“I know the piece of music, Rosamund,” Lord Wetherby said from behind her. “It came to an end several measures ago. You do Mozart a disservice by improvising.”
Her hands fell still on the keys.
“Neither of us could have forseen this,” he said, “and neither of us would have wished for it. But it has happened. We are going to have to make the best of it.”
“Yes,” she said.
“Unfortunately,” he said, “you have never had an affair with another man, and I am unaccustomed to liaisons with ladies of our own class. If we had just had a little more experience, I daresay we would be feeling far less embarrassment at the moment.”
“Yes,” she said.
He sat down on the stool beside her and thumbed through a piece of music, which he took from the top of the pianoforte. The narrowness of the stool brought his arm against hers. The warmth of her seeped through his sleeve. She was wearing a perfume as enticing as any of the ones that had been in Jude’s trunk.
“Can we be sensible and adult about this?” he asked. “We were thrown together under circumstances that made it almost inevitable that we become lovers. We drew mutual enjoyment from that liaison. We said good-bye. It’s over. Can we now put it behind us and treat each other like friendly acquaintances?”
“Yes,” she said.
“You were not a lady of single syllables when I last knew you,” he said. “Far from it.”
“What am I supposed to say, Justin?” She rubbed at a spot on one of the keys. “What you say makes perfect sense, and I am glad you have said it. Perhaps now we will be able to look at each other without wishing to die and talk to each other without stammering and accustom ourselves to the new relationship that is about to develop between us.”
“The aunt-nephew relationship?” he said.
“Yes, that.” She polished a black key with the pad of one finger.
“Yes,” he said, “we can accustom ourselves to it.”
There was a silence that neither of them broke for several moments.
“Are you with child?” he asked quietly.
“No.”
“I’m glad I have had a chance to know that at least,” he said. “I was concerned.”
“What were you concerned about?” The marquess, who had come up behind them unseen, clapped a hand on the earl’s shoulder. Fortunately the question seemed to be rhetorical. He continued. “I have been waiting for you to start playing again, Rosamund. Can Wetherby not find you anything else suitable? Try this.” He rummaged through the pile and drew out a piece of music by Bach. He opened it on the music rest, one arm over each of Rosamund’s shoulders. “You have a fine touch, my dear. It is a pleasure to listen to you.”
The earl stood up again and watched her play for a while before wandering away to find Annabelle. He must spend what remained of the evening with her. He had one week in which to develop a friendship and an affection for her strong enough to make both of them feel good about the formal offer that was to be made on the marquess’s birthday.
He was not sure that anything had been solved as far as Rosamund was concerned.
Chapter 9
The marchioness thought the idea of a boat ride on the lake a quite splendid one.
“I would not have thought of it so early in the year,” she said. “Though I don’t know why not. It is a beautiful day, and it is not as if you are planning to swim. At least, I hope you are not planning to swim.” She looked at Lord Beresford.
He grinned. “Someone might be pitched in headfirst if he misbehaves,” he said. “But no, Aunt, we are not planning to swim.”
“Anyway, Joshua,” she said, “it is good of you and Rosamund to agree to go along to chaperon Annabelle and Justin.”
He laughed. “It is the other way around, actually, Aunt,” he said. “They are to chaperon us.”
“Then they have my sincerest sympathy,” the marchioness said. “They never used to arrive home, Justin, without a couple of torn sleeves or hems between the two of them and an assortment of cuts and bruises and some guilty confession to make. Once they had chased a poor sheep into a hedge and could not get it out again.”
“I suffered a great deal more pain than the sheep,” Lord Beresford said, “when my father got hold of me. I remember quarreling with Rosamund because all she got from March was a scolding.”
“But I would not have dreamed of tormenting the poor creature without you to egg me on, Josh,” Rosamund said, batting her eyelids at him.
