~ ~ ~
Despite the dozens of rooms that made up Hale House, the dowager duchess used no more than four on a regular basis. One such was a receiving room that she had converted into an office. It was overfurnished and so stiflingly warm that the sun god would have called for ice. Morgan stood as far from the fire as he could and considered opening a window.
Only her family and close friends were allowed here. This morning, he noted, one of each was present, the two of them come to help with the musicale his grandmother was so fixed on. He was the relative and Christiana Lambert could be considered nothing less than a close friend.
In fact it was months since the dowager duchess had introduced him to Christiana, but it seemed yesterday and centuries ago at the same time. It was ages since he had thought of her as nothing more than an amusing dance partner, but only yesterday that he realized how much she truly meant to him.
Sergeant Tidwell had brought home to him, full force, exactly what he was willing to do in order to make her happy. It was some consolation to his newfound feelings that she had so appreciated his efforts. Not that this was love. No, not even a shadow of it. Best not try to define it, simply enjoy the way she had of making him feel an equal to any god on Olympus.
He watched Christiana now as she listened to his grandmother, her lips pursed in concentration, which under other circumstances might invite a kiss.
He turned away from them. He understood what it was that his grandmother so valued in her much younger friend. Christiana genuinely cared. She did not see his grandmother as someone whose time had come and was almost gone. She truly listened as she was listening now, answering even the most commonplace conversation with thoughtfulness.
And not only with the people of the ton. So it was with everyone from Sally, her maid, to Sergeant Tidwell. She noticed people and even better than that, acknowledged them beyond a perfunctory courtesy.
He could tell by the way her brow was furrowed that her conversation was not a happy one, though the distress seemed to be all on his grandmother’s part.
As much as he loved his Grandmama, Morgan had no desire to hear whatever it was. The gift of a generous ear was his Sprite’s virtue and hers alone. Instead of joining them, he walked toward the desk.
He noticed that the invitation cards were already made out with date and time, awaiting only the addition of the guests’ names. Had Grandmama already made all the decisions? Then why did she need them?
At that moment the intense conversation between the ladies ended. The duchess settled in her chair a few feet away from the table, right next to the well-lit fireplace. “You sit there, Miss Lambert.” She pointed to a chair near the stack of invitation cards and envelopes. “Morgan, you sit on the other side.”
He hesitated. Did she actually expect them to handwrite the invitations? “Perhaps I should go to the music room and see if the pianoforte needs tuning.”
The duchess waved away the attempt. “We have to move it anyway. I’ll have the tuner out once it is placed properly. But we cannot determine where to put it until we know the exact number we can expect. Now sit down!”
Christiana turned her head slightly toward Morgan and with expressive eyes wide urged his cooperation.
Rapping her cane on the floor, his grandmother called the meeting to order. “We are agreed that this will be held on Monday, not too late in the evening.”
He and Christiana both glanced at the prepared invitations and nodded.
“Now, you two will tell me whom to invite.” The dowager duchess looked expectantly at them.
“I did bring a list of the people I know who truly do enjoy music.” Christiana was almost apologetic as she pulled a paper from her reticule.
Very good, Morgan thought. I have not given the guest list a minute’s thought.
She read the names aloud and Morgan watched as his grandmama’s smile grew. “Excellent, my dear Miss Lambert. A very nice mix of young people balanced with some of more mature years. But I do believe that we have room for almost twice that number.”
She turned and cast a penetrating eye on him. “Morgan? Whom would you add to this group?”
He tossed out all the names he could think of, including young Peter Wilton and Rhys, who was almost certainly unavailable. He wished he had taken a moment to write down the names, but when he glanced at Christiana he saw that she was busily adding them to her list.
“Hmmm,” was all his grandmother said, obviously not as pleased with his choices as she was with “dear Miss Lambert’s.”
“Your gaming connections are showing, my boy. Not Druson or Powers. They have passed beyond eligible: too many losses and too many fights. But the others will do.”
It made for a large group for a musicale, but small enough for comfort if they were indeed to be situated in the ballroom. He stood and bowed to his grandmother.
“Sit down!” She spoke in a huff and Morgan hurried to obey.
He caught Christiana’s worried expression. As he sat down he whispered, “Smile, Sprite, and pretend this is fun. Do you have any idea what I have done to irritate her?”
“Eh? What did you say, Morgan?”
Christiana looked directly at Morgan but answered the dowager duchess. “He said that he did not realize the planning was so complicated.”
He touched her hand in appreciation and turned to give his grandmother his full attention.
“Just so, it is complicated,” the dowager duchess agreed. “And success is in the details. The whole purpose of this exercise is to give you some idea of what it will be like to run your own household.”
Morgan looked at Christiana. Neither one of them was smiling now. Was that what this visit was about? Matchmaking?
She rapped her cane on the floor again. “Listen to me, and stop looking as though marriage had not occurred to both of you. I have arranged for Monsieur Delacorte to play the pianoforte and his wife will sing.”
That piece of news did distract Christiana and she brought her hands together in the lightest clap. “Oh, but how perfect! They are the most sought-after performers this Season.”
“I still have some influence.”
Was the dowager’d pleased smile satisfaction at her enduring authority or Christiana’s pleasure?
“Now, I want the two of you to list your favorite foods, and any ideas that you may have for decorations. Then I can review them and see if they are acceptable.”
Christiana nodded and took up a pen. Morgan did as well and they both began writing. Morgan stopped to watch Christiana. Where was her smile? She was taking this too seriously. Finally, he asked sotto voce, “Why are we not simply telling her?”
“Because she might not remember and almost certainly will not hear everything we have to say.” She gave her own version of his grandmother’s exasperated huff and went on. “You do understand that without our help an entertainment such as this would be completely beyond her. She does so wish to be a part of the Season and not just an onlooker.”
No, of course he had not realized that.
“Please stop complaining, my lord. Her Grace is not asking too much. It is only a few hours.”
“As you wish, Sprite. But I do have other commitments.”
“Commitments that are more important than me and your grandmother?” The distress in her voice was all tease.
He grinned at her. “Never more important than you.”
“Or your grandmother,” she prompted coyly.
He leaned a bit closer. “You know, I see something new in you.”
“Really?” She sounded pleased. And interested.
“You no longer blush.” He sat back and thought. Not since that afternoon at Schomberg House and that was days ago.
She laughed and leaned back in her chair. “You are as charming as ever, my lord, but I do hope I have learned something this Season, even if it is only how to handle extravagant compliments. Besides, we are friends now and that places your compliments in an entirely different l
ight.”
She thought these months in Town had changed her? Not completely; her Town bronze was only a veneer. Her smile was still so genuine. It reached her eyes and invited him closer than he had ever been to a woman. Did she have any idea of the effect she had on him? No, clearly not, or she would, indeed, be blushing. The only person who would approve of this was his grandmother.
He turned toward his grandmama, expecting to find her watching with measured interest, but found her eyes were closed and that she was close to sound asleep.
Following his gaze, Christiana rose. Taking a shawl from a nearby chair, she draped it gently over the dowager duchess, careful not to disturb her rest, then walked silently back to her seat.
She continued their conversation in the same near whisper, but his flirt had gone into hiding again. Oh, come back and play, he thought, and then heard what she was saying. “Your grandmother did not sleep last night and is upset with all Braedons. She has had a serious disappointment.”
“I was wondering what had taken your smile. Was that what you were talking about earlier?”
She nodded with apology.
He grimaced. “Something I did?”
“Oh no, my lord. You are above all her favorite. I am sure of that.”
“As much as I care for Grandmama, I find that ‘favorite’ is a dubious honor, one which I believe my brother Rhys holds with singular distinction.”
“Certainly she makes all her grandchildren feel treasured.”
He laughed. “We are not still five years old and I do believe you are avoiding the subject.”
“Not at all.” Christiana spoke with such indignation that he bowed an apology. Whether she had been trying to avoid the subject or not, she gave it her attention now, folding her hands demurely in front of her, glancing at the dowager duchess as if for permission to speak.
“Last week Her Grace wrote to your brother, suggesting he attempt a reconciliation between your sister and your father. Yesterday evening she received a letter from the viscount. He refused to consider it and gave no explanation.”
Morgan closed his eyes and groaned. “I can imagine James’s letter. Most likely one word. ‘No.’”
“I think it was couched in a phrase or two of concern.”
“But no regret, no explanation. It should not have come as a surprise to her. While our father is alive James will follow his direction, even if the marquis is too ill to watch over his shoulder.”
Christiana spoke on a sigh. “She knows that now and she worries that this may be her last chance to effect a reunion given the precarious state of the marquis’s health.”
He nodded, not knowing what else to say. Christiana was tactful enough to return her attention to the party planning and leave him with his thoughts. He watched her bent head and felt a wrench of guilt that concern for his family was the reason that the sunshine was gone from her day.
A few moments later she looked up from her sober list-writing. “Do you think it would be a good idea if Her Grace invited some of the young ladies to perform?”
He considered it a moment. What did he know? But he owed her some help. She was the one doing all the work while he had all the pleasure of watching her. Even earnest she was all charm. The light from the window—he stopped himself. Ye gods, he was in danger of waxing poetic about the way the light encircled her hair. He cleared his throat and dispelled the poetry. “There are certainly several young ladies whose play is creditable. But they must play before the Delacortes or they will suffer by comparison.”
With a firm nod Christiana made a notation.
“Now if my sister Mariel were here”—he paused, summoning the memory—“it would be different. She can play both pianoforte and harp with a skill that brings tears to your eyes. She would be received with pleasure and applause.”
He pulled that thought closer. Could Mariel come to Town? Would she? He hitched his chair nearer to Christiana’s and with a quick glance at his still-sleeping grandmama he spoke. “What do you think of this idea? I write to Mariel and invite her to come and play at the musicale. Do you think Grandmama would be pleased?”
“Oh, my lord, that is a wonderful idea.”
She was smiling at him as though he had hung a star for her.
“It must be a surprise.” He lost his train of thought for a moment, lost in the pleasure of easing her worry, in that smile that made him feel equal to the tasks of Hercules.
A soft snore from nearby pulled his thoughts back from that abyss. “Uh, a surprise, yes, it must be a surprise. If only because I am not sure I can convince Mariel to leave her two darlings behind, much less Charles and on such short notice. Could I rely on you to find some reason to ask that a room be prepared?”
Even as Christiana began to make notes, Morgan considered the possibility. It would only be for a few days. Travel from Kent was easily done in one day. She would be home in less than a week. And if he wrote now, there would be enough time to plan it all.
He made to rise. “Excuse me, my dear, I am going to move to the library and write to Mariel immediately.” Before she could protest, he was out of the room, already wording the note. It would be much less distracting if a room separated them. His side of their friendship was teetering precariously. And Christiana was completely oblivious.
Thirteen
Christiana watched him leave the room and then glanced toward the duchess, whose snores were gentle but unmistakable. The list was as complete as she could make it. Should there be more savories than sweets? Was her idea for simple greenery intertwined with a white flowering vine distinctive enough?
Carefully replacing the pen in the holder, she drew a deep breath and considered what was really on her mind. Was she the only person in her world who had never known true heartache? Never known disappointment so deep that it changed your life? Her grandfather had died not much more than a year ago, but he was old, ill, in pain. The vicar insisted it was a blessing and she could only agree.
If she were being completely honest, it would grieve her more when the dowager duchess was gone. She loved her as she would have loved her own grandmothers, had they not died before her birth. Grief was the cost of loving.
Heartache came in other guises as well. The duchess and Lord Morgan and all the rest of the Braedons shared loss that was not grounded in death but in one person’s determination to control his world. Christiana thought of her mama, who seemed inclined to manage. Then a guilty thought struck her. Her pretense of courtship with Lord Morgan was nothing less than their mutual attempt to manipulate the world to their satisfaction.
There you are, she thought, I suppose all of us are inclined to make the world dance to our tune. But for the first time she realized that it was a dangerous game to play. One could not ever completely control another or even one’s own feelings.
From the corner of her eye, she saw the dowager duchess stir. With a guilty start, Christiana considered the party plans they had been working on before Lord Morgan had abandoned her.
“All done without me, eh.” The dowager duchess’s voice was a bit hoarse, but it cleared as she straightened in her chair. “And where has Morgan run off to the minute I close my eyes?”
“He is in the library Your Grace, composing a letter he thought urgent.” Christiana stood. “I can get him for you.”
“You do that, my dear, and I will order some tea for us and then we can discuss the lists you have made.” She drew the shawl from her lap and draped it over her shoulders. “It will take a few moments for the tea tray to come up, so you need not hurry. Morgan can finish his important letter and then show you the artwork.”
Christiana forbore to explain. It probably did seem as though she was anxious for time alone with him, when all she really wanted to do was avoid a family argument.
She left the room in such a hurry that she forgot to ask directions to the library. A footman on duty in the hallway escorted her up a floor and to the front of the house. He scratched on the door, but did n
ot wait for permission to enter before opening the door for her. Christiana stepped into the dimly lit room and found Morgan seated near a window, impatiently tapping his fingers on the desk, two ruined sheets of paper before him.
His relief upon seeing her was very gratifying. “Do come here, Sprite, please, and help me write this confounded thing.”
“How difficult can it be, my lord?”
He put the quill back in the stand and pushed back slightly from the desk and made to rise.
Christiana hurried over to him and put her hand on his shoulder to keep him from standing. He looked at her hand, then up at her with such a pleased smile that she returned it with a grin quite unequal to the task.
She looked away for a moment and tamed the smile to something less tender while a cascade of thoughts crowded her brain. Was it normal that she should feel such pleasure in his company, such joy in seeing him when they had only been apart a few moments? What would it be like when she saw Richard? Why did the thought bring more worry than pleasure?
She picked up one of the crumpled sheets and scanned it. “Oh no, I am sorry, my lord, but this sounds like a royal command. Even a much-loved sister would have to refuse on principle.”
“Yes, and as you can see I threw that sheet away.”
“To your credit, sir.” She picked up the other one. “Much better, sir, but perhaps ‘beg’ is a bit too abject.”
“And your suggestion would be?”
“Tell her the truth. Your grandmother is longing to have her family close and has no hopes for a Braedon reconciliation. If your sister would come for a few days, it would be a comfort far beyond the effort involved.”
He nodded with grudging approval. With a fresh sheet of paper he began. Christiana set her lips together so she would remain silent while he worked. After a moment she moved to the other side of the room, where she tried to examine a portrait of the current duke and his family, but the room was in such shadow that it was difficult to see more than a man in full court dress and a woman holding a baby against her elaborately bejeweled bosom.
Were they happy, she wondered. Were they well matched? Was their world filled with temptation? What kind of loss had they faced? Did it bring them closer together? More light would not answer any of those questions. Portraits were so unsatisfying. They raised questions and could not answer them.
The next painting was smaller. A family group, all children, which in itself was unusual. There were four, no, five, if you counted the oldest, who stood nearby with a fond smile that looked decidedly silly on a young man.
With a spurt of pleased surprise she realized that the standoffish young man was the viscount and this must be the Braedon offspring as they were at least fifteen years ago.
Indeed, one of the children held a small child-sized telescope. That would be Rhys and the girl with the flute would be Mariel. One more boy and girl sat close together, looking at a book: Maddie and Morgan. Not twins she knew, but very close in age.
She stared at young Morgan. There was so much about his youth she did not know. And she wanted details, hundreds of them.
“Are they telling you all the Braedon secrets?” Lord Morgan came up from behind her and turned his back to the painting.
Despite the question, Christiana realized that he did not want to talk about it. His arms were crossed and although he was smiling there was a defensive look in his eyes. She struggled for the most innocent question.
“Your brother Rhys has been interested in astronomy since childhood?” She took his arm as she asked her question and moved toward the windows.