Chapter Three
T he poor man! Brilliance had heard of actors afflicted with stage fright, a term she’d learned when attending a play at Covent Garden only to be disappointed by the absence of one of the primary cast members. Her mother had waved down the play’s manager, a harried individual in a worn top hat, who bowed low when realizing he was speaking with a countess.
“Stage fright,” he had told them succinctly. It had derailed the performance.
Brilliance’s mother had sent the actor some fruit the following day by way of a cheering gift.
Brilliance could not imagine any other reason why Lord Hewitt wouldn’t wish to share his music with the rest of them. It would explain his annoyance with her earlier when she had interrupted his solitary playing.
For he could not be in any doubt as to his superiority of talent over everyone else in attendance. The possibility that there were two gifted pianists at the same house party was improbable, if not utterly unlikely. Moreover, she was equally certain that many of the ladies present and undoubtedly some of the gentlemen would give a drawing room performance before the party’s end. Some would play the piano, others the violin or flute. Some would sing, and a few would give a dramatic recitation. It was expected when gathered in the country.
And Brilliance had been to her fair share of gatherings where talent was decidedly lacking but made up for by a performer’s enthusiasm. Nobody minded a flat note or two if the singer’s heart was full, nor a stuttered piano performance if the player continued with jovial determination.
Why, she had once seen a young lady be sick upon her slippers while waiting to sing, yet sing she had, and beautifully, too.
Moreover, while the basket of fruit probably had little to do with the Covent Garden actor’s recovery, he had, in fact, made it onto the stage the following night to high acclaim. Thus, Brilliance intended to assist Lord Hewitt in any way she could.
That night, since the guests had arrived only hours earlier, some from afar, they had little demanded of them beyond attending the dinner and relaxing in the drawing room. A very light and early supper would be served at eleven. And then, of course, they could retire to their beds.
In the drawing room, cards were provided without much interest, along with a chess board, and plenty of creamy syllabub, despite it falling out of favor lately, as well as coffee, tea, biscuits and cake, which did garner some enthusiasm. Most talked in small groups, getting to know each other. For those literary-minded, there was the library, but no one seemed inclined to reach for a book that night.
And of course, Brilliance knew there was a conservatory, but she imagined it was already occupied by Lord Hewitt, probably with the door barricaded. She, for one, had no intention of bothering him again, not until the following day at the earliest.
Although after a moment’s thought, she asked the footman at hand what type of fruit Lady Twitchard had. Thrilled to learn of fresh oranges, she requested one and placed it outside the conservatory door with a simple note. “ For Lord Hewitt. ” She could, in fact, hear him playing the same tune as earlier.
Not willing to sit on one of the drawing room settees after the coach ride and the lengthy dinner, Brilliance instead opted for a stroll of the upstairs gallery.
Gladly, she accepted the company of Martine and another two ladies, new to her but amiable so far. They were all four of a similar age and had seen one another at events during the Season, but never before until that evening had they been formally introduced.
They strolled the long hallway created when the enfilade, or long series of rooms stretching from one side of the house to the other, had been closed up. It made for an excellent place to display paintings.
“Any prospects?” the blonde Miss Newton asked a little forwardly.
Brilliance instantly loved that about her since she had wondered the same thing. However, before she could jump into the conversation and say how intriguing she found Lord Hewitt, Martine squeezed her hand and spoke first.
“I think it’s early for that,” she said.
Her tone reminded Brilliance of her sister Purity, but she appreciated the cautionary reminder to hold her tongue, for she was often apt to speak without thinking. If the others knew she was at all interested in Lord Hewitt, they would watch her every move. The most innocent of gestures might be misconstrued.
The other young lady, a pale brunette, Lady Georgiana had a somewhat wolfish grin in the flickering lamplight of the landing. And she seemed ready to discuss the male guests.
“I think Lady Twitchard did a grand job with the invitations. I see more than one man with a fine face and figure. Not to mention the latecomer, Lord Hewitt. I thought him to be well worth waiting for.”
“Really?” Brilliance asked, knowing it was ridiculous to let even the thinnest thread of jealousy weave its way into her heart, having known the man only a few hours.
Nevertheless, perhaps because she’d been alone with him or perhaps because they had dined beside one another, she felt a tad proprietary. Moreover, she was curious as to how strong a match the other ladies were willing to make.
“If any gentleman over the course of the next week indicates a desire to form an attachment, will your parents allow you to make your own choice and encourage his courtship?”
“My parents trust Lady Twitchard,” Lady Georgiana said. “Elsewise I wouldn’t be here. Any guest of hers, and a cousin no less who is also a viscount, shall be considered a good catch. Don’t you all agree?”
“I do,” said Miss Newton. “And Lord Hewitt is handsome, to be sure, but I thought Lord Patterson to exhibit the very pinnacle of manly beauty as well as having a perfectly gentle way of speaking.”
Since this pinnacle was the same blond-haired gentleman who had also caught Martine’s hazel eyes, it occurred to Brilliance how a small country party of eligible single people could quickly devolve into competition and bruised hearts.
“One must guard oneself against forming an attachment too swiftly,” Martine said, “and doing so upon first impressions is the least reliable.”
Brilliance looked at her friend’s slight frown and knew she was hoping to save Lord Patterson for herself. Perhaps she could help with some advice straight from Purity’s lips.
“Surely the gentlemen themselves will disclose in some subtle manner with whom they are forming an affinity, thereby saving an eager female from making an egregiously embarrassing misstep. One would hate to appear overly interested in the wrong direction.”
The others considered such embarrassment and nodded. And then they turned their attention to the impressive art collection on the walls of Lady Twitchard’s long gallery. They strolled in silence for a few minutes.
“It’s a little spooky ,” Miss Newton remarked, indicating the wall lamps that illuminated only circles of floral-patterned paper and parts of dark oil paintings.
That was only the second time Brilliance had heard the word, with both occurrences being that year. It was a perfect term for what it denoted, and she hoped to find an occasion to use it herself.
“The gallery warrants a daytime visit,” came a male voice she recognized at once. A little shiver of excitement raced through her as Lord Hewitt appeared from the gloom at the other end.
“I thought you were in the conservatory,” she said, watching the lamplight flicker on the glass of his spectacles.
All eyes turned to her at such a disclosure of awareness as to a certain guest’s whereabouts. Too late for discretion , she mused, unbothered.
“I was,” he agreed. “Oddly, when I came out, I tripped over an orange.”
The other ladies laughed, but Brilliance peered up at him.
“Did you eat it?” For she wasn’t sure how the fruit might help, but eating it was undoubtedly an integral part of the stage-fright cure.
“I have it in my pocket for later,” he assured her.
“Very good,” she said, waiting expectantly for him to declare his reason for being there.
He turned to Miss Newton. “While it is difficult to see the detail in this light, if you return tomorrow, you will view some Flemish paintings with amazing artistry, mainly in the fabric and lace,” Lord Hewitt promised. “And fruit,” he added, sending Brilliance a quick glance. “As well as the lifelike feathers on hens and partridges. I promise there is nothing in the least frightening.”
“We can only hope there’s time,” Lady Georgiana said. “Tomorrow’s schedule is spanking full, leaving little time for dillydallying between sunrise and sunset.”
“I am sure my cousin will allow all you ladies time for a little dillydallying,” he said. “If you will excuse me, I will let you continue your promenade.”
Just like that, he disappeared through a doorway with the knowledge of someone who had been in the country manor previously and knew his way around.
They all remained silent for a moment, gazing after him. Miss Newton spoke first. “I believe he paid me especially kind attention. Having heard my remark about the atmosphere of this gallery, he went out of his way to reassure me.”
Brilliance didn’t think that to be the case at all, but she wasn’t going to argue. In fact, Lady Georgiana put up a little opposition of her own.
“He was equally attentive to my words about the schedule.”
Martine made a tut-tutting sound. “His lordship was being polite to everyone in similar measure. I don’t think he gave anyone any reason to feel particularly favored. Are we going to continue walking or return downstairs?”
“I think we should return to the drawing room,” said Lady Georgiana. “If the other gentlemen are gathered there, then the remaining ladies are enjoying a lopsided quantity of attention.”
“Indeed,” agreed Miss Newton. Without another word, they hurried back the way they had come.
“I would just as soon go back, too, if you don’t mind,” Martine said.
“Not at all. I’ll join you. Let me fetch my wrap, and I’ll meet you there. I know it’s July, but my shoulders are cold.”
“How we suffer for fashion,” Martine quipped and disappeared in the same direction as the other two.
Brilliance looked along the hall. There was quite a bit more to the gallery, but it was even darker. She certainly didn’t fancy going ahead alone, nor did she wish to retrace her steps since the ladies’ chambers were at the back of the house in a wing mirroring the gentlemen’s. In her experience in this type of country manor, she needed to bisect the grand house.
Thus, without much forethought, she put her fingers on the handle to the closest door, the one through which Lord Hewitt had disappeared, and opened it.
Vincent was peeling the orange while he walked, dropping the peel into his pocket. His cousin had obviously recalled his love of the juicy sweet fruit. Thoughtfully, Alethia hadn’t disturbed him while he was playing. The house party wasn’t going to be such a terrible inconvenience after all.
Coming upon the bevy of beauties lurking in the dimly lit corridor had startled him. He’d expected all the guests to be in the drawing room. In any case, he knew better than to remain in their midst. Before he realized it, one of them would start having designs on him. Thus, he’d made his escape quickly, although he hoped he had not been rude.
The passageway, used mostly by servants, led directly back to the gentleman’s quarters, the shortest route, in fact.
Alternately cramming a slice of orange into his mouth and whistling a tune between bites, Vincent reached the end of the long corridor and stepped out into the spacious, carpeted hallway. The only other person in sight was a footman making sure the lamps were lit. A few more yards, and he was at his own door.
Inside his room, he shrugged out of his jacket and flopped onto the bed. The option to skip the supper was tempting. He might fall asleep before eleven. After all, he was fairly sure there would be other vacant seats that first night, the only one in which guests were given leeway to forgo an otherwise obligatory gathering.
Thus, he had just stretched out on the bed when there was a light tap at his door. If Vincent was lucky, the footman might be offering gentlemen a glass of brandy in their rooms.
“Enter,” he called out.
Lady Brilliance walked in, took a look at where she was, and stopped in her tracks.