The Lodestone (35 page)

“I fear Edwina will accept someone she doesn’t love, if only to escape her mother.” Cleome watched Garnett’s face and was gratified to see a flicker of consternation there.

“She might be better off, Cleome,” he said. “If it would make you happy, I’d marry her myself—since you won’t have me. But with my father’s sudden decline in wealth, I am no longer a candidate.”

“Were you ever?”

“My dear, anything in breeches and destined to inherit a great estate has been carefully considered by Mrs. L, myself included. And don’t you see, the sooner she accomplishes that end, the sooner Edwina will be her own mistress, and you’ll have your little friend back.”

“I wish you could marry her,” Cleome declared. “If I gave you the money to replace all your father lost, perhaps Moira would find you acceptable. And Edwina quite adores you.”

He laughed. “What would happen when the dear child caught me looking at you with longing? That would put a cruel end to her infatuation. Cleome, you should be ashamed. Trying to
buy
me. It would serve you right if I accepted!”

“Well, if marriages must be arranged for money, at least one person should be happy in the arrangement.”

Chapter Fifteen

“Mamma, please!” Edwina entreated, her eyes red and swollen from hours of weeping. “I’ll die without it. Please do not lock it up again.” She had been a month without her piano, an entire month! To lock it again after only two days was the ultimate punishment and a brilliant weapon in this battle of wills her mother forced upon her.

Moira Landshire pocketed the key and frowned at Edwina. “I curse the day your useless father brought it home to you,” she hissed with quiet venom. “It will remain locked until you have agreed to do your duty by a mother who has devoted her life to taking care of you.”

“You have not!”

“Control your wayward tongue, my girl, or you’ll only make it worse.” Moira’s voice was hard and cold, even though she was filled with apprehension. If the ungrateful girl refused to cooperate, she didn’t know what she would do—except to make her very, very sorry.

“Uncle Oliver has cared for me while you’ve gone gadding about, spending my father’s money, looking for someone to take me off your hands!” Edwina was heedless of her warning. “I do not want to marry any man
you
would choose!” she railed.

“Is this how you plan to get your precious piano back, my dear?” Moira asked with quiet cunning. She was glad it hurt her daughter so to be deprived the instrument. It put a powerful weapon at her disposal. “And for your information, we have endured the
last
of Oliver’s meddling. You will not see
him
again, either. Not until your wedding day.”

“You’ve taken everything from me, everything and everyone I hold dear.” A sob tore through Edwina, as if her very soul were rent. “What would you have me do? I cannot fight you anymore, and I cannot live without my music.”

“I believe I’ll save the surprise. You’ll know soon enough. Now, go and make yourself presentable. Put a cool, damp cloth on your eyes to bring down the swelling. Edwina, you will thank me for this someday. You’ll have not only a wealthy husband, but also a title. Now, go. He’ll be here soon, to make it official. You are to come down immediately when you hear the bell.”

Moments after Edwina went upstairs to do her mother’s bidding, there was a light tap at the door. To save money, Moira had dismissed her maid, so she had to answer the summons herself; but this time it did not seem so objectionable. She would not have to put up with that sort of inconvenience much longer. She was a clever woman and had found many ways to stretch the pittance Edwina’s father had left them, including designing and making most of their dresses and bonnets. As soon as Edwina was married, Moira would receive the first installment of a generous monthly allowance she and the bridegroom had agreed upon. She opened the door to find him standing there, smiling at her benevolently.

“My dear Paolo,” she crooned. “Come in. The darling girl will be down soon.”

“You have spoken with her on my behalf?” he asked anxiously as Moira took his cloak and hung it on a coat rack near the door. “You have smoothed the way for me?”
Moira led him into the parlor. “Oh, my goodness, Paolo. There was no smoothing necessary. She’s quite taken with the idea, but I beg you remember her tender years and her lack of experience.”

“Have no fear,” he said quietly. “I will be the soul of understanding.”

“She has an artistic temperament that I’ve tried to quell at every turn. You must be firm with her—but also patient, of course.”

“I shall,” he reassured her. “But even patience has its limits, Moira. You know I must have an heir. Only then will your income be doubled, as we agreed.”

“You are so kind, Paolo. And you must not worry. There’s a way to get
whatever
you want from Edwina, and I shall give you the key.”

“You speak in riddles, dear lady. Pray tell me.”
Moira took a small key from her pocket. “Once she has agreed to become your wife, take this and unlock her piano. If she becomes difficult, then lock the devilish thing up again. She will do
anything
you ask, only to be allowed to play it.”

“I see. You have done this often?”

“Well, it’s not often necessary. But it is
most
effective. She says she cannot live without her music. Have you ever heard anything so
absurd
?” Picking up the silver bell that sat on the tea table, she went on, “Now, I’ll summon our girl and then I’ll fetch our tea.” She rang the little bell. “I am sure you will find her
most
agreeable.”

**

Edwina appeared in the doorway, sober and resigned. She was surprised to see that her husband-to-be was the tall, serpentine Count Paolo, but she tried not to show it. He stood and looked anxiously from her to Moira.

“You rang for me?” Edwina asked.

“Look who is here,” Moira answered pleasantly. “Come and say hello. You must entertain the count while I prepare our tea.”

As soon as Moira left the room, Paolo took Edwina’s hand. She did not protest. “My dear Miss Landshire,” he said with a slight bow, his narrow face pale and serious, “I shall come directly to the point. I believe you know why I’m here?”

“Mamma has explained that you wish to marry me. Though I cannot think why.”

“Perhaps because you are young and sweet and lovely—and I need a wife. I want children, and I am quite taken with you.” He held the key to the pianoforte out to her. “I believe this is yours.”

She looked at the key and then frankly up into his eyes. “No. It is Mamma’s.” She wanted to take it from him, but she knew better. “I am not permitted to touch it.”

“Your mother gave it to me. I am giving it to you.”

She could hardly believe it. “She knows you’re giving it to me?”

“Well . . . in all truth, she suggested I keep it.” He bent closer to her. “But, as I do not play, I think it should be in your safekeeping. Your music is the purest I’ve ever heard, Miss Landshire. You must never be locked away from what you love so much. If you will agree to marry me and be a good and constant wife, you’ll have access to it always.” With purpose, he strode across the room and unlocked the piano. Then he went back to her, put the key in her hand and gently closed her fingers around it.

“It is really mine to keep?”

He laughed lightly, softening her previous perception of him. “Indeed it is,” he said. Then he was serious again. “Edwina, I trust that in time you will learn to love me. My parents are dead. I have no brothers and sisters, and I want a family. The life of a bachelor has lost all its appeal. If you will give me a chance, I know I can make you happy. Please do me the honor of becoming my wife.”

Edwina opened her hand and stared at the key. “May I play now?”

“Of course . . . only, will you first answer my question? Will you marry me?”

“Yes!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around him. “Yes!” She ran to the piano and sighed with relief when she was able to unlock it and lift the lid. Sitting down eagerly before the keyboard, she looked up at Paolo, making room for him beside her on the bench. “Would you like to sit next to me while I play?”

“Thank you, my dear Edwina. I would be honored.”

**

Moira heard the notes and hurried in with the tea tray to find Edwina playing a happy Mozart piece and Count Paresi gazing at her with what any devoted mother would hope was undying love. The wedding could take place in as little as two weeks, Moira calculated. She had everything ready, including a magnificent gown and the entire wedding trousseau. The day after Edwina married Moira could hire a maid and a cook, and order herself a whole new wardrobe—one that she wouldn’t have to stitch with her own hands. And in less than a year, when Edwina produced a little count or countess, as indeed she must, Moira would be able to buy a new carriage.

**

Cleome was invited to the wedding but Moira had made it clear through Oliver that they would be permitted to see Edwina only briefly before the ceremony.

“Can you believe the audacity of the woman?” Oliver railed as he stormed into Cleome’s morning room at Houghton Hall. “I trust you received your invitation.”

“It arrived but an hour ago. I have been expecting you.”

“Moira delivered mine herself. Said she also invited you, but that I must see to it you behave. Said it was only because you’re Edwina’s friend. But I know she’s inviting you for the gift, the greedy cow!”

“Then it must be a grand one.”

“I wager half the wedding presents will not make it to Italy with the happy couple.” He was livid. “Cleome, I must put a stop to this.”

“Can you?” she asked hopefully. “Is there some legal recourse?”

“I don’t know. I had a note from Edwina. She writes that this is her decision, although it’s also what her mother wants. Well, here. See for yourself.” He pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket and held it out to Cleome. She smoothed it out and studied it carefully. “Oh, it is her hand, to be sure. I’d know it anywhere,” Oliver declared. “But the words are Moira’s.”

Cleome quickly read the note. “She is going to live in Italy with him! She says he loves her music and is happy just to hear her play.”

“Moira has asked me to escort my niece down the aisle, in her father’s stead.” The old man’s voice broke. “Cleome, how can I give that precious girl over to a man who has such a vile reputation, even among rakes and scoundrels?”

Seeing how agitated Oliver was, she led him to an easy chair. “Sit down, please. You must calm yourself. Now tell me. What do you know about him?”

With a sigh, Oliver dropped heavily into the chair. “He got into some terrible mischief at university. Concerning the ladies, but I don’t know the details.”

“Oh, the witch has her ways. Moira has no doubt locked up her piano again. How could she be so cruel?” They both knew that to Edwina, her music was as necessary as breathing. “She suffers so when Moira keeps it from her. But, according to Edwina, the count has promised to ship her piano to Italy and let her keep the key. She wishes to put as much distance between herself and her mother as she can. Perhaps it’s for the best, if only he will let her have her music.” He calmed gradually and a normal color returned to his face. “She even writes that she has made Paolo promise not to let Moira visit them—ever. But you and I will be welcome as soon as she is settled.”

“Will we get even a moment alone with her, do you think?”

“If I agree to participate in this farce, we can each have five minutes with her before the ceremony. Moira wanted it to be afterward, but I got at least that much.” He had to smile again. “Edwina says in her letter that she would marry him just for that. Just to see us both again.”

“Then you must agree, Oliver. We must hear from Edwina herself that she’s acting of her own will.”

“And if she is not?”

“Then we’ll talk her out of it. She can live with me and you can petition the court to intervene, if necessary. But we must speak with her.”

**

The wedding was to be a simple, elegant affair, which Moira Landshire was orchestrating to perfection. She had been scrimping, saving, planning and persuading since Edwina was ten years old, and at last, she had brought about a successful match. Now Edwina would be a countess and Moira would have the luxurious lifestyle she knew she deserved. And she was still young. She might yet find a rich husband for herself among her son-in-law’s associates.

A trio of singers would serenade the couple while Edwina, in a gown any bride would envy, walked down a flower-strewn aisle on the arm of her widely respected uncle, to speak the appropriate words before the minister. While Oliver had been the bane of Moira’s existence these past few years, she needed his seal of approval on a match that would seem to be hurried. The noted barrister’s presence would rob the gossips of any fodder they might glean from a rushed ceremony.

Completely satisfied with herself, Moira Landshire smoothed her gown and surveyed the church, which was bursting at the seams with flowers and wedding guests. In just moments, she thought with greedy anticipation, her new life would begin.

**

“Eddy, I only want to be sure. You’re certain this is what you want?” Cleome queried her friend soberly. “What about Garnett?”

“Garnett loves you,” Edwina answered with no sign of resentment. “He loved you before he knew I existed and he will always love you. He’s not interested in me, nor would he satisfy Mamma, especially with his present difficulties. And Cleo, I must get away from her or I shall go mad. I can live without Garnett, if I must. I cannot live without my music.”