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“I don’t know. I expect there will be some of both.”
“There might be a chamber orchestra and perhaps some dancing after,” Mrs. Randall inserted.
“An orchestra? Oh, that would be a treat!” Allegra felt her already giddy spirits rise further. “I suppose they might begin as wind or string ensembles before combining to perform as an orchestra.”
Rob cleared his throat. “Allegra, I’m sure I hardly need remind you that if you happen to be…acquainted with any of the performers, you must not converse with them. A nod of acknowledgement, perhaps, but no more! Indeed, it would be best if you contain your enthusiasm and appear to be only mildly entertained, as any well-bred maiden would.”
Allegra’s soaring spirits fluttered downward. What if Mark Harden, who had often played first violin when her papa was concertmaster, happened to be one of the musicians? Must she cut this man who had often teased her as a child?
Not that Harden, doubtless knowing the rules of society as well as Rob, would feel slighted if she did not speak to him. She didn’t really stand on terms of intimacy with the man; Papa had always kept his family at a distance from the other performers, especially as she grew older. Still, an anger she could scarcely restrain bubbled up at the notion that she must mask her enjoyment, pretend to be just another society maiden who found music “mildly entertaining” and considered conversing with a musician beneath her. She pressed her lips firmly together to keep from returning a sharp comment.
Yet this was the society she was attempting to enter, she reminded herself. Only the stark truth that she would have to embrace his world if she wished to marry Rob kept her from telling him here and now that if she must pretend to be someone she was not—and live that lie forever—it might be better for her to abandon the idea of a presentation.
Had Sapphira anticipated her quandary? Allegra wondered suddenly. Was this why Rob’s stepmother, notably uninterested in the enjoyment of anyone save herself, encouraged Mrs. Randall’s desire to attend this event? Had that been the real meaning behind the odd comment Sapphira had tossed her as they passed on the stairs tonight, that she trusted Allegra would doubtless find at the musicale a convivial group with whom to converse?
Rob must have taken her lengthy silence for modest, quiet and pretty-behaved agreement, for he leaned over to pat her hand. “Don’t worry, Allegra. Letitia and I will insure that only presentable gentlemen are allowed to approach you. As long as you confine your remarks to a general mention of the performances, those gentlemen will pronounce you a well-brought-up lady—and a lovely one.”
With a growing sense of incredulity, she realized not only did Rob not recognize the repressed anger beneath her silence, he thought she was worried—and ashamed!—that someone in the ton might remember she was Emilio Antinori’s daughter.
It took all the control over her temper developed after a tempestuous youth to avoid snapping that she was proud, not ashamed, of what Papa had been, and that ’twas ludicrous for the members of his precious society to think less of her for being the daughter of a cultured, intelligent man whose genius far outshone them all.
While she ground her teeth to keep from speaking, the carriage swayed to a stop.
“Be a good girl and I guarantee the evening will be a success,” Rob advised, giving her nose a tap before he exited the vehicle.
A good girl? she thought angrily as Rob handed them down from the carriage. He’d consider her “good” as long as she appeared demure, agreeable—and did everything she could to conceal whose “girl” she really was. Though Rob’s advice was only sensible in view of her circumstances, she could not prevent herself from feeling more irritated with him than she’d been since his return.
He led them toward a columned front door flanked by flambeaux and staffed by half a dozen servants who were assisting the arriving guests. After handing over their cloaks and greeting their hostess, Mrs. Randall preceded them into the ballroom, where chairs had been arranged. While her chaperone claimed places for them beside Lady Maxwell and Mrs. Anderson, two of her widowed friends, Allegra scanned the assembled guests.
If Lord Tavener were here, she could discuss the music with him. Not only had he already broached the forbidden topic of her parentage, he alone among the ton members she’d encountered seemed to think no less of her for being a musician’s daughter. Indeed, a musician himself, he’d heard her father play and admired his genius.
Whatever he spoke about, his comments would be intelligent and amusing. Most likely he’d follow up his observations with some outrageous remark designed to make her blush and reprove him. Then, after appearing to listen closely to her reprimand, he’d deliver another teasing comment that would have her blushing—and laughing—again.
She smiled at the memory, realizing how much, in trying to please Rob by avoiding Tavener’s company, she’d missed their exchanges. Despite the need to guard herself from his sensual appeal, she had to admit she felt more at ease around him than with anyone else in London.
Certainly more relaxed than she was while trying to impress Rob—who smiled indulgently and tapped her on the nose. Not since her hoydenish youth had she been so tempted to slap him.
But after a thorough inspection of the assembled crowd she had to conclude, with a sting of disappointment sharper than she liked to admit, that Lord Tavener was not among the guests. Shortly after, the music began.
A string quartet—mercifully, its members all unknown to her—performed first, giving a masterful rendition of a Mozart violin concerto. As the graceful chords soared over her, Allegra felt her agitated spirits begin to calm. By the end of the first movement, her irritation had dissolved as she lost herself in the glorious interplay of melodic themes. Loath to hear the last note, she clapped enthusiastically after the quartet finished—until, with a little frown, Rob reached over to stay her hands.
“There will be an intermission before the next group begins,” Mrs. Randall said hastily to cover the awkward moment. “This would be a fine time to introduce Allegra to more of society. Lynton, might you fetch us a glass of wine while you discover which suitable gentlemen are present?”
“Excellent suggestion, ma’am. I’ll go at once.” After bowing, Rob walked off.
Just as well that he left, Allegra thought resentfully, since she was once again feeling out of charity with him. Her interest wandering from the conversation between Mrs. Randall and her two friends, she was gazing across the room at the cornice carving of winged cherubs, defiantly humming the last musical theme, when a familiar voice startled her.
“At last I find you alone,” Lord Tavener said, inclining his head toward her chaperone, apparently too engrossed in her conversation to have noticed his approach. “If I may be so bold?” He indicated the chair beside her.
Her spirits leapt in anticipation. “I should be delighted,” she said. As he seated himself, the heat and scent of him, shaving soap and warm male, washed over her, quickening her heartbeat and causing her breath to catch.
“You must allow, there has been precious little private chat during my morning calls. How are you to instruct me if we never have a chance to talk?”
Allegra felt her cheeks warm at his reproof. “I am sorry, my lord. I have missed our conversations.”
“Not half as much as I! Obviously I have not been amusing enough, since I’ve been unable to convince you to drive with me again.” Leaning closer, he murmured, “It’s your fault, you know. ’Tis nearly impossible for a man to think of something clever while his senses are being assaulted by the beauty of the lady beside him.”
He fixed on her that intense look that always made it difficult for her to breathe. As if his brilliant blue eyes could truly emit fire, she felt the skin of her cheeks, her lips, her throat heat as his gaze traveled slowly downward.
Never before had she been so conscious of the bareness of her chest and shoulders, the upper curve of her breasts above the décolletage of her gown. When his gaze halted there, she felt the nipples concealed beneath their covering of azure blue silk swell and burn.
“My lord!” she protested. “You are gazing inappropriately. Again.”
He jerked his eyes up. “Sorry! But you have no idea what that tiny ribbon of black lace trimming the edges of your sleeves and bodice does to a man.”
“For shame, Lord Tavener!” she said severely. “’Tis mourning lace.”
“My point exactly. I am trying to be proper, but you distracted me. Again.”
She could not help it; laughter bubbled up, dispelling the sensual tension. “I see it still requires much work to make you a fitting companion for a gently bred lass.”
“As I have already admitted. So, you will drive with me again? Or have you irritated Lynton sufficiently that you intend to renege on our agreement?”
Surprise and dismay flooded her as guilt pricked sharply. “Irritated Lynton! Why would you think such a thing?”
He gave her a glimmer of a smile. “I saw you with Lynton in the park. The way you were gazing at him…well, it wasn’t a ‘cousinly’ look.”
Allegra felt her face burn. She could deny his assumption—but she couldn’t bring herself to sully the relationship they’d built by playing false with him. Taking a deep breath, she said, “I…do care for Lynton. But you mustn’t think I encouraged you only to catch his attention! I truly enjoy your company.”
