Chapter Six
Balthazar had aterrible time not heaving with laughter as he made his way to the sideboard.Ode to Haywas a delightful insult to poets everywhere. He did not often sympathize with Lady Mary, but he could not help feeling sorry that she had been assaulted by such drivel. The poor lady had practically staggered to the sideboard so that she might drink wine to revive herself from the experience.
He could only wonder what another sister’s Desdemona consisted of—he imagined some drooping over a sofa and lamenting before a slow closing of eyes and dying dramatically. And there was the other one who had taken up painting a few days ago and was fast becoming a master.
Balthazar dared not even think of some poor Frenchman hanging himself for love of Miss Mayton. It was too absurd and he would not be able to control his laughter at all if he pondered it.
Then, the idea that Lady Hightower’s house might be attacked by masked thieves. Lady Rosalind had sounded almost hopeful that such a thing was in the offing. He supposed she would wish to use such a circumstance to measure the bravery of the gentlemen in the room, as she had made it clear that particular quality was of vast consequence.
Miss Mayton obviously encouraged these various idiosyncrasies. Lord Westmont seemed such a sensible fellow, how had he turned over the raising of his daughters to that erratic woman? He would not personally have hired Miss Mayton to feed his chickens, much less guide any children he produced.
Perhaps Lord Westmont did not understand the extent of Miss Mayton’s flightiness. Balthazar imagined a father would not be too terribly involved in the day-to-day education of his daughters. He likely only got reports and if those reports were delivered by Miss Mayton…well, he could see how it might happen that a father went along comfortably in the dark.
Lady Rosalind was at her best tonight, though. The daring little minx had taken to calling him Duke, just as her sister had done. He greatly looked forward to her playing, particularly since she had thought she might claim a strained finger to avoid outshining the other ladies and had pronounced herself gifted with originality.
Perhaps he might visit this Madame Tussaud’s exhibit on Tuesday himself.
No, he really should not. It was one thing to encounter Lady Rosalind by happenstance and another to seek her out. He should not cross over that line.
Lady Hightower dinged a glass and said loudly, “If everyone would take a seat, we are ready to begin. The young ladies who will play for us will all be seated in the front row. The rest of you arrange yourselves as you will.”
Balthazar took a plate with a slice of iced lemon cake and a glass of wine and scanned the room for Miss Mayton. The chairs were set up in rows and he would have wished to take for himself a seat in the last to be near the sideboard. It was well on nights such as this to be comfortably nearby sustenance that could revive flagging attention. However, it seemed others had the same idea and that row quickly filled.
Finding Miss Mayton seated in an aisle seat in one of the middle rows, he walked her plate and glass to her. She took it from him as Lord Huston came into the row from the other side, making his way to the seat next to her.
“Oh dear no, my lord,” she said to him. “I am holding that empty seat open for his grace. You see, he’s got my refreshment for me and now must just retrieve his own.”
Lord Huston nodded though he looked surprised and moved down a seat.
Huston could not be more surprised than Balthazar was himself. What was she doing, presuming to hold a seat for him like they were old friends?
“Your Grace,” she said, “you really ought to hurry. They will soon begin.”
Balthazar silently groaned and he made his way back to the sideboard. He would take the bottle from the footman and pour for himself. There would be no half measures, he would pour averyfull glass of wine.
“Do be seated, everyone,” Lady Hightower said to her guests. “I know it is always a trial to find just the right spot, but keep in mind it is only for an evening, not all eternity.”
The shuffling andpardon mesbegan to quiet. Balthazar had no choice but to return to Miss Mayton, as very predictably the only other open seats were in the middle of the rows and he’d have to climb over people to get to one of them.
“Excellent, yes, here we are,” Lady Hightower said as he sat down. “It is my view that a lady who plays an instrument is able to offer much entertainment to her family. Just imagine that you are at home and the weather rages out of doors. There is nowhere to go but your own hearth. Is there to be no music there?”
There were various murmurings about the sadness of finding no music there.
“So you see the advantage of it. Fortunately for all of us, every father worth his salt ensures that his daughters will bring music into any house they enter. This evening, we have several of those young ladies who have kindly consented to play for us.”
Lady Hightower made some version of the speech every year, no doubt as a hint to young men everywhere that they should pay attention to a lady’s musical ability.
Balthazar tasted his wine. It was high in minerality from volcanic soil and carried notes of apple and pear. It had a crisp finish that did not linger. It was very good indeed and he wondered if there were a way to make Bellforce reveal where he’d got it.
“First,” Lady Hightower said, “we will have Lady Marie on the harp.”
Lady Marie did as so many young ladies were prone to do at such a moment. She rose and looked about as if she had not known she would be asked to play and might demur the request out of modesty. Then a blooming blush, deep breath, and a determined striding to her instrument and she was off to the races.
Balthazar dearly wished he was off to actual races, preferably in Newmarket. As Lady Marie’s harp twanged on, Miss Mayton was managing to get more crumbs from her lemon cake on him than on herself. He did not even know how she was doing it.
“So sorry, Your Grace,” she said, making an attempt to dust off his trousers, which he only narrowly avoided by moving his leg out of the way. “This cake is rather crumbly.”
Balthazar said nothing, though he was thinking it was Miss Mayton’smindthat was rather crumbly.
