophie was beside her, and waved when she noticed Charity.

Hurrying to their sides, Charity grabbed them each by the arm and yanked them close. Catching her breath, she said in a desperate whisper, “I may or may not have just said something mortally offensive to Marianne Harmon.”

“Blast—you beat me to it,” May said, completely unfazed.

Sophie’s eyes widened. “What did you say, and what did she do? I mean before, to earn it, not after, in reaction. Though I want to know that, too, come to think of it. If I know Miss Harmon, I’m quite certain it was warranted.”

Charity’s fingers were icy within her gloves. Warranted or not, she already felt terrible. “She wasn’t pleased, that’s for certain. She basically said it was a shame her father failed at his attempt to save us from ourselves.”

“Calm down,” May said, patting her hand. “I can feel your fingers trembling. Whatever you said couldn’t have been half as bad as she deserved. Save us from ourselves, indeed.”

Charity gave a humorless laugh. “You don’t understand—I
hate
conflict. I’m a peacemaker at heart.”

Lifting her blond brows conspiratorially, May said, “Well, then, I’d say it’s about time you came out of your shell.”

“Misses Bradford, Effington, and Wembley?”

They turned as one as Mr. Green looked over his spectacles at them. “You are our first performance this evening. Follow me, please.” He turned and headed for the door, not even pausing to make sure they complied.

Charity’s heart thundered so powerfully, she placed her hand over her chest to keep it from leaping out. She wasn’t ready, not yet! Not after that encounter, with the taste of her vulgarity still fresh on her tongue. But Sophie and May both grinned hugely. “Shall we?” May asked, sweeping a hand after Mr. Green’s retreating back.

And just like that, they were walking from the room, through the darkened doorway leading to the Ballroom, and onto the small raised platform that the orchestra had performed on during the opening ball.

Panic bubbled up in Charity’s chest as they curtsied before the audience, accepting their polite applause. Against her better judgment, her gaze roamed the assembly, taking in the hundreds of eyes leveled on them. She felt light-headed as all the doubt and worry about the performance seemed to assail her all at once.

She quickly made her way to the pianoforte, grateful she played an instrument that required her to be seated. Unfortunately, it was turned so that she could still see the audience if she looked up. She closed her eyes, drawing a fortifying breath for the work to come.

When she opened them, her gaze fell to the back of the room, where a single man stood by the wall. His posture was ramrod straight, his legs planted firmly, and his hands clasped behind his back.

Everyone else in the room fell away in that moment as she realized he wasn’t some apparition conjured by her stressed mind. Hugh was here, looking her right in the eye, his lips curled slightly in an encouraging smile.

Her heart felt as though it had expanded, pressing against her ribs. He was here! He had come here, to his most hated of venues, and she knew without a shred of doubt he was there for her.

Only for her.

Her nerves, rioting just moments earlier, calmed to a slight hum. Even from half the room away, she could feel his confidence in her, feel his absolute assurance that they would do well. She smiled then, just for him.

Without looking away, she settled her fingers over the proper keys, opened her mind and heart to the music, and began to play.

*   *   *

The traffic had been congested as hell, the night damp with rain, and the hall filled to overflowing, but none of that mattered worth a damn the moment he laid eyes on Charity as she stepped out on the stage.

Her gown was made of a rich peach fabric, making her skin even more beautiful in the golden light of the three grand chandeliers illuminating the space. He had already been enchanted just by seeing her, but when her eyes found his, it was as though lightning had stretched across the room to strike them both.

He held his breath, waiting as she positioned her fingers over the keys. He could feel the expectation in the room, sense the curiosity of the audience as the place grew quiet. Then, all at once, music began to fill the room.

It was the same music that had tortured him mere weeks ago, with its tinkling high notes and odd oriental influence, but tonight it was pure magic. No one made a sound as the song, so familiar yet so foreign, poured forth with palpable emotion.

He closed his eyes and listened, remembering the years when he had danced with abandon at many a ball. He retreated to that time in his mind, before the pain and worse—the anticipation of pain—had tainted his every breath. In that moment, he wasn’t thinking of the possible repercussions, wasn’t tense with the expectation of agony. He was light and free and beyond pleased to be there, listening to Charity in her element.

He followed every note, admired every run, and gave himself over to the experience. She was brilliant. Light and sweet one moment, forceful and demanding the next. The others played beautifully as well, but to him, it was all just support for Charity. When the last note rang out, he opened his eyes and found her gaze almost at once. She was smiling broadly—wholly different from the bundle of nerves she had been walking out on the stage. He smiled, wide and unabashedly, and began to clap.

The rest of the audience quickly followed suit, their admiration clear in the muffled sound of a thousand gloved hands clapping. Miss Bradford stood first, followed quickly by Miss Wembley. With a blush turning her cheeks a becoming shade of pink, Charity stood last, and the women curtsied.