“Have I ever told you I love it when you use my name that way? It sounds almost as if you are speaking to yourself. And I think today I would advise exactly that—patience, with me.”
“What did you do?”
“I’ve invited Lord and Lady Driarwood. They should be arriving today.”
A chill swept up from the lake, and Nicholas stopped. “Only Lord and Lady Driarwood?”
“I believe Lady Mercy will be coming as well.” She placed a quick kiss on Nicholas’s cheek and then dashed forward. Once she was a safe distance away from him, she turned her head. “I’m sorry!”
It took Nicholas a lot longer than it should have to reach the music room. He hadn’t heard any carriages arrive while he and Patience were walking, but still his eyes surveyed the room before he stepped in. It was still the same group that had been here since the day before. Patience, Ottersby, General Woodsworth, Lord and Lady Bryant, Lord Bryant’s brother-in-law, Mr. Nate Barton, and his wife and child were in attendance, as well as Lady Marion and her parents—the catalysts for the house party.
Lady Marion stood from the seat next to her parents and joined him at the back of the room. “Do you sing, Your Grace?”
With a musical mother, obsessed with singing? More than he cared to admit. He glanced around the room one more time. Mercy definitely wasn’t here. “I do.”
“I have ‘What Are the Wild Waves Saying’ prepared on the piano. Do you know the words? We could sing it together.” She looked almost terrified of him, as if he would run her off if he disagreed.
Nicholas had left London without a farewell to her or anyone else but his family. He owed her a song, at least. Plus, it would give him a direct line of sight to the door. “Of course I would. In fact, that would be an excellent way to start the evening.”
Lady Marion smiled at him, and he held out his arm and led her to the pianoforte. She sat, placed her slender fingers on the piano keys, and glanced back up at him with a nod before she expertly plucked out the tune.
Nicholas started the first verse, and Lady Marion finished the second half. They sang the chorus together, and Lady Marion’s sweet voice was such a stark contrast to Mother’s that he was surprised at how well the notes melded together.
There were no surprises in Lady Marion’s singing or playing. Everything was done exactly according to plan. Where was the enjoyment in that?
While Lady Marion finished her part, Nicholas strode to the front row of chairs and grabbed Mother’s hand. She gave no protest as he pulled her in front of the pianoforte. In fact, she turned and faced her small audience with a flourish, finished the last bar of Lady Marion’s part with her, and then rambunctiously launched into the chorus. Nicholas chuckled and belted out hispart as well.
Lady Marion’s fingers floundered for the first time as she tried to adjust to Mother’s unsteady rhythm, and Nicholas gave her a lopsided grin. It was hard to keep up with Mother, but life had always been more exciting when he tried. He turned to catch Patience’s eye, only to see her welcoming someone into the room.
His note faltered. Standing at the back of the room were Lord and Lady Driarwood. They walked in with their heads down, whispering softly to Patience. Nicholas rejoined Mother, schooling his face and voice into paying no heed to what was happening at the back of the room.
Were they alone?
Lord and Lady Driarwood stepped to the side, and behind them, in a deep-red gown, Mercy walked into the music room of Brushbend. Her head was lowered, and she did not meet his eye. Her neck was bare. No emeralds, and certainly no simple silver chain. Of course there wasn’t. If she was ever going to wear that gift, it would have been two months ago.
What the devil had Patience been thinking?
He steeled his nerves and retreated to a place of safety in the back of his mind. He simply needed to get though one more chorus, and then he could drag his sister out of the back door and—what? Scold her? How exactly did one discipline a grown, married woman?
He would strip Ottersby of his title. He had managed to convince the Queen and Parliament into giving it to him in the first place. Surely he would find a way to rescind it. He did his best to keep his eyes from following Mercy as she sat down on the second row of seats with her parents.
What would have possessed her to accept Patience’s invitation? Had her parents convinced her she’d made a terrible mistake letting a duke slip through her fingers? He forced asmile as he finished the last word of the song.
Nicholas kissed Mother’s cheek and gave a prodigious smile to Lady Marion. He thanked her and made a show of taking her arm, leading her back to her seat and sitting down next to her. Mercy had been as careful as he had to not meet his eye, but now that he was seated, facing away from her, it was as if he could feel her eyes on the back of his head.
Mother announced that she would sing another song and asked if anyone would accompany her. Mrs. Barton volunteered and played so beautifully that Mother sang another song after that. Nicholas’s neck ached from the force of keeping his head forward and resisting the urge to look back. Lord Woodbury then pulled Ottersby up and made him sing “Cheer, Boys, Cheer!”, and if Mercy hadn’t been there, Nicholas would have joined them. He could never hear the military tune without thinking of Donald.
Mr. Barton came to the pianoforte and offered to play for his wife while she sang. Mr. Barton didn’t play very well. He stumbled over a few notes, and the piece was very simple, but once Mrs. Barton lifted her voice to join him, his playing was completely overshadowed by his wife’s voice.
For the first time since Nicholas had sat down, he allowed himself to turn his head and look back at Patience. He raised his eyebrows at her. Had she known she had invited a woman whose voice might make angles weep?
He closed his eyes and allowed himself to simply rest and let the music wash over him. The house party would only last three days. He could be in Mercy’s presence for three days. It would be over before he knew it, and he could start working on stripping Ottersby of his title next week.
The last strain of Mrs. Barton’s voice faded away, and the room went silent.
The musicale was over. No one, save perhaps Mother, woulddare to follow that performance, which meant he would have to stand up and greet the last of his guests.
First he stood and congratulated Mrs. Barton. She blushed becomingly, her large blue eyes beaming at her husband. “Nate deserves the credit. He has been working tirelessly on the pianoforte for the past year.”
