Page 23 of A Symphony for the Earl

Their carriage came to a stop, and outside the window, she saw a line of conveyances waiting outside a stately manor, which shone brightly lit from the interior and exterior.

“We have reached St. James Street,” Richard said. “Our turn will come shortly.”

Valentina’s gloved hand clasped hers. “Are you nervous?” she whispered.

“Terrified.” It wasn’t far from the truth. Her stomach was in knots.

The earl raised an ironic eyebrow. “Take heart. We shall all soon perish of boredom, and your fears will be forgotten.”

“Richard!” Valentina squeaked, reaching across to slap his arm.

When they entered Lady Sefton’s salon, it was nearer nine o’clock than eight thirty. Taking advantage of a break in performances, the earl led them to an available seat in the middle of the audience. Fiona caught a slight murmur as she found her chair. Whether this was a good or bad thing, she didn’t know.

Richard saw them settled, then bowed and headed to the refreshment table, where he immediately engaged in conversation with a lithe, dark-haired man who seemed close in age.

Valentina’s eyes followed them both.

“Who is that speaking to your brother?” Fiona whispered.

Her fair cheeks flamed red. “Denys Spencer. He and Richard are old friends. They attended Oxford together.”

She wanted to know more, but a young man walked toward the podium before she could ask. He was quite short with longish brown hair and a pale countenance. Dabbing a handkerchief to his lips, he nodded to the crowd and arranged his papers. Looking up, he recited in a clear, pleasant voice.

A thing of beauty is a joy forever:

Its loveliness increases; it will never

Pass into nothingness; but still will keep

A bower quiet for us…

After the first, the reading included three more poems, all thoughtful and lovely in an understated way. When he finished, Valentina and Lady Amelia debated the performance. Valentina was enchanted, her mother less so.

“I didn’t understand a word of it,” Lady Amelia complained. “What is wrong with a good, old-fashioned story like ‘The Highwayman’? That’s poetry in the best sense. Oh, my…look! It’s Lord Byron.”

There was a buzz of excitement among the crowd. Byron’s work was all the rage in Dublin just as here in London, but she had never seen the notorious poet. The crowd burst into spontaneous applause as he approached the platform.

Lord Byron didn’t meet her idea of a romantic figure; he was just medium height and of average physique. His best feature was his large, very expressive eyes. Byron had stopped to greet his hostess and Fiona surveyed the people nearest her with curiosity. She noticed the gentleman recently seated to her left held a leaflet in his hand.

“Pardon me, sir, could you tell me the previous poet’s name? I had no chance to secure a program.”

She heard a gasp from Lady Amelia.

The object of her overture seemed slightly taken aback but smiled warmly. “May I offer mine, then?” He was a handsome man in his prime with sandy-blond hair.

She could have kicked herself. Of course, speaking to the gentleman first was a mistake. The earl appeared out of nowhere, smoothly covering the awkwardness.

“Sir William, may I present our guest and my ward, Miss Rafferty. She has just arrived from Ireland.”

“I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Rafferty.” The gentleman bowed to Valentina and Lady Amelia. “Miss Merrick. Lady Merrick, a pleasure to see you both.” Sir William’s eyes flickered back to her. “Did you enjoy the reading, Miss Rafferty? The poet’s name is John Keats and he is making quite a name for himself. A pity you missed Coleridge.”

“Shhh…” Valentina put a finger to her lips. “Lord Byron is about to begin.”

All attention shifted to the front of the room as the poet cleared his throat.

When we two parted

In silence and in tears,