Sophia could well imagine the two ladies having done this with their military husbands.
As the marchers circled past the harpsichord, she caught Fairfax’s eye and they shared a smile.
After two more patriotic songs, Mrs.Royston put away her fife while Mrs.Digby played a brief drum solo and ended with a flourish, spinning the sticks again.
Sophia joined in the applause and couldn’t help laughing at thejoie de vivreon display.Two hours ago she would never have guessed Mrs.Digby played the drum, yet now it seemed inevitable that she had taken it up at some point during her husband’s military career.She hadn’t merelyfollowedthe drum; she hadplayedthe drum.Sophia chuckled again.
As the evening drew to a close, Theo subtly urged her parents to be among the first to leave.They had already departed when Mr.Huntley realized Mildred was gone.Sophia almost felt sorry for him as he looked about the room, unsuccessful at hiding his disappointment at not finding the curly-haired blonde miss.
His disappointment at not getting to say goodbye to the girl bode well for Sophia’s matchmaking plans.
Chapter 8
Vincent opened his bedchamber window, leaned out, and took a deep breath of the salt-tinged night air.He closed his eyes to hear better.The tide was almost out, making the waves a gentle, distant roll.The best way to relax that did not involve alcohol was to simply breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth, so long as it was fresh sea air.
Not that he felt agitated or unsettled.Not after watching Miss Walden confidently play the pianoforte tonight, hearing her lovely alto voice.Saw the sparkle in her sherry-colored eyes as she shared a grin with him at Agnes and Gert’s shenanigans.Much as he was certain the old gels had complained when they had to march for real with their husbands’ regiments, moving from camp to camp, they loved to get out the fife and drum and lead a parade.He loved that Miss Walden had shared in their delight rather than finding them silly.
He’d already dismissed Lawrence for the night and stripped down to just his shirt and breeches.Another few deep breaths, and he might be able to fall asleep without Miss Walden invading his dreams.Wondering if the rest of her skin was as soft as her shoulder, where his fingers had slipped off her gown and touched bare flesh when he’d invited her to play.
A sharp scent intruded on his musings, there and gone so quickly he might have thought he’d imagined it if not for the brief flare of a tiny orange light below on the terrace.
He tied the sash on his dressing gown and hurried downstairs.
“Wondered how long you would take to get here.”Aunt Gert took another puff on her cigar as Vincent joined her at the small table on the terrace off the drawing room.
He silently offered to top off her glass of port—she declined—before he poured his own and lit the cigar she’d left for him.Moments later he sat back, one bare ankle crossed over his knee, and tried to blow a circle of smoke.
“You’re out of practice.”Gert exhaled a perfect ‘O’ of smoke.
“I only smoke when I’m with you.”
Gert chuckled.“I’m a terrible influence.”
“You saved my life.”
“The two are not mutually exclusive.”They clinked glasses and drank.
They sipped their port and smoked in the velvet darkness, enjoying the bubbling fountain nearby, the distant waves a gentle whisper in the background.The new moon let the stars shine brightly on this clear night, their principal source of light as the staff had extinguished most of the candles in the drawing room.
The tall box hedges of the maze seemed to cut them off from the rest of the world, sheltering them from the wind, narrowing Vincent’s reality down to this hidden garden, a place of respite.A place of sanctuary since his first visit here, as an angry ten-year-old.
“I saw you nudge Miss Walden.”Gert exhaled another perfect ring.“You like the chit?”
Vincent gave up trying to blow rings and simply exhaled a cloud.“She’s a skilled musician.”
“Which I imagine counts more than appearance or a dowry with you.”Gert took one last puff and stubbed out her cigar.“There’s a baron in her family tree, so your father couldn’t object to a match should you decide to court her.”
Vincent took a sip, debating the wisdom of sharing his concerns.Gert would not have hired her scribe without at least checking references.“She’s hiding something.”
“Aren’t we all?”
He declined to ponder his own secrets, or what Gert could still be hiding at her advanced age.“I took a look through the library desk drawers.Have you seen the pages that are not part of the manuscript?”
“I have.A most curious form of writing, is it not?”
“It doesn’t bother you?Pages and pages of text we can’t read?What if she’s hiding something?”
Gert ran one finger around the rim of her glass.“I asked her about it her first day.Those scribbles are how she keeps up with me.Trying to dictate to Agnes was annoying.Bless her for trying, but she wrote so slowly I’d lose my train of thought.Miss Walden scratches those little loops and swirls with a pencil, and not only reads it back to me perfectly, she ends up waiting for me.”Gert pushed the ashtray closer to Vincent.“Do you think she’s hiding something else?”
