The Earl I Adore (10 page)

Nodding, he shifted back in his chair a bit, watching the prima donnas with interest. Was that all the stolen conversation they were to have? Her hopes sagging, she exhaled, allowing her shoulders to drop a bit.

“Now this is quite interesting.”

She pressed her eyes closed for a moment, relieved to hear his whispered words. “Yes?”

He leaned in close again. “The characters are Poppea and Nerone. Yes, it's written for two sopranos, but Nerone is a man. This is a love song.”

“Truly?” She closed her eyes again and listened to the way the music was sung. High and light, their voices twined like ribbons of silk in a soft summer wind, lifting and falling, curling and twisting, harmonizing in a way that made the heart leap.

“I gaze at you.”

Her eyes popped open, startled by his words. She darted a glance at him, but his attention was on the singers.

“Possess you,” he continued, whispering the words between the lines of the opera singers. “Press you to me. Embrace you.”

Her breath caught in her throat. The intimacy of the words was like a lover's touch. Her heart pounded as she leaned toward him, soaking up the sound of his voice.

“No more pain. No more death.” He wet his lips, his gaze still directed straight ahead but his body angled toward hers. “O, my life, my darling.”

My darling
. She sighed, pressing a hand to her heart. Oh to hear those words from his lips for real. To know that he spoke to her, and her alone. She realized with a start that his gaze had shifted to her face, and she gave a shaky little smile. “Beautiful,” she breathed, the word tight in her throat.

*   *   *

For some reason, Evan's blood hummed a little faster through his veins.
She
was beautiful
.
He loved the way she responded to the music with her whole body, her shoulders lifting as the singers' voices rose, and falling as the song grew quiet.

He was suddenly very, very glad that he had studied opera, even more thoroughly than he had admitted to her. It was one of the few things in his life that he possessed true passion for. He wanted to know everything about the songs that tore at his heart and lifted his soul. Most people would likely consider his reaction to opera a little ridiculous, but he knew with absolute certainty that Miss Wembley—
Sophie
—would not
.

She didn't just hear the emotion of the music, she felt it and internalized it. He smiled, thinking of her tears of
moments ago. Misplaced for that particular song, but endearing nonetheless.

He loved the way she had listened to him, soaking up his translations as dry soil absorbs the rain. “You make me want to learn more Italian,” he murmured, offering her a small private smile.

“You make me want to listen to more opera,” she replied, her dimples creasing her pale cheeks.

You make me want to spend more time with you.
He pressed his lips together, surprised by the errant thought. Not something he would normally think, even of a friend. Still, when an idea occurred to him, he didn't hesitate to share it. Leaning forward, he said, “Then join me for Rossini's
La Cenerentola
. Rossini himself will be here, and it's one of the last events of the festival, but well worth the wait.”

Her smile fell a little and she glanced to her lap before meeting his eyes again. “I'd love that,” she said softly, her voice oddly thin. “
The Barber of Seville
is one of my favorites, in fact. I'm just not sure if we will still be here.”

He was surprised by the force of his disappointment. It trickled down through his chest like a spilled glass of red wine, staining his enthusiasm. “Would it help if you had a note from an earl and his sister, begging your mother's indulgence?” It was as close as he could come to pointing out her mother's matchmaking tendencies. Tendencies that she obviously knew all about.

“Who is to say you won't be sick of me by then?” Her tone was light, even as her eyes seemed hooded. “Four visits in as many days—it's a wonder you're still speaking to me.”

Yes, it was, actually. He realized then that she was supposedly there to be a companion for Julia, but he'd monopolized her attentions almost completely.

Oddly enough, that thought didn't bother him as much as it should have.

“What can I say, Miss Wembley? You're uncommonly good company.”

Her smile brightened at that, as did, he'd wager, her cheeks, though it was too dark to tell for sure. He really quite liked making those dimples appear.

“Thank you, my lord. The feeling is mutual.”

“W
hat
in the world were the two of you whispering about yesterday?”

Sophie had to give May credit. She had waited precisely three seconds after the maid left them before turning on Sophie and blurting out the question. It was only a few minutes past noon, which meant her friend must have departed her aunt's house the very moment her aunt deemed it acceptable to go calling.

Sophie didn't even try to contain the enormous smile that came to her lips. “First, let me just say thank you for—”

“Yes, of course, you're quite welcome,” May interrupted, waving a dismissive hand. “Now, please, my dear little magpie, don't keep me waiting.” She raised both eyebrows, clearly anxious to discover how things had gone between Sophie and Evan.

Oddly enough, for perhaps the first time in her life, Sophie didn't want to share every detail of their incredible evening. It had felt . . . special. Intimate. Private. For her, that was really saying something.

Giving a little shrug, she made her way to the sofa and sat. “He's quite knowledgeable about operas, and he was
telling me what each song was about.” Warm tendrils of delight shimmied down her spine at the mere thought of his lips so close to her ear, his breath fanning across her neck. If, miraculously, they ever did end up as man and wife, she would do everything in her power to encourage him to learn to be fluent in Italian. If she melted at the sound of his voice
translating
the language, she would positively ignite were he ever actually to speak it.

Her friend settled into the chair directly adjacent to her. “Well, it must have been quite a lecture. I could see your blush even in the dark.”

Sophie cringed. “Oh, please don't say that. Did Lady Stanwix see? Actually, I can't imagine she did, or she surely would have raised the devil over it. But what about Lady Julia?” They were only just becoming friends. Sophie didn't wish to upset her.

“I don't believe so. She was quite rapt in the performance. I, however, was terribly keen to know how my dear friend was doing.” She offered Sophie a sly grin. “I must say, I think you accomplished what you set out to do.”

Sophie perked up at this, leaning forward. “Really? And what makes you say that?”

“It was difficult to see Lord Evansleigh past your profile, but I did manage to catch a glimpse right before the last song.”

“And?” She held her breath, wanting to know exactly what May had seen.

“Perhaps there are wedding bells in the very near future.”

She gasped, a flash of hope igniting like a firework in her chest. Before she could say a word, however, a chuckle at the door made them both whip around. Charity Effington stood with her arms at her hips, a huge grin
on her lips. “Are we speaking of my wedding, or is there something else I should know?”

*   *   *

The third member of their trio may have been gone only a fortnight, but with all that had happened, it had seemed an eternity. After much hugging and laughing and exclaiming over Charity's gorgeous ruby ring—“To match my blushes,” she had explained with a grin—they all sat down together to catch up. For the next hour, they pored over all the little details May and Sophie had been dying to know about the events surrounding Charity's betrothal.

Sighing dreamily, Sophie leaned back against the cushions, not caring in the least about her posture. “How wonderfully, wonderfully romantic. I can hardly believe it—I would have never thought Lord Cad had it in him,” she said with a teasing wink.

“Nor I,” replied May, reaching for a cucumber sandwich from the tray they had ordered half an hour earlier. “When he came to speak with me, you could have felled me with a feather.”

Charity grinned, her freckled skin fairly glowing with joy. “Well, he certainly managed to surprise me. And speaking of surprises . . .” Charity tossed a pillow squarely in Sophie's lap. “What is this I hear about wedding bells? Has someone actually managed to be worthy of our sweet Sophie?”

No one was more surprised than Sophie when tears filled her eyes. Charity sent an alarmed look at May before scooting over to wrap an arm around Sophie. “Good heavens, whatever has happened? Has someone hurt you? Compromised you?”

Sophie gave a helpless little laugh. “I wish,” she said, accepting a dainty lace handkerchief from May and
blowing her nose. “It would make things a lot easier if I could simply trap him into marrying me.”

Charity cast a bewildered look at May before meeting Sophie's eyes. “Has someone broken your heart?”

Sophie hadn't thought of it that way, but that was exactly what had happened. Nodding, she sighed. “Only my sister.” She told the story all over again, from start to finish, leaving out only the contents of the conversation she had shared with Evan.

At the end of it, Charity sat back, her lips pursed in thought. “Perhaps Hugh and I can help. You know that he is not one for parties, but what if we were to host an outing? A picnic, perhaps, or a night of charades? Something intimate that will have fewer distractions than the festival events.”

May gave a little snort of laughter. “I can sooner imagine Lord Cadgwith engaging in knitting than a rousing game of charades.”

“No, truly,” Charity said, though she laughed at the quip. She turned to Sophie, excitement lighting her gray eyes. “A small group at my grandmother's townhouse for a few games might be perfect. A limited number of people, a hard-of-hearing, indulgent chaperone, and at least three of your fellow partygoers with a vested interest in throwing you and Lord Evansleigh together. What could be more perfect?”

Sophie bit her bottom lip, considering the idea. “Yes, but we would need at least one or two married couples, and I can't think of anyone in town who I'd want to have around for something like that.” She sighed, shaking her head. “Where is Beatrice when she is needed?”

Charity laughed. “In Scotland with her very handsome Scotsman, last I heard.”

May raised a brow. “A friend of yours?”

“Indeed,” Sophie said, smiling wistfully. “She married this past winter and is blissfully happy. If I wasn't such a romantic myself, I might be inclined to roll my eyes at her gushing letters. Oh, and Sir Colin is only half-Scottish, Charity, but I believe you are correct that they are spending the summer at his estate outside of Edinburgh. She's probably covered in paints as we speak, capturing the majestic Highlands landscape on canvas.”

“Her own personal heaven, to be sure.” Charity grinned, then sighed and shook her head. “I suppose you are right about the party. There must be something else that will work.”

May sat up suddenly, her face lighting. “The gala! Aunt Victoria was talking about it just the other morning. It's at Sydney Gardens, the Vauxhall of Bath, whatever that means. Believe it or not, she's actually looking forward to attending. Apparently her husband professed his love in the grotto during the fireworks one year, and she hasn't missed a gala since.”

Sophie had forgotten all about the gala night at the pleasure gardens. She tapped her fingers on her chin in contemplation. “There will be thousands of people there, but that may work in our favor. And with it being nighttime, I might be able to find a darkened corner or two.”

“Doesn't it have a labyrinth?” Charity asked, a slow smile growing on her lips. “All sorts of nooks and crannies that one could get lost in.” She waggled her eyebrows, a move so unlike her that the other two burst out laughing.

“The thing is,” Sophie said when she could breathe again, “that's all well and good, but how do I make certain he attends?”

“Let me talk to Hugh. He may have some ideas on how to approach him. They're around the same age,
so they may even already know each other, which will help.”

“And you think the baron will go along with helping me? Isn't there some sort of code against a gentleman helping to ensnare a fellow man for the purpose of marriage?”

“Don't worry. I have every confidence I can find a way to convince him.” Charity's cheeks bloomed nearly as red as her hair.

Sophie exchanged an amused look with May. One couldn't help but wonder just what sort of convincing Charity had in mind. “Very well, if you think it will help, by all means speak with him. I will keep pondering it in the meantime. Now, I think it's time we set aside my predicament and do something fun. Would anyone like to practice? We could relocate to May's house.”

“Oh yes,” said May, brushing the crumbs from her skirt and standing. “We have another performance coming up, after all.”

“We do?” Charity said, her copper eyebrows lifting in surprise.

May grinned. “Indeed. What good is a trio if not for performing?”

Sighing with great exaggeration, Charity shook her head. “Remind me not to leave you two alone again.”

*   *   *

“On the off chance that you are unaware, let it be known that you are simultaneously the best and the worst brother in all of England.”

Evan set down his quill and lifted an eyebrow at his sister. She was in a surprisingly good mood this morning. “I'm aware.”

Julia grinned, her hazel eyes flashing in the late-morning sunshine as she let herself into his study. “Good.
I can't believe you made all this out to be so tiresome all these years. The performance last night, and the company of those attending, was quite wonderful.”

The ancient leather of his chair creaked as Evan leaned back from the desk and crossed his arms, unsure what to make of her happiness, but more than willing to go along with it. Perhaps her time here with him and the friends they had made was succeeding in lifting the weight that had been draped across her shoulders since she had arrived.

“Come now, I didn't keep you from anything. First of all, Bath is a world away from London, I assure you. One is permitted to actually enjoy the entertainments here—unthinkable in our jaded capital.” It grated on his nerves that so many took pride in coming up with the drollest, most cleverly snide comments about any given event. Pretending boredom was practically the national pastime.

She waved away his defense with an airy flip of her hand. “Yes, you've said much about the jaded members of the
ton
. So far, the ones I've met have been nothing but pleasant, with the possible exception of you,” she added with a teasing lift of her brow.

He thought of Sophie, and the immensely charming personality that she seemed to be revealing bit by bit. “Miss Wembley is hardly representative of the beau monde. In fact, I believe she is the least
ton
ish
ton
I have ever met.” Her mother, on the other hand . . .

“Miss Wembley, Miss Bradford, Lord Derington,” Julia said, counting off the names with her fingers, “even Mr. Wright, though I'm not quite certain if he qualifies as a member of the upper crust, vicar that he is.”

Evan stood and stretched, attempting to shake off the stress of spending the last hour bent over the estate's
books. God's teeth, did he hate mathematics. He'd rather do just about anything else, but he made a point of raking over the books every month, without fail.

“His father is an earl, so, yes,” Evan answered absently. Leaning a hip against the edge of the desk, he said, “Regardless, I am pleased that you are enjoying yourself. I never wanted you to feel isolated or deprived.”

Her smile dimmed to something a little more introspective. “Yes, I know. You were right. We made the decision together.”

They'd made a lot of decisions that winter, while shuttered in the family's northern estate, their moods as black as their freshly dyed mourning clothes. They'd been young—entirely too young—but through the years their dedication to a pact made between siblings had never wavered.

The months leading to their father's death would be etched in their memories forever, but God willing, nobody else would ever know what they had endured. When his cousin inherited the title, its vast holdings, and the living it provided for so many, he would do so without ever doubting the noble line from which it had descended.

Clapping her hands together, Julia pasted a determined smile on her face. “Now, as we move past your faults, let us give thanks for what makes you my very favorite brother.”

“Which is?”

“Your generosity, of course. After all, this is where you tell me to go out and have a nice time shopping, and to spend as much of your money as I choose.” She fluttered her eyelashes expectantly, but he knew she was teasing. Julia was always prudent when it came to
spending. In fact, she was more or less in charge of running the estate when he was away.

“Ah, that part. Very well, have fun.”

She nodded and started to turn, but then paused and looked back at him. “I don't suppose you'd wish to accompany me?”

He crossed his arms. “That depends. Do you wish to murder your only brother with the seemingly innocuous yet thoroughly insidious weapon known as shopping?”

She laughed and shook her head. “No, I suppose not. The prospect of having to deal with Mama on my own is more than enough reason to keep you in good health for as long as possible.”

He felt exactly the same way about her. “Well, then, in that case I should definitely remain at home.”

Her lips twitched in a wry grin. “Yes, I suppose that's true. All right, I'll leave you to your numbers.” She turned back to the door just as Higgins appeared, silver salver in hand.

“Pardon me, my lord. A Sir Harry Culpepper has just dropped round his calling card.”

The baronet was here? “He's in town, is he? I had no idea he had plans to attend the festival.” The man's father, the recently deceased Sir Robert Culpepper, had purchased the neighboring estate in Ledbury almost two decades earlier, so their families were well acquainted. “Thank you, Higgins. Just leave it on the sideboard.” Glancing at Julia, he said, “Did you know he was planning to come?”