Love's Refrain
Authors: Patricia Kiyono
By Patricia Kiyono
Published by Astraea Press
www.astraeapress.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.
LOVE'S REFRAIN
Copyright © 2013 PARICIA KIYONO
ISBN 978-1-62135-184-9
Cover Art Designed by AM DESIGN STUDIOS
The Legacy
The Christmas Phoenix
Aegean Intrigue
The Partridge and the Peartree
The Samurai's Garden
The Calico Heart (with Stephanie Michels)
Dedication
For Miss Bridget, whose sunny laughter keeps me young in spirit. I'm enjoying watching you discover new things each day. Life will be full of ups and downs, but I pray you will always have something to smile about.
Acknowledgements
Special thanks to author Sherry Gloag, who took time out of her busy writing schedule to read through the entire first draft of Love's Refrain and advise me on regency era etiquette. Her recommendations for making this story more authentic are very much appreciated!
I'd also be lost without the brainstorming, editing, and proofreading help from the lovely and talented Robyn Gordon, who has read and commented on almost everything I've ever submitted for publication. Your advice is greatly appreciated, and I'm doubly blessed to be your mom.
Andrew Bradford, Earl of Covington, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He needed to calm himself before speaking, lest he invoke the wrath of the person perched gracefully on the settee before him. His mother, the dowager countess, inspected the lace on her new gown.
“Come now, Andrew,” she chided. “Your wife has been gone nine years. Certainly long enough for a proper mourning period. It's past time you remarried.”
“I've no interest in remarrying, Mother.”
“So you've said. But the fact is, you need an heir. Andrewâ” She reached out a hand to stop him when he turned away from her. “I know Priscilla's death hurt you. But you are still here. Brentwood Manor needs an heir. And you need someone to help you go on living.” She paused to let her words sink in.
“Andrew, I only want to see you happy. You need a companion, someone to be your champion, someone to listen to you and help you achieve your goals.”
“I could get a dog,” observed Andrew.
Ignoring his sarcasm, the countess continued. “Andrew, dear, I know you blame yourself for leaving Priscilla alone so soon after you married. But you were doing your duty to your country, fighting on the Continent. No one can say you abandoned your wife. She was always âdelicate. You did your best, and the household staff took good care of her. It was
not
your fault.”
Andrew shook his head in disbelief, but the countess carried on.
“The season is just beginning, and there are hundreds of lovely young women just looking for a dashing earl,” she reminded him. “Tonight, Lord and Lady Kentridge are hosting a ball. Go and dance, make some young chit happy.”
“Mother, I have better things to do than attend a ball.”
“Of course you do. But I've already accepted on your behalf.”
“You what?” His outburst startled the footman who had entered to clear away the tea set, and he cleared his throat in an effort to tamper his irritation. He waited until the young man had left the room before opening his mouth to continue the conversation, but Lady Covington beat him to it.
“It is early in the season, and the unattached gentlemen are in shorter supply than the debutantes. Lady Kentridge begged me to bring you, so of course I had to agree. Just go, take a young lady or two onto the dance floor, and you will have done your duty. Who knows, you might meet someone you like.”
Expelling a groan, Andrew excused himself and stalked from the room. He knew he'd eventually give in and accompany his mother to the ball. There would be no peace for him if he didn't. But he would need several hours to himself before he'd be able to face the circus he'd find there. Finding solace in his office, he sat, rested his elbows on the surface of his father's carved mahogany desk, and cradled his aching head in his hands.
He was so weary of his mother's constant harping about heirs. If he should die without an heir, the estate would go to his young cousin, Nelson Something-or-other. That was good enough for him. Why couldn't it be enough for her?
He had nothing against the state of matrimony. His first marriage had been pleasant, and he'd enjoyed coming home each day to someone who waited there for him. And he would have loved children, too, if there had been any. But his poor wife had not survived even a year of marriage to him, and he wasn't in any hurry to subject someone else to it.
He took a deep breath, willing his nerves to relax. Fresh air, that was what he needed. Instead of calling for a servant, he got up, fumbled with the latch, and opened the windows. The hinges creaked in protest, having sat unused for the winter.
Andrew had just settled back in his chair when the most beautiful music floated through the open window. At first, he thought it was his imagination. But the uplifting of his soul was not imagined. The smile on his face was real, as was the voice he heard.
Quiet at first, as if the singer tried to hide it, the smooth soprano melody was barely discernible. But gradually, the singer gained confidence, and the volume grew, to Andrew's delight. The song was one familiar to him â a Scottish air his nanny had sung to him when he was small â and he absently hummed the melody along with the singer. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. Suddenly, the weight of his worries drained away. The dull ache in his forehead eased, and he breathed more easily.
Who was the mystery singer? The voice was cultured and had the maturity of a woman but without the force of one trained for the stage. Still, the music was pleasing to his ears⦠and to his world-weary soul. He settled back to enjoy the performance.
But as soon as it had begun, the singing stopped. An indistinguishable voice called out a command, the singer responded, and footsteps receded away from him. And as the volume of her footsteps decreased, so did his state of euphoria.
Silently, he thanked the singer for providing a welcome respite from his daily drudgery. It had been a pleasant interlude, but now it was time to return to his life and responsibilities. With a rueful twist of his mouth, he sorted through the day's correspondence.
****
Lady Laura Montgomery, eldest daughter of the Earl of Norwood, hurried up the staircase to answer her stepsister's frantic calls for help. She truly loved Miranda but knew the young lady often found a crisis where none existed. As she hurried toward Miranda's room, the wails became louder and more insistent.
“Laura! Where are you? I need you desperately!”
Before opening the door, Laura braced herself for what she might find. Past experience told her it was probably something trivial. But if Miranda was truly injured and she didn't come, she'd never forgive herself. Her father and stepmother had entrusted her with their younger child's care, and though it was often a trial, she'd vowed to do her duty. At least Miranda was beautiful and witty, and hopefully someone would offer for her quickly, putting an end to her responsibility. Cousin Reginald Montgomery, Lord Norwood's relative, had graciously invited them into his home, and the presence of his widowed elder sister Augusta lent a measure of respectability for Laura and Miranda.
Lady Miranda Montgomery sat at her dressing table, a vision of loveliness in her new day dress. But upon closer inspection, the vision was somewhat marred by the messy state of her stepsister's coiffure, and the fact that her right hand lay atop her head.
“What took you so long? I called and called,” the younger girl whined. Laura supposed some might construe Miranda's pouting lips as adorable, but to her the expression was an indication of her pettiness and incessant pampering as the youngest in the family.
“Forgive me, Miranda. I was in the study. What do you need?”
“Can't you see? I'm stuck! I tried to fix my hair, and my bracelet caught.”
Laura took Miranda's hand and stilled it. “Please stop wiggling so I can untangle it. What happened to Francesca?” The ladies' maid had come highly recommended and Laura was quite happy with her, but Miranda could be stubborn.
“She disappeared somewhere after making a mess of my hair. Oh, Laura, help me!” She tried again to pull her hand away, only to tighten the strands of hair around the beaded bracelet.
“Miranda, if you don't stop struggling, I'll never get this untangled. Your hair is wrapped around the bracelet. Now be still.” She concentrated on releasing her sister's fine tresses from the jewelry then set about finding Francesca.
Laura and Miranda handed their shawls to the young servant tending the door and entered the brightly lit ballroom as their names were announced. They greeted their hosts and then separated when Miranda spied a group of friends. Making her way to the group of chaperones seated in the corner, Laura took a pastry from a passing waiter's tray. She'd eventually have to partake of the buffet since her own dinner had been quite sparse. True to form, Miranda had, at the last moment, decreed her dress unfit to wear, and the entire household had been turned upside down searching for a solution to her wardrobe difficulty.
Miranda looked lovely in her pale yellow gown, and the garland of flowers the maid had fashioned set off her dark hair perfectly. Already heads turned among the young men congregating on the other side. As she settled in her seat, Laura's thoughts went back ten years to her own season. She'd been so young and naive then, full of hopes, dreams, and romantic notions.
There was one who figured prominently in her memories. One gentleman had stood out among all the others â a tall, handsome, elegant young man. He had been stylish yet not vain. His hazel eyes had shone with intelligence, but he'd listened politely when others spoke, those expressive eyes indicating genuine interest. Through experience, she knew he was a graceful dancer, yet he'd seemed content to spend time discussing the weather with the chaperones. There had been no one else like him.
And then, as if she had magically recalled him from her memory, he was there. Andrew Bradford carried a plate of treats to his mother, the dowager Countess Covington, whose regal presence held court in a seat to Laura's right. The man was as handsome as she remembered. His voice as he addressed the countess was as sonorous and soothing as it had been when he'd held her in his arms for one magical dance. Ten years ago, she'd fallen in love with Andrew, but he'd fallen in love with her friend, Lady Priscilla. And so she'd had to watch as he'd courted and then wed another.
Andrew was now the Earl of Covington. Would he remember her? She doubted it. She was no longer a debutante, but rather a spinster, relegated to the chaperones' corner. She turned her head away.
“Laura, my dear, is that you?”
Thankful for the distraction, Laura faced the speaker, who had taken the seat on her left. The Duchess of Wolseley held a hand out to her, with a welcoming smile. Laura took the hand and nodded politely.
“Yes, Your Grace,” she answered. “I'm honored you remember me.”
“Of course I remember you,” the elder woman replied. “Your mother is one of my dearest friends. I was so disappointed to hear she has taken ill and must spend the season at home. Although I'm not sure she made the wisest choice. We have excellent doctors and better medical facilities here in London.”
Laura didn't disagree with the woman. Her father had given the same argument for going to London, but Lady Wilhelmina had been adamant. She had gone home to her native Austria to recuperate among her own family. The countess' absence had left Laura to chaperone Miranda in London rather than spending a peaceful summer at home on the family estate.
“Laura!” Miranda's wail wasn't particularly loud but came at a piercingly high pitch. Several heads turned at her demand.
“Yes, dear?”
“I need your help. Francesca must have done something awful to my hair. The pins started to fall out as I was dancing with Mr. Davis. He's such a handsome man, and a wonderful dancer, but my hair started falling down. I was mortified!”
Only one small lock of hair had fallen loose, but of course Miranda would fret if she didn't feel she looked her best. “Let's go to the ladies' room, and I'll try to fix it,” Laura suggested. She rose to go with her sister but stopped when an imperious voice called out to her.
