“No one asked you,” Lady Danforth muttered, quickly turning her attention back to the performance.
“Hush,” Lady Barbour said beside her, shooing away Lady Bigglesworth, before giving her full attention once more to the performance.
The men settled on a spot for the final verse, each singing impossibly better than before in what she thought was his most natural tone—Sutcliff as low tenor, Leighton as baritone/tenor, Westbrook as baritone, Ravencroft in a mellow baritone/bass range, and Fairfax’s rich bass sometimes dropping down to a bone-rattling basso profundo. Despite no instruments, the combined melody and harmonies from their voices wove a tapestry of sound.
Stunning.
Delicious chills chased up Ashley’s spine. Little hairs on the back of her neck and her forearms stood on end. She felt the reverberations from this chamber choir of five, each a master of his voice as an instrument, all the way through her core, deep into her bones.
As much as Ashley was enjoying the performance, Ravencroft seemed relaxed and content, at peace with himself in a way she had never before seen.
He radiated joy. He sounded divine.
Occasionally the left side of his mouth would quirk with a half-smile as the audience reacted to the group’s antics or showed appreciation for a particularly fine solo, whether his or from one of the others.
Ashley spared a quick glance to see how the crowd was responding. Most of the women were unabashedly as enthralled as she, as well as quite a few of the men. Over at the edge of the crowd she noticed two gentlemen, their heads bowed in close conversation, one writing with a pencil in a small notebook.
“Oh dear lord, is that Alvanley taking notes?” Lady Mansfield whispered, glancing at the same two men.
“Prinny’s friend?” Lady Templeton’s eyes grew wide.
“With Henry Pierrepoint,” Lady Bedford said with a slow nod. “Company must be thin at their club tonight.”
The singers were almost at the end of the song. In the front row, Lady Sutcliff was smiling, Mrs. Barrett was beaming, and the buttons were in danger of popping off Mr. Barrett’s waistcoat he looked so proud of his ‘bassy boys.’ If they all sounded this good, how in the world would judges be able to determine a winner at the Catch Club competition?
The men ended the song in a sustained, perfectly harmonized four-octave chord, a small hand gesture from Ravencroft cutting them off in unison.
The delighted audience erupted in applause and cheers.
“You know, it hasn’t been that long since a Ravencroft entertained at the court of the Hanover king,” Lady Bedford said when the applause began to die down.
“I recall that Father was gone for several months once,” Lady Mansfield said. “David hadn’t been born yet. Mother told us Father had been summoned to entertain King George at Windsor Castle.”
“His Majesty was bereft at losing the American colonies,” Lady Bedford said, nodding. “Not sure he’s ever fully recovered from it.”
Ashley wanted nothing more than to speak with Ravencroft, to congratulate him on such a crowd-pleasing performance, but the throng of well-wishers that surged forward at the conclusion made it impossible for her to even see the singers. She didn’t know where Georgia had got to. A footman bearing a tray of drinks paused before her, and she selected a glass of champagne.
“You look happy.”
Ashley almost choked on her drink at the rich masculine voice speaking so close to her ear. If she tilted her head back, she could rest it on Ravencroft’s shoulder. “I could say the same of you.” She turned so she could see his face, look deep into those gorgeous hazel eyes. “Mr. and Mrs. Barrett certainly seemed to appreciate it, as did the crowd.” Recalling Lady Bigglesworth, she added, “Well, the majority. Some thought it was undignified.”
Ravencroft grinned. “Of course it’s undignified. That’s why it’s fun.” He tossed back the last of his drink and beckoned to a footman.
“More tea with honey, my lord?” he said, taking the empty glass.
“Good man.” Ravencroft waited until the footman had moved away. “Seriously. You look happy. Have you had good news?”
Indecision gripped her for a moment. But only for a moment. She strolled over to one of the conversation nooks that were currently unoccupied. Ravencroft sat beside her on the sofa, far enough away that no one could construe it as improper. “I have made my own good news.”
Chapter 18
Ravencroft raised one eyebrow. “I am utterly intrigued by your phrasing.”
“You were right. I am an administrator, not a teacher. As there is a shortage of headmistress or assistant headmistress positions open, I have decided to open my own school.”
Ravencroft blinked a few times, apparently processing her statement, but otherwise did not immediately react.
Normally she would not be this frank with a gentleman acquaintance. However, given the somewhat intimate nature of their friendship—having stitched his arm, bathed him, and washed his hair, after all—she plunged ahead. “It appears that no suitable gentleman is going to offer matrimony or even court me in the time available before my aunt and uncle leave for Jamaica.”
