Chapter Two
B rilliance waited in the drawing room for the pianist to enter. While chatting excitedly with Martine, who had already pointed out another guest her friend fancied with curly blond hair and very straight teeth, Brilliance couldn’t help keeping an eye on the door.
Eventually, minutes after everyone else had already come in and been introduced, the pianist strode through the open doorway. She could see he wasn’t shy, not a wall-prop by any means. Thus, he had stayed away simply because it had suited him. It was as plain as the patrician nose on his face.
After letting his glance flick around the room, landing momentarily upon Brilliance, he greeted their hostess, his cousin if he’d spoken true. Then he stood stony-faced while she made his introduction.
“Since my cousin was detained from joining us earlier,” Lady Twitchard said, covering for his standoffishness with a vague turn of phrase, “allow me to introduce you all to Lord Hewitt.”
He gave a bow as if that was the end of it.
Brilliance hardly thought that fair to the rest of them.
“How will he learn our names,” Brilliance asked, “if you don’t bring him around and introduce your cousin to each of us individually?”
A murmur from the guests — the female ones, at any rate — indicated she may have said something the others were thinking. Why no one else had said so, however, for the life of her, Brilliance couldn’t imagine. It was always better to speak one’s mind.
In any case, Lady Twitchard appeared to agree.
“Well considered, Lady Brilliance. And you are quite correct. We shall put off dinner another fifteen minutes while I make sure my cousin learns each and every one of your names.”
Lord Hewitt, as Brilliance now knew him, pierced her with a look that might have flattened a less formidable soul. It bothered her not one whit. In fact, she thought him amusing, like a tiger in a top hat. He’d hoped to set his own rules and flaunt society’s customs, but instead, he would be made to go through the somewhat nerve-racking ceremony of being introduced to unknown people with whom one would spend the next seven days.
What’s more, they were expected to recall each other’s names immediately. She was already confusing Lady Georgiana with Miss Newton and Mr. Denham with Lord Patterson. They were a higgledy-piggledy purée in her head. Who was who?
She returned his glare with an affable smile. He would surely enjoy the party more if he learned his fellow guests’ names or suffered through the attempt as she was doing.
While Lady Twitchard made the rounds once again with her cousin by her side, the rest of the guests chatted and drank sloe-gin punch. Brilliance and Martine resumed their discussion, thinking it remarkable that they didn’t know another soul there, although they had, at least, seen some of them at London assemblies. Soon, Lady Twitchard and Lord Hewitt approached.
“Lady Martine, may I present Lord Hewitt?” their hostess said. “Her father, Lord Flowers, is a coffee importer.”
The pianist took hold of Brilliance’s friend’s hand, then released it with a toneless, “Enchanted.”
When it was her turn, Brilliance was about to admit to Lady Twitchard that she’d already encountered Lord Hewitt, but he beat her to the revelation.
“I have met this one already,” he told his cousin.
This one? Brilliance had disturbed his serenity, apparently. Something she was good at doing. She felt Martine stir beside her.
“How so?” Lady Twitchard asked.
“ She barged in while I was practicing.”
Brilliance studied her hostess’s visage. Instead of shock or annoyance, she saw only amusement.
“How clever of you to initiate contact with my prickly cousin!” Lady Twitchard told her.
“Clever?” he scoffed.
“I was drawn to his playing,” Brilliance confessed. “Although we didn’t get so far as to exchange names, as that seemed improper whilst alone.”
“Quite correct. Lady Brilliance, may I present Lord Vincent Hewitt?”
“Indeed, you may.” She held her hand out to him, not certain he would take it. After the briefest of pauses, he did, gently grasping hold and bowing over it in a polite fashion before dropping it like a hot coal.
“An unusual name,” he remarked.
“Oh, no, my lord. I think Vincent is a fine name. Or did you mean Hewitt?”
She vowed she detected a hint of a smile playing about his lips. Lady Twitchard laughed outright, as did Martine.
“Lady Brilliance is the youngest daughter of the Earl Diamond,” their hostess continued. “And it seems magnificently fortuitous that I have seated you together for dinner.”
Lord Hewitt raised an eyebrow and something devilish appeared in his — Brilliance leaned closer to get a better view behind his spectacles — his gray-green eyes. Even if he wanted to protest, and Brilliance hoped he didn’t wish to, he could not since Lady Twitchard took hold of his arm once again.
“My cousin will return to escort you to the dining room in a few minutes. I have a less prickly gentleman for you tonight, Lady Martine,” she added.
“Prickly,” Lord Hewitt protested. “How am I prickly?”
Lady Twitchard rolled her eyes. “Come along. We must continue with the introductions.”
Brilliance watched them depart, excitement tingling through her at being Lord Hewitt’s dining partner for the next few hours. She hadn’t expected such good fortune, but he had already turned out to be the most entertaining gentleman at the house party.
“An early conquest,” Martine said.
“Nonsense,” Brilliance shot back, but she liked the idea.
In less time than it took her to empty her glass of punch, Brilliance’s arm was taken — rather stiffly — by Lord Hewitt. Lord Twitchard, who styled himself always as “the Colonel” ever since becoming Colonel of the 1st Regiment of Life Guards at least two decades earlier, had shown up in the drawing room just in time to escort one of the female guests to the dining room. Naturally, a male guest, whose name Brilliance had forgotten, made ready to escort Lady Twitchard. Brilliance and Lord Hewitt took their place behind them near the front of the line, perhaps due to him being the hostess’s cousin.
Moreover, when they reached their seats, their place cards were fairly close to the head of the table, too. It was all most exciting. As the fifth child of five, Brilliance was never usually at the head of anything. At least, she hadn’t been until the others had, one-by-one, married and moved out.
Once seated, having removed her gloves and placed her napkin over them on her lap, she settled in for the fun of dining with a group of strangers. Single strangers, except for their hosts. The company was to her liking, and she was assured of lively conversation and a delicious repast.
She said as much to her dining partner when he was equally settled in his chair, with his gloves stripped off and his spectacles slipped into his pocket.
“I hope you are correct, Lady Brilliance. Although from first glance and after enduring introductions, this may be a gathering of ninny-pates and dullards, present company excepted.”
She laughed. “I appreciate the exception and would extend it to my good friend, Lady Martine. Besides us, however, if your hasty initial impression is correct, then thankfully, we have one another with whom to converse. So far, although you are a little rude, I do not find you to be in the least dull.”
He blinked his sage-colored eyes before saying, “Thank you.”
The Colonel lifted his glass of claret and gave the briefest of disinterested toasts to everyone’s health. This was followed by Lady Twitchard offering a more effusive welcoming speech, laying out all the amusements they would have over the course of the week.
Through both toasts, Brilliance couldn’t help watching Lord Hewitt’s hands. His fingers were ever restless, tapping the table linen with one set of five, pattering the wine glass stem with the other.
She imagined his brain was equally active. She wished her own was similarly — at least on a single purpose. Rather, she knew herself to be somewhat scattered. Books, except for the most enjoyable ones, were often left unfinished. Needlepoint sat in a basket at home incomplete after years, and Brilliance couldn’t conceive of the discipline necessary to compose an entire piece of music. She could barely write a journal entry without losing interest.
Maybe she should ask him if he had any tips on becoming more focused. She waited a minute as he was conversing with his cousin. As soon as there was a lull, she addressed him.
“Lord Hewitt. A word if you will be so kind.”
Vincent turned to his pretty, brown-haired dining companion on his right.
“Yes, my lady.”
“How do you keep your mind upon one thing so long as to produce, for instance, what you were playing today?”
“A sonata.”
“Sonata. What a lovely word,” Lady Brilliance exclaimed before repeating it. “ Sonata .”
As her mouth formed the syllables, his gaze was captivated by her pink lips. It took him a moment to reply.
“It’s Italian,” he said, finding himself wishing to chat with her despite how she’d interrupted him earlier in the conservatory. Moreover, he ought to be annoyed that she’d made him bow over the five other ladies’ hands as well as hers, then meet the other five gentlemen making up their party.
Taken around the room like a show pony!
Of course, he knew it was his duty as a fellow guest, but he could have learned their names as was necessary.
“What does it mean?” Lady Brilliance inquired.
“Mean?” he asked, taking in the rich cobalt shine in her eyes.
“In English, my lord. Sonata — something about the sunshine, perhaps, the way some music makes you think of a sunny day in June.”
Was she teasing him? Her innocent expression indicated she was not.
“The word refers to something that is sounded rather than sung, which is a cantata .”
“Cantata,” she said, then smiled. “Another lovely word. It makes me think of someone running quickly across a field. Maybe I should take up Italian. I have only ever tried to speak French.”
Then she laughed, although he could not imagine why.
“That’s funny, is it not, my lord? For obviously, I am speaking English and not French. In fact, I found French to be extremely difficult. All those tedious verb conjugations and every word having different endings. It made my brain hurt. Is Italian much the same?”
He nodded. She was a bizarre creature indeed. She didn’t seem to be a chuckle-headed cake exactly, yet nor would he say she was particularly quick-witted. Perhaps somewhere in the middle, a bit of a jingle-brains.
“I believe all the so-called romance languages are similarly arranged,” he explained.
“Romance languages,” she echoed. “I wonder how English is described by other people. It seems a very romantic language, too, wouldn’t you say? We have fine words for love and tenderness and being sweet on one another.” She sipped her wine and beamed happily.
Amazingly, Vincent could tell she was not acting coy nor flirting by bringing up those words. She was genuinely trying to make sense of the world. How refreshing!
“That’s not the type of romance intended,” he explained. “The term means languages based upon those in the Roman world, those derived from Latin. I believe you’ll find our own is considered a Germanic language.”
She frowned. “That cannot be correct.”
To his discomfort, she turned to the gentleman on her left. “Did you know that English is considered to be Germanic?” Not waiting for an answer, she turned again to Vincent. “Are you sure? Why isn’t it called an Englic language, and is German under the same umbrella?”
She shrugged as if it were entirely beyond her.
“I am no linguist,” he said. He couldn’t fathom how they had strayed so far from discussing the sonata. What had she asked him?
Then he recalled her question.
“In truth, my lady, I can only tell you that I have no problem maintaining a singular focus on music. Quite the contrary. I find it difficult to tear my thoughts from it.”
“You are talented, and thus, you can keep your mind upon it.” She cocked her head. “Or is it because you keep your mind on music that you are so talented? Or did I just say the same thing twice?”
“No, I don’t believe you did,” he said politely.
“In any case, I have not yet found anything that holds my attention long enough to be good at, nor been good at anything long enough to hold my attention.”
His head was beginning to pound like the notes at the low end of his beloved piano. And they weren’t even at the fish course.
“I have never heard of you as a professional musician,” she said abruptly. “But you wrote the piece yourself, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” he agreed, feeling the old, familiar annoyance wash over him. He hated the path of their conversation, knowing where it would lead.
“Your music should fill concert halls, my lord.”
It already does , he nearly snapped. But that would rip open an old wound and lead to much explanation.
“I have other interests and duties making claims upon my time. I am in Parliament.”
“Pish,” she said.
“Pardon me?” Vincent asked.
The lady gestured with the hand that held her fork. “Anyone can be a statesman, but not just anyone can write music.”
“Compose,” he corrected her, watching flecks of gravy fly off the end of the silver tines onto his cousin’s snowy white table linen.
“Yes, compose,” she agreed, “ and play piano so flawlessly.”
“Be that as it may,” he began, but she was turning away to her right again.
Vincent heard her ask, “Wouldn’t you like to hear some beautiful music, a sonata, played for you after dinner?”
“No,” Vincent said a little too loudly, for the entire table fell silent. He glanced at his cousin. “My apologies,” he said, addressing her querying expression. He didn’t say anything else because there was nothing more to say.
Lady Brilliance turned back to him as the chatter resumed.
“Is something wrong?”
“You cannot offer my composition to others like offering up a plate of roast beef.”
He ought to have realized this would tickle her which, by her winsome smile, it did. Vincent had to speak more plainly.
“The sonata you heard belongs to me, and only I may decide who hears my music and when.”
She nodded. “I understand.”
“Do you?” he blurted.
“Indeed. If your sonata had been published and played publicly, like Mr. Ambrose Castern’s music” — he stiffened at the mention of his most bitter enemy, but she didn’t notice — “then it becomes the property of the world, and one may hear it whenever someone with enough talent can play it. In such a case, music more resembles a painting in a gallery. The artist can no longer control who sees his canvas.”
Vincent realized he’d drained his wine glass and tapped it to indicate his desire for more, which thankfully came quickly at the hands of the nearest footman.
“Oh, I should like more, too,” Lady Brilliance said enthusiastically. She seemed that type of person — all in for a penny as much for a pound.
With that settled, Vincent decided to get his dinner partner off the topic of music altogether.
Although he was only at Bexley Hall as a favor, and while he was certain he would never see any of these people again apart from his own cousin, he would make an attempt not to be an utter arse. He must show an interest in his dining partner.
“Naturally, I have heard of Lord and Lady Diamond, but I was unaware of you.” Belatedly realizing that smacked of discourtesy, he added, “That is to say, I know nothing about you or whether you have sisters and brothers.”
Moreover, Vincent couldn’t deny — despite his first impression of Lady Brilliance as a nuisance, albeit a pretty one — he found her company tolerable.
“I have three older sisters and one older brother. And you, my lord?”
“An older sister and a younger brother.”
“I am relieved for you,” she said.
An odd statement, to be sure, until she added, “I find my family to be the source of my greatest happiness.”
That surprised him, given his own less-than-joyful relations. While he was close with his mother and on good terms with his stepfather, his sister had left for Belgium upon marrying five years earlier and had never returned. His younger brother enjoyed Cambridge so much, he was residing there despite no longer being a student.
“I may as well tell you that my name is the worst of the lot,” Lady Brilliance remarked into his silence.
He wasn’t sure how to reply. “It is, as I said before, an unusual one.”
“I don’t mind that. What is most vexing is how rarely it is used. If one is going to be given a name by one’s loving parents, for goodness’ sake, use it. My sisters are lucky. The eldest, Clarity, could be called Clare, yet no one ever does. Still, it would be a real name. And my other sister, Radiance, is often called Ray which, to me, denotes sunshine, a perfectly acceptable name. My other sister, Purity, is always called precisely that, and she wouldn’t have it any other way. No one would call her Pure, as that’s just a word, not a name. And then there’s Adam, who is naturally called Adam.”
She sipped her wine and looked around as if the conversation was over. Vincent almost didn’t prod her to continue, but he found himself wanting to know the answer.
“May I ask, what does your family call you?”
She turned back to him and sighed. “Bri. It is dreadful. Not a name, not a word, merely a sound.”
He nodded, then recalled something. “There is that soft French cheese, Brie de Meaux, made just east of Paris.”
She frowned. Had he insulted her? Where before, even earlier that evening, he hadn’t cared one way or the other, he now had no desire to be insolent, especially not over her name. After all, it was hardly her choice.
“I admit that I don’t know anything about this cheese,” she said, “nor am I sure that sharing a name with the product of a cow really makes it any better. Have you tasted it? Is it good?”
“It’s delicious,” he told her. He’d eaten it in France and when visiting his sister in Belgium. “It is not like cheddar, much softer and creamier, sometimes even sweet. You can get it in London, I assure you. I don’t think the English knew much about it or cared until the famed banquet during the Congress of Vienna.”
Her expression indicated she had no idea of what he spoke.
“Go on,” she said.
“Lord Talleyrand was an excellent diplomat. While everyone was divvying up nations, he thought to calm the temperaments with a cheese contest. Each country at the bargaining table was invited to contribute their native cheese to the banquet. Naturally, Lord Castlereagh chose Stilton to represent the British. And who doesn’t love it with a hunk of fresh bread and some watercress?”
“No one, I would warrant,” Lady Brilliance said.
“However, it was the Brie that was unanimously declared ‘Le Roi des Fromages’.”
“The king of ...?” she queried.
“Cheeses,” he supplied the translation.
“Truly? Or are you teasing me?”
He couldn’t help smiling. “God’s honest truth, my lady. Brie is the king of cheeses, declared so by all the statesmen of Europe and the United Kingdom. Or, in your case, the Queen.”
She shook her head. “Still, would I rather be called a word like pure or ray or named for cheese?”
“Then I shall address you only by the full title of Lady Brilliance.”
She nodded. “You are not insufferable as I believed upon our initial conversation.”
Vincent startled. Everyone thought such things about others, but one rarely heard oneself spoken of in such a manner.
“I hope I am not insufferable,” he said.
She smiled again, a dazzling effect, causing her deep blue eyes to sparkle in the dining room’s candlelight.
“Will you take part in the evening’s entertainment?”
She had switched topics so quickly that he almost missed it.
“No, decidedly not.”
“I can hardly credit our hostess has something better forthcoming than your piano playing.”
He doubted there was, but still, he wasn’t going to be paraded out like a monkey on a leash playing cymbals. He did not perform on demand. He did not perform at all!
“Regardless, I am not part of the evening’s entertainment.”
“Another evening, perhaps?” she asked. “It would be selfish of you not to share your talent.”
He gaped. “You cannot tell someone they are selfish for not playing the piano.”
Lady Brilliance shrugged her slender shoulders, bare due to the fashionable neckline of her dress. How the devil did those little lace and satin sleeves stay up on her arms? Vincent wondered.
“Why would you deprive people of hearing your talent?” she persisted, and he was irritated to find them back on the topic of music. “Many, if not most, would love to be able to play with such skill. You can, therefore you should.”
She blinked at him, waiting for him to agree, he assumed.
“ Should I? You speak as though I were blessed with piano playing like a gift that I opened for Christmas. Since I have it, I ought to share it. I spent years learning and practicing.”
“Precisely. And for what purpose if not to perform for others?”
Vincent was squeezing his wine glass stem so hard, he feared he would shatter it.
“Perhaps for myself,” he ground out and then turned away. He did not have to explain himself to this chit named for cheese.
Striking up a conversation with Alethia, he could practically feel Lady Brilliance staring at his right ear. He ignored her. And that’s what he would do for the rest of the evening if at all possible.