Ravencroft sang two phrases together:
When true hearts lie wither’d and fond ones are gone, Oh, who would inhabit this bleak world alone?
There was such sorrow in his beautiful voice she wondered how he could sing at all, let alone with such a clear, gentle baritone. Lady Mansfield sniffed. Lady Bedford surreptitiously dabbed at her eyes with a lace handkerchief. Undoubtedly they were thinking of the previous Lady Ravencroft, who had been unable to bear the grief of losing her husband and eldest son in the span of a few days, and succumbed to the same illness that had claimed them.
Refusing to think about her own losses and to keep herself from bawling like a baby, Ashley glanced at the other audience members. Everyone sat motionless, their attention riveted on the performers, no affectation of ennui from any of them. Mr. Barrett dabbed at his eyes with a snowy white handkerchief that matched his hair before blowing his nose, sounding like a goose honking. Behind her, she heard more than one man sniff back tears.
The singers repeated the final stanza in perfect harmony, their voices blending so well covering four octaves, the little hairs on Ashley’s arms stood on end. After a stunned silence while the last chord faded away, the room erupted in wild applause and hearty shouts ofhuzzah!
Georgia leaned over her mother to address Ashley. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Uncle David wear pink before.” She gave a significant glance at Ashley’s dress.
“He requested the change for tonight,” Lady Mansfield said, gesturing at her throat.
Ashley felt Lady Bedford’s stare upon her, though the elegant matron said nothing. Ashley shrugged one shoulder. “I’ve never worn this gown before.” Madame Chantel had made it in the first weeks of the Season, in fabric Aunt Eunice had picked out. Ashley had preferred to dress mostly in light blues and greens that complemented her coloring, while the pink had struck her as too youthful, perhaps even immature, for someone nearly on the shelf.
As the applause died down, the crowd shifted to allow more people into the room. Now a pair of military officers in full uniform joined the gentlemen, standing out in their bright red coats with gold epaulets and braid.
The room quieted as Ravencroft began to play again. Ashley recognized the tune as the one he and Westbrook had played at Clarissa’s wedding breakfast. The tune he’d begun composing when he was drunk in her bedchamber, when she’d kissed him to stop him from singing. The tune she had transcribed as best she could so he wouldn’t forget it.
Instead of the call and response between the pianoforte and violin, now the call was from tenor voices and answered by the baritone and bass. It was indeed an invitation to play, as she had thought. The lighter voices beckoned one to frolic in the innocence of childhood, to explore, to satisfy one’s desires. The deeper voices sang of duty, responsibility, and sacrifices that come with maturity and leaving childhood behind.
After Ravencroft played an intricate passage, Parker and Templeton sang of the blush of youth and innocence, of falling in love. Finding one’s true love. Parker’s voice faltered on that line as he locked gazes with Deirdre, adoration shining in his eyes. Ravencroft smoothly covered Parker’s tenor part, before going back down to low baritone with Westbrook and Mansfield, singing of the need to be practical. The risk of pain and loss, of not wanting to be a fool.
“Damn,” Fairfax rumbled from behind her. “I forgot just how good he is when he lets loose.”
Ravencroft played the interlude again, giving his head that little toss she found so endearing to flip the hair from his eyes as he glanced up at the audience and locked gazes with her, before once again looking at his hands on the keyboard.
“My bassy boys,” Mr. Barrett quietly said, a beatific smile erasing a decade from his face.
All five voices sang the third verse together, about finding the balance between duty and play. How one must dare being foolish in order to win the heart of one’s true love. As painful as it could be to lose a loved one, the risk was worth the reward. Nothing compared to the joy of finding true love and knowing one’s affection was returned in equal measure.
Ashley could barely draw breath. Ravencroft looked directly at her when he sang of love and joy, as if she and he were the only people in the room. She hoped he read her smile and slow nod as the answer to his barely disguised question; she could no longer see him clearly through the unshed tears blurring her vision.
The last chords played out. Applause erupted. Men jumped up from their seats and where they’d stood lounging on the sides of the room, once more the buzz of conversation filling the air about the song that won tonight’s prize for best original composition.
“Boy’s got it bad,” Lady Bedford softly said, turning to smile at Ashley.
Georgia leaned across her mother to squeeze Ashley’s shoulder and whisper in her ear, “Aunt Ashley.”
As Georgia straightened, Lady Mansfield squeezed Ashley’s hand and raised it to give a quick kiss to the back of her hand. “Aunt Connie, Georgia, perhaps we should go find ourselves a cup of tea,” Lady Mansfield said. “I think Ashley and David will need a moment without us.” As she rose, she gestured for Lady Templeton and Clarissa to come with them.
Ashley twined her fingers together on her lap, trying not to wrinkle her gown or bite her nails while she waited. Should she rise and try to make her way through the mass of men clustered around the pianoforte? On the other hand, David knew where she was sitting. Surely he would soon get through the crowd that kept stopping him to congratulate him, and join her on the sofa.
Perhaps he’d take her by the hand and lead her to a quiet corner where he could tell her how he had changed his mind about never marrying. Ask her the question she thought she’d never hear. Had all but given up hope of hearing from him yet thought she’d heard in the song he wrote.
Minutes dragged by. Still no David.
To see better through the crowd, Ashley stood. Dozens of men still swarmed the room, now holding cups of tea, lemonade, wineglasses, or tumblers of amber liquid, the din of conversation getting impossibly louder. No sign of David.
Had she misunderstood? Had his pink cravat merely been a coincidence? The song meant nothing more than any other composition, just a pleasant combination of lyrics and music?
As more doubts assailed her, Ashley frantically dove into the crowd, searching each masculine face, looking for the beloved long chestnut hair with a streak of white. She looked at each man in the front parlour and the music room.
No David.
Chapter 19
Perhaps he was in the crush in the hallway around the refreshment trays.
