Mr. Jeffries roared with laughter. “Yes, it is the sort of thing that is true, but nobody will admit it. Your sisters have very good sense. And you, Miss Bretherton?”
“I will play the harp,” she said stiffly. “I will perform an original composition ofPsalm 119.”
The harp. Of course she would play the harp. It was supposed to be a very difficult instrument to master, though Cordelia could not see why. AndPsalm 119? That could go on for a quarter of an hour!
“Well,” Mr. Jeffries said, “no doubt the audience will be in the mood for longer pieces too. Especially on the harp.”
Cordelia was both admiring of Mr. Jeffries’ courtesy and irritated by it.
What she was not, though, was in love with Mr. Jeffries. Or even on her way there. She had no symptoms of love whatsoever. He was a genial fellow, but she was not struck by him.
“Everyone,” Lady Hightower said from the front of the room, “if you will arrange yourselves. The ladies playing will be in the front, the rest of you, recall that the seat you choose does not need to be perfection. You will not be in it for eternity. I say something along those lines every year, with seemingly little effect.”
*
Percival had noidea he would be so amused at Lady Hightower’s musical evening. Lady Cordelia was a bold little minx. It was immediately apparent that she did not care for Miss Bretherton and had gone about attempting to shock.
He could not be too condemning of her stratagems, though. Miss Bretherton was as so many ladies were that had come before—serious and dull. Probably a deal like himself, as he supposed he was viewed rather serious and dull too.
If Lady Hightower believed Miss Bretherton had the wits to join his literary salon, then no doubt she did. He just did not particularly wish her to. He was certain that she would find herself shocked by some of the conversations that were had. Whatever his members were, falsely modest they were not. If the decision came down to making a point or observing courtesy, well, courtesy had flown out the window more than once.
Percival paused, an uncomfortable idea arising in his mind. Had he not said a hundred times that he would only wed a highly educated lady? And now here was one dangled in front of him and he did not have the least inclination for it.
She was endorsed by Lady Hightower as having a mind sharp enough for his salon, she was well read, she played the harp, which was no small accomplishment assuming she played it well. She was modest, well bred, and every inch a lady. Miss Bretherton was precisely what he’d said he wished for.
And yet, she was not.
She played the harp just now and it seemed as if it would go on forever. His hair would gray and he would lose an inch of stature and develop a paunch, they’d be carving his gravestone in order to be ready for his imminent attendance, and here he’d still be, waiting for Miss Bretherton to finally conclude.
The idea of struggling through such an evening at home with a wife…well it did not seem very appealing.
Finally, Miss Bretherton did come to an end of her musical journey throughPsalm 119. Gentle applause commenced, though he noticed Lord Grant had to be woken up to participate in it.
“Excellent,” Lady Hightower said. “So accomplished. Now, we will hear from Lady Cordelia Bennington.”
Lady Cordelia rose. As she made her way to the pianoforte, she said, “Please do not nurse hopes that I can equal that skilled performance. As it happens, I am only playing a short reel.”
Upon hearing the word “short,” Percival saw the many approving looks in the audience. He began to think that, whatever the deficiencies were in Lady Cordelia’s education, she did have a particular knack for understanding other people. A knack he did not excel at himself.
If Miss Bretherton had been all disciplined skill and serious execution, Lady Cordelia was all liveliness and fun. People sat up straighter in their chairs, Lord Grant even toe-tapped. And, just as she had promised, it was short. The applause was distinctly enthusiastic.
He watched her laugh and curtsy, assured of her approval. The literary salon and the Royal Society might behismilieus, but this washers. People were her milieu.
As Lady Cordelia was the last to play, everyone rose from their seats. He was seated near the back, but he was suddenly gripped with a determination to make his way to Lady Cordelia and dispense his congratulations.
He could see that Jeffries had already done so. He supposed that fellow, always so jolly, was making a good job of it, which was rather irksome.
He weaved round Lord Grant and was waylaid by Lady Hightower and Miss Bretherton.
“Lord Harveston,” Lady Hightower said, “have you ever heard anything like Miss Bretherton on the harp?”
“It was very accomplished, Miss Bretherton.”
Miss Bretherton blushed, as if she had not been aware that it was de rigueur to collect compliments after performing musically.
“It was just a little piece I hastily scribbled the notes to,” Miss Bretherton said.
Now that was going entirely too far to be believed. Percival had not observed the work that went into that endless piece, but he was certain she’d slaved over it for months.
