Amanda Scott (16 page)

“Well, really,” said Lady Annis huffily, “I cannot approve of your speaking to your elders in such a way, Margaret. It is not at all becoming to you.”

“I am sorry that you disapprove, Annis, but I felt I had to say something. Jordan does not worry me, but I hope you are not imagining a possibility of a match between us, for such a possibility does not exist.”

“So I should hope,” muttered Lady Celeste. Then, when Margaret caught her eye, she added with a grimace, “Oh, very well, I shall say no more. But, Annis, you would do well to discover where that precious son of yours spends his evenings, instead of always shutting your eyes to what you don’t wish to see. If he isn’t out seducing some tenant’s daughter, I shall be surprised.”

Lady Annis replied indignantly that Jordan would never do such a low, common thing as that, that he was a gentleman, a Caldecourt. Nevertheless, Margaret noted with amusement when her cousin was present for dinner the following night that he seemed to be at the dining table only under protest. No doubt, Lady Annis had insisted upon his presence so that their numbers would not be uneven, but it was also possible that she had taken Lady Celeste’s warning to heart.

The gathering was a merry one. Margaret had arranged the seating, placing Jordan at the head of the table, facing Lady Celeste. As guest of honor, Lord John Kingsted occupied the seat at her ladyship’s right, while Pamela sat to her left. After that, it had been a matter of simple precedence, except for one detail. By rights, Margaret ought to have been seated between Kingsted and Abberley, who as the highest-ranking male guest should have been to Jordan’s left, but she hadn’t believed she could be comfortable in such a position. Thus, she put Abberley across from herself, seated between Pamela and Lady Annis, and placed the vicar next to her.

It wasn’t long before she realized she had made a mistake. Nearly every time she looked up from her plate, it was to find his lordship’s dark-blue eyes upon her, and it was difficult to avoid his gaze. She was therefore more aware of his presence than she would have been had he been seated beside her. One had to turn one’s head to catch the eye of the person directly to one’s right or left. And in an informal setting such as this was one’s conversation was not confined to those persons.

The conversation was general and merry. Even Lady Annis seemed to be enjoying herself for once, and Jordan grew positively jolly. After the meal, the gentlemen refused to be isolated with their port and readily agreed to Lady Celeste’s suggestion that they allow themselves to be served in the drawing room instead. And as soon as they had adjourned to that chamber, Pamela reminded Margaret that they had been promised a tune or two on the pianoforte.

Grateful to have reason to separate herself, if only briefly, from the others, Margaret pushed open the tall doors separating the drawing room from the adjoining parlor and repaired at once to the instrument, opening it and then reaching for a candelabrum, meaning to move it nearer to the music. A masculine hand reaching past her at the same time startled her. It was Abberley’s hand, and he apologized at once for making her jump.

“I thought you might allow me to turn the pages for you,” he said. “I read music tolerably well.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said breathlessly. “That would be very kind of you.”

Once the others had settled into chairs, she played a sparkling song by Franz Schubert, then one of Mozart’s lighter pieces. Margaret was not by any means a great pianist technically, but she had a keen ear and a memory for note and tone that served her well. She played, therefore, with exceptional sensitivity to the music, and her performance clearly pleased her listeners, who refused to be satisfied with merely two selections.

“Pamela plays very well,” she said, pleased by their response but not wishing to overshadow her guest.

“Not so well as that,” said Miss Maitland with a laugh. “Did you learn those pieces in Vienna, Margaret?”

Margaret shook her head. “No, they were part of my repertoire during my come-out Season,” she said. “I do have several from Vienna. There is one in particular.” She began thumbing through a stack of music on the low table beside her. “Ah, here it is.”

Setting the sheet of music before her, she placed her hands upon the keys. Moments later the room was filled with the soft, mesmerizing notes of a haunting sonata. The tune created a mood that was at once relaxing and fulfilling, a mood that continued to increase even as the notes grew softer. There were several moments of stirring music played at greater volume, then soft rippling notes that faded at last into silence. The silence lengthened until it was broken by the sound of Pamela’s sigh of contentment.

“My, that was beautiful,” she said quietly. “Who is the composer?”

Abberley had been staring at the music, and it was he who answered her, his tone one of surprise. “The music is handwritten and signed,” he said. “The composer is Ludwig van Beethoven.”

“Gracious, is he in Vienna now?”

Margaret nodded, and Lady Celeste said, “We actually met him. He has been visited by musicians from everywhere, you know, led by their veneration for his genius and a desire to profit by his remarks. Sir Harold was much impressed by Margaret’s skills and thought she would enjoy meeting so great a composer, so he arranged for us to do so.”

“A great honor,” said Abberley solemnly.

Margaret twinkled up at him. “It was, sir, and I was flattered to be given a bit of music, even though he scorned to accept a compliment, saying it was not a particularly good piece.”

“Merciful heavens,” said Pamela, “it is wonderful.”

“He was not in a good mood,” said Lady Celeste. “Sir Harold told us that shortly before we arrived, Herr Beethoven’s physician had called to attempt to convince him to accept a
carte-blanche
offer from an English gentleman to write a number of symphonies. Unfortunately, the Englishman had ventured to describe, as a model for the symphonies he required, Herr Beethoven’s own first and second symphonies, which Margaret says are in a plainer style than his others.”

“Grandpapa said that it was only with great difficulty, despite the fact that he rarely has two coins to rub together, that Herr Beethoven could even be got to listen to the proposal,” Margaret said with a laugh. “When he heard the condition that was tacked to it, he said very dryly to the physician”—she lowered the tone of her voice, imitating the composer—“‘When I am unwell, I take your advice; when I compose, I take my own.’ He would not pay any further heed to the proposition.”

Her audience laughed appreciatively and then Pamela demanded to know what the composer had been like in person.

“Well,” Margaret said, “he is about fifty years old and in excellent health, although he is unfortunately afflicted with deafness.”

“Not to such a degree as accounts of the man had led us to suppose, however,” Lady Celeste put in. “He is able to converse readily with the assistance of an ear trumpet, and an ingenious artist is contriving an apparatus of the same nature to be affixed to his pianoforte, which will facilitate his musical studies by enabling him to hear more distinctly the sound of the instrument.”

“Nonetheless, I have never so much appreciated my own exceptionally good hearing as during the few moments we were privileged to spend with him,” Margaret said. “He has never married, you know, and his habits are retiring.”

“I think his habits are uncouth,” Lady Celeste said, wrinkling her nose, “but much may be forgiven a man so passionately devoted to his art.”

“He sounds a dashed fool to me,” said Jordan, bored. “If he hasn’t got a sou to his name, he must be all about in his head to send a man packing who offers him
carte blanche
merely for continuing to do what he likes to do. I can tell you I’d never be such a zany.”

“No, indeed,” agreed his mother. “If Mr. Beethoven were very wealthy, of course, that might be altogether different, but sometimes it is necessary to do things one might otherwise not do, merely to discover if the fates are willing to assist one to a better life. I cannot hold with allowing one’s pride to interfere with the necessity of providing for one’s comforts.”

“That is perfectly evident,” said Lady Celeste pointedly.

“Shall I play something else?” Margaret asked quickly, fearing that her outspoken grandaunt would take this opportunity to suggest that Lady Annis would be just as comfortable in a house of her own, “or would you prefer to hear Pamela now?”

“The hour advances,” said the vicar gently. He had been nearly dozing in his chair until disturbed by the comments of Jordan and Lady Annis. Now he hitched himself up purposefully. “The day is now far spent, and the time is far passed.”

“I daresay that means you wish to go home,” said Lady Celeste.

Kingsted chuckled. “I believe you’ve got the right of it, my lady, but the vicar ought to have thought some before quoting that bit from Saint Mark. If my memory serves me, what follows is something about rushing away into the village to buy bread, for they have nothing to eat, and he can scarcely hold that to be the case here tonight after such a fine dinner as we had.”

To Margaret’s astonishment, Mr. Maitland actually blushed, but the look he turned upon Lord John was one of dawning respect.

Abberley also turned to his friend, his countenance expressing both suspicion and astonishment. “Where on earth did you learn anything out of the Bible?” he demanded.

Kingsted gave a sheepish shrug. “Not my fault,” he said defensively. “Every time I was sent to the headmaster’s study at Eton, he gave me verses to learn.”

“That’s not all he gave you, as I recall,” retorted Abberley. “Look here,” he added after a look from Kingsted promised retribution, “what do you all say to an excursion to Periwinkle Hill in a day or two?”

“You go in for picking periwinkles in your advancing years, do you?” inquired Lord John sweetly.

“No, of course he doesn’t,” Pamela said. “The drive is a lovely one, and the site boasts some very interesting ruins, sir. If you’ve never seen them, I daresay you’ll find the excursion amusing.”

“Will Miss Caldecourt accompany us?” asked Lord Kingsted, turning to Margaret, then adding hastily, “And the other ladies, and Mr. Caldecourt, of course?”

B
OTH LADY CELESTE AND
Lady Annis disclaimed any interest in jauntering about the countryside, and although Jordan, with a leering wink at Pamela, declared that such an excursion might be jolly fun, by the agreed-upon date he had changed his mind, insisting that he had an important appointment that could not be missed. The others concealed their disappointment admirably. Margaret, in fact, upon hearing that Jordan would be unable to accompany them, decided that the day would prove to be a fine one, indeed.

Pamela Maitland arrived in time to share a cup of tea with Margaret and Lady Celeste in the morning room, and the two gentlemen arrived a half-hour later. Since neither Lady Celeste nor Lady Annis would accompany them, it had been decided that the group would have greater freedom of movement on horseback than if the young women were confined to a carriage. Miss Maitland therefore wore a simple but very becoming habit of lightweight russet-colored wool with dark-brown braided trim. Her hat sported a dainty half-veil to protect her eyes both from too much sun and from the dust of roads that were rapidly losing their winter dampness.

Margaret’s new riding habit of dark gray with black grosgrain edging had been delivered by the seamstress only the day before. Its very somberness accented the glow of health in her cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes. She wore neat black half-boots, a brimmed hat tilted rakishly over her right eye, and she carried black leather riding gloves and her slender, gold-handled whip.

Both gentlemen wore buckskins today, and both boasted snowy-white shirts, well-starched, intricately tied neckcloths, and stiff hats. Abberley wore a brown leather coat, however, while Kingsted sported a dashing bottle-green frock coat of the latest fashion with exaggeratedly wide lapels and a high, rolled collar. His shirt points and neckcloth were both so high that Margaret thought he would find it difficult to turn his head, but she had to admit that he looked very dapper. She and Pamela both exclaimed over his appearance.

“The man’s a dashed coxcomb,” said Abberley with a twinkle in his eyes.

“Up to every rig and row is what he means to say,” said Kingsted, laughing. “Good day to you, ladies. You both put us into the shade, you know. Very becoming rigs, I must say.”

Coming from one who was clearly well-acquainted with the rigors of fashion, this was praise indeed. Margaret saw that Pamela appreciated his words quite as much as she did herself, and if the warmth she felt in her cheeks was anything to go by, she was blushing just as much as the other girl. Really, she thought, it is not as though I’ve never received a compliment before. She glanced at Abberley to find that he was watching her, his eyes still twinkling. Feeling her cheeks grow warmer than ever, she turned hastily back to Lord John.

“It is kind of you to say so, sir. Would either of you like a stirrup cup, or shall we go?”

They denied any need for refreshment, and so it was that the foursome was mounted and away within the quarter-hour. They rode northward at first along Ermine Street, toward Royston. There was no longer anything to remind them of winter, for the fields were green and wildflowers bloomed everywhere. They were not the only persons to decide the day was a fine one for an excursion, either, for they met numerous persons on horseback and in carriages, traveling in both directions. It was not long before they realized there was a reason for the traffic other than the weather.

“Good Lord,” Abberley said as they drew in to the shoulder to allow the passage of a heavily laden farm wagon, “’tis market day in Royston. How on earth did we forget?”

Margaret laughed. “I knew it was, for I conferred with Mrs. Moffatt only this morning about what produce she would need to purchase there, but I never once thought about the fact that we would be riding directly through town.”

Pamela agreed. “Our maid-of-all-work went to market. She was saying last night that it would be necessary for her to go into town today. But, like Margaret, I didn’t think.”