One, Lady Hightower had been a friend to his father and had always doted on him. He had long called her Aunt, though she was no relation. She had been a firm friend when he’d stumbled through his inevitably callow youth and she’d kept up a regular correspondence with him. She, of all people, had been depended upon for sage advice. The lady was a marvelous and seasoned matron and these days liked to refer to herself as the oldest bat in the rafters. He would never let her down.
Two, it was the stupidest thing in the world for a duke to complain about such entertainments. Compared to nearly everybody else in the world, his chores must be seen as exceedingly light duty. An unhappy man was the man who forgot his luck, and he would never forget it. By accident of birth, he had landed on the softest of pillows.
That idea had been given him by Lady Hightower in the most pointed way possible. During his fourteenth summer, he’d stayed at her estate. She’d put him into the stables for those months to get a taste for how others lived. Lady Hightower explained that nobody could appreciate their luck unless they had felt how it might be otherwise.
These days, whenever he felt himself becoming bored, he directed his thoughts back to those long days and nights in the stable. Sleeping on a badly stuffed hay mattress in the heat of summer, physical work all day, being bossed about by the stablemaster, and feeling as if he never had quite enough to eat.
He suspected the stablemaster had been directed to make things particularly hard on him and, though he had not been glad of it then, he was glad of it now. It had greatly affected how he ran his own stables. At his estate, he had separate cottages built for the stable master and the senior hands. He over-hired by most men’s measure, so the work was not so onerous, and he made sure the food was plentiful and days off were liberal.
Now, as Bellforce led him into the lady’s house, he put a smile on his face and prepared to be charmed.
“Conbatten!” Lady Hightower said, striding to his side. “Goodness, you are looking very well these days.”
Balthazar kissed her hand and said, “Aunt Agnes, you look just as you did when last we met. Time has taken kindly to you and paused its march forward.”
Lady Hightower snorted and said, “Well now, the ladies must be very gratified by your elegant phrasings. Please do informtime, if you would be so good, to pause the arthritis in my bones if it is really that kindly disposed toward me.”
“I will put in a word,” Balthazar said smiling.
Lady Hightower took his arm and led him toward the music room. “My boy, you are very good to come to my little evening year after year when some other young buck might have taken himself off to a gambling den.”
“I would never disappoint you, Aunt Agnes. You know that.”
“I do know it,” the lady said, “and you well know I feel that those of us matrons who are as old as Methuselah must provide little opportunities for the youngest ladies among us to shine. Or at least, make a valiant attempt to shine.”
He nodded, well-used to his aunt’s views on the subject.
“But you are not to think I have forgotten about your comfort. I have arranged something that will ease the duty. You will find a glorious Tokay on the sideboard this evening. Bellforce says it is a Szamorodni style called a Száraz—it is dry and nutty and very difficult to get as there is so little of it to be had.”
Balthazar was rather cheered by that news. He liked a dry Tokay and did not know why so many of Hungary’s winemakers were determined to make their wine sickly sweet. “How on earth did Bellforce get hold of it?” he asked.
“Goodness, I have not the faintest. You know my butler—all mysterious dealings and then he just hands me the bill.”
They had entered the music room and looked about at the gathering guests.
Well, well. The evening got more interesting by the moment. A dry Tokay on hand and Lady Rosalind just across the room. Though her back was turned as she talked to Lady Mary and the ever-in-black Miss Mayton, he could not fail to recognize that marvelous hair, her slim and rather regal bearing, and the way she had of tilting her head when she listened to someone speak.
He supposed Lady Rosalind would be as graceful on her chosen musical instrument as she had been on the ballroom floor. That was not what was so alluring about her, though. He looked forward to what she might say. So far, all he knew was that she was prone to say what he had not imagined she would say.
Perhaps he might hear of another ode to a farmer’s field, or another dreadful novel about a duke and his demurring governess, or even another dog stolen from the roadside.
Miss Mayton spotted him and wildly waved. In fact, she waved so wildly that she caught the attention of not only Lady Rosalind and Lady Mary, but a number of people nearby them.
Now he had a dozen people looking his way to see who Miss Mayton flagged down in such a fashion. She was a strange creature.
Lady Rosalind turned, looked over her delicate shoulder, and smiled at him. He would make his way there.
*
Rosalind had notpositively known that Conbatten would attend the musical evening at Lady Hightower’s house. At least, she had not known it in any factual way.
She had been sure the fates would not let her down and now she was buoyed by the idea that she must just trust in them and they would provide.
He was looking so marvelous in his well-cut coat that she had the urge to knock everybody out of the way who stood between them and throw herself into his arms.
Fortunately, there was no need to cause a scene, as he made his way directly to her. There would be time to throw herself into his arms after he’d done his courageous task. Whatever that turned out to be.
“Miss Mayton, Lady Rosalind, Lady Mary,” he said.
