Rakehell's Widow (21 page)

“Very well, Sir Piers.” The footman hurried away.

Pausing for a moment, Piers glanced at her, as if
debating whether to speak. She thought how much the formality of Court dress suited him, making him look very
distinguished, but somehow the disheveled way he wore his
hair belied that appearance of correctness. His hand rested
lightly on the hilt of his dress sword as at last he
approached her, bowing a little stiffly. “Good evening,
Lady Alabeth.”

“Sir Piers.”

“I did not know if it would be wise to address you.”

“I am glad that you have, for you give me the oppor
tunity of apologizing to you. You told the truth about the
letter and I was in the wrong.” Oh, how distant and polite
she sounded, and that wasn’t how she wished to be at all!
But how could she be otherwise when there was no invita
tion in his manner and when she could not put from her
mind the intimacy which he now shared with Adelina?

“I accept your apology, Lady Alabeth, but only on
condition that you accept mine.”

“Yours?”

“I should not have spoken to you as I did, it was un
forgivable.”

“I consider the matter to be at an end, sir,” she replied, unable to surmount the barriers which seemed to be all
around her. His glance was so difficult to read, his manner
was cool, and there was Adelina…. And there was also her own pride, making her conduct herself with dignity when all the time she felt the very opposite.

He inclined his head. “If that is your wish.”

“It is.”

He withdrew a little. “I think it is time I returned to my
box. Good night, Lady Alabeth.”

“Good night, Sir Piers.”

But as he walked away, it was all she could do not to call
out to him. To have done so would have been the height of
folly, for it would have invited a snub from which her
heart would never have recovered, and so she remained there in silence, watching him until he passed from sight.

Shortly afterward a burst of rapturous applause
announced the end of the concert and then the doors were
opening as everyone emerged from the boxes. She
managed to smile brightly as Charles and Jillian
approached.

Jillian was all concern. “Are you well now, Alabeth?”

“I feel better.”

“Then you will come on to Ranelagh with us?”

Alabeth’s heart sank. “I think not.”

“But, Alabeth—”

“I really am not up to Ranelagh, Jillian.”

“I would so like to go, for there is to be an orchestra and some dancing.”

“Then, of course you must go. Look, there is Octavia, I am sure that she will be going and she will be only too delighted to watch over you.” Alabeth hurried across to Octavia, who agreed immediately to look after Jillian.

Charles insisted upon giving Alabeth the use of his car
riage, and so she returned to Berkeley Square while he and
Jillian joined Octavia’s party to go on to Ranelagh.

* * *

In the privacy of her own room at last, Alabeth gave in to the tears which had threatened for so long. She cried herself to sleep and knew nothing of the torrential rainstorm which broke over London an hour or so later. At Ranelagh the revelers scattered in great haste, but Jillian
and Charles were caught some distance from shelter and
Jillian was soon soaked through and shivering. She was
still shivering when she arrived home.

The following morning Alabeth was roused by Jillian’s maid, who was most anxious because her mistress was feverish and seemed not at all well, Alabeth hurried to Jillian’s beautiful room, with its delicate Chinese silk on
the walls, and found her sister looking indeed far from
well. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes too bright, and
when Alabeth learned of the rainstorm at Ranelagh, she knew straightaway that Jillian had taken an ague and the
doctor must be sent for.

The doctor too diagnosed an ague and said that Jillian
must remain in her bed for at least a week, which
precluded them from joining Octavia’s house party for Ascot. Jillian was disappointed, but at the same time felt
really too ill to be too upset, and the doctor had hardly
gone before she had sunk into a restless sleep.

Alabeth immediately sent word to Octavia, who hurried
around in great concern, but she accepted that Alabeth had no choice and must remain in Town with Jillian. Charles, on hearing of what had happened, was immediately most anxious, feeling responsible, as he had persuaded Jillian to go to Ranelagh with him, and he was at first disposed to remain in Town too, until Alabeth reasoned with him that there really wasn’t anything he could do.

Alabeth was not too disappointed about the enforced
stay in London, for it at least gave her time to consider her
own position. The week was bound to be quiet, everyone
being at Ascot, and she would be able to give a great deal
of sensible thought to her feelings for Piers and what she
must do about them.

* * *

By the end of the week, with Jillian well on the way to
recovery, Alabeth had done her thinking and had come to the inevitable conclusion that she must try to forget her
love for Piers. She really didn’t have any choice, for she
had so mishandled everything from the outset that she had
ruined any chance she ever had of happiness with him. He now obviously felt nothing for her and indeed had fallen in love instead with Adelina Carver. For Alabeth, acceptance
of the truth about herself had come by far too late, and
now she must pick up the pieces and continue with her life,
with no thought of Piers Castleton at all.

As that week ended, Alabeth had something else to con
sider too—Count Adam Zaleski. Soon he would be coming
each day to the house to give Jillian her tuition, and now that Alabeth knew the true nature of the man, she had no
intention whatsoever of exposing either herself or Jillian to
his advances. In her heart she knew that the best course
would be to cancel the arrangement entirely, but this
would have upset Jillian a great deal and might anyway be entirely unnecessary, because the fact that he was disposed
to pursue the elder sister did not mean that he was similarly
disposed toward the younger. Knowing that he must be
guarded against, however, Alabeth announced one
morning at breakfast that she had decided it would be best
if the lessons were conducted in the presence of a maid.
She added hastily that it was certainly not because she did
not trust Jillian, but rather that she did not trust the
Count, whose reputation was not altogether spotless and
who must therefore be regarded as slightly doubtful company for an innocent, unmarried young lady in her
first Season in Town. Jillian did not seem to mind the stip
ulation, and Alabeth felt a great deal better about it—the
maid’s presence would surely restrict any untoward activ
ities the Count may envisage.

Alabeth was called away to the kitchens shortly after
ward, and Jillian sat alone at the table, contemplating the
forthcoming lessons—and the Count’s rather
risqué
reputation with the ladies. It was inevitable that a man like
that would become a little notorious in that direction, for he was quite the most divine of creatures, and his charm
and consideration toward Jillian herself could not be
faulted. Maybe he was not as immaculate as a Sir Galahad,
but he was at least interesting, and above all else,
exciting!
Why couldn’t Charles Allister be more like that? Why had
he instead to be dull, boring, and tedious?

* * *

The hour of the first lesson arrived at last and Jillian was
sufficiently recovered to be in readiness. The Count,
prompt, was shown into the drawing room. “Good
morning, Lady Alabeth. Lady Jillian.”

Alabeth nodded coolly. “Sir.”

His blue eyes flickered a little at the chill and he smiled instead at Jillian. “I was most concerned to hear of your
illness. I trust that you are now fully recovered.”

“I am indeed, sir, thank you.”

“You look enchanting, as you do always.”

Jillian flushed a little, smiling and lowering her eyes.
Alabeth reached for the bell which would summon Sander
son. “I know that your time is precious, Count Zaleski,
and so we must not delay the commencement of the lesson.
Oh, Sanderson, would you see that Lady Jillian’s maid goes directly to the music room?”

“Very well, my lady.”

Jillian hurried out in a rustle of pale-pink silk, but the
Count waited at the door for Alabeth. His glance moved appreciatively over her figure, outlined so beautifully by
the soft folds of her leaf-green gown. “I paid a compli
ment to Lady Jillian on her appearance, but I must also say
that I have never seen you look more lovely, Alabeth.”

“I asked you before not to address me so familiarly, sir, and must now point out that nothing has changed. You are here to give my sister tuition at the pianoforte, not to pay
court to me.”

“Why are you so cold? I surely do not deserve to be shut
out altogether.” His voice was soft, calculated as always to
play upon her emotions.

But she was immune to him now. “You do deserve it,
sir, as well you know.”

Anger flashed into his eyes then, but only briefly before the smile returned to his fine lips. “Perhaps I transgressed a little, but surely I am to be permitted that one mistake? It was, after all, a mistake born purely out of my desire for
you. Forgive me, Alabeth, let us forget my sins and begin
again.”

“My sister is waiting, Count Zaleski.”

His smile faltered a little, the set of his jaw looking
rather tense, but he seemed gallant enough as he offered his arm and they proceeded up to the music room. She
intended to remain there for a short while, for
appearance’s sake.

He smiled charmingly at Jillian as he entered the room.
“Very well, my lady, first of all I will see how you sit at the
pianoforte.”

She looked surprised. “How I
sit?
”

“But yes, for how can you play your best if you sit incorrectly? Come now, sit as you would normally.”

She obeyed.

He pursed his lips, pretending to look a little cross, but with a smile. “That will not do at all, you are far too high.”

“But everyone sits like this.”

“Everyone does not play well. You look as if you are
about to clamber over the top, not play. The fashion for
sitting high up in the air is not the best one for a serious
musician; it is better to be low, with one’s elbows level with
the white keys.”

He brought another, much lower seat and a moment
later Jillian was once again seated. She shifted uncomfortably, looking quite uneasy now.

But he was very gentle and understanding. “Soon you will feel that you have always played from this position,
my lady. Now, play something for me, anything you
wish.”

She selected a sheet of paper and began to play. He listened, his head on one side, nodding now and then, but
when she had finished, he was a little stern. “My lady, you
play very well indeed, but you use the pedals as if you
pump an organ! Take your foot away from them
completely, pretend they are not there, and create the tone through the touch of your fingers, thus.” He leaned over
her, his arms on either side of her as he played several bars. He was so close to her that his sleeve touched her bare arm.

Her lips parted with admiration as he produced a
complete range of sound without once having recourse to the pedals. She looked up at him as he finished. “But that
was marvelous. I would not have dreamed it possible—”

“Everything is possible with the pianoforte, my lady, as you will soon realize, and to begin with, you must use the
metronome.” He took the little device down from the
shelf.

Jillian was appalled. “But I haven’t used one since my
first exercises.”

“Timing is of the utmost importance; even I use the metronome,” he replied firmly, placing it before her and
setting it. “Never scorn timing, for if you do, then you will
fail.”

“I do not wish to fail.”

“Then do as I say,” he said, smiling down into her big
blue eyes.

“Even the metronome?”

“Especially the metronome.” He pretended to wag a finger at her.

She laughed. “What shall we begin with?”

“Oh, all the usual things—the Bach fugues, Handel,
Scarlatti, Mozart, and so on.”

She gasped. “
All
of them?”

“Naturally—and then you will progress to Beethoven.”

“It will take a very long time.”

“Nonsense, you will skip through them, I promise you.
Come now, for after all, time is immaterial when one
wishes to achieve an end.” His glance moved toward Alabeth.

It was not of music that he spoke. She gathered her skirts and left the room.

Over the next week the house echoed daily to the sound of scales and exercises, and the music room itself became more and more cluttered as Jillian labored her willing way through all the pieces set by the Count. But there was no mistaking that all the hard work was indeed improving her
playing, for her fluency became smoother as the week pro
gressed. To her the Count showed only his charming,
dashing side, so much so that one morning Jillian had to
confess to Alabeth that she found it impossible to believe
that such a fine gentleman could ever have cheated at cards. Alabeth, naturally enough, reserved judgment,
having witnessed for herself that there was quite another side to Count Adam Zaleski.