Chapter Nine
B rilliance hoped Lord Hewitt would make her happiness complete. She would hate to return to London at the week’s end without having seen his home, seeing how it was so near.
His reluctance was obviously due to some worry over the estate’s inferiority. The tortured man! The hesitancy was probably stemming from the same place as his reticence over playing the piano before an audience. His lordship lacked self-confidence and self-worth, two matters from which she had never suffered despite being considered something of a shallow-pate, even a little light between the ears.
Once, as a child, she’d been called a “pig-widgeon” by a playmate. Upon asking her mother what that meant, Lady Diamond said, “It means that little girl resents your sweet nature and has no kindness in her heart. As long as you have both, then you shall always be admired.”
“I believe we should adhere to our hostess’s itinerary,” came Lord Hewitt’s measured answer.
She sighed. Perhaps she would take it up with Lady Twitchard. Mayhap there was a way to put the pianist’s home on the schedule.
The four of them rode in companionable silence, broken only when Lord Patterson spoke, mostly about himself, occasionally asking a question which only led back to another of his own stories. He was the opposite of Lord Hewitt in every regard. And unfortunately, more often than not, when Lord Patterson did wait for an answer, Brilliance realized he was speaking to her.
It was a good thing Martine had already stated her disinclination for the man. Not everyone could find an immediate meeting of the minds and emotions as she had found with Lord Hewitt.
Glancing back at him again, she was heartened by him giving her a warm nod, which she returned. Even that brief exchange had her heart pumping faster. Perhaps they would elope to Gretna Green as her parents had done. How romantic!
At the Twitchards’ manor, they found the staff ready to cater to their every need despite the rest of the guests and their host and hostess as yet being away. After Brilliance and Martine changed from their dusty riding clothes, Brilliance headed directly to the conservatory.
It was empty. She would love to have heard Lord Hewitt play again. It occurred to her that her hostess might have sheet music for the famed Castern piece, “The Hummingbird,” which Lord Hewitt had been playing the day before — the one he had denied was Mr. Castern’s.
Disappointingly, she didn’t find it in the stack of music. In less than five minutes, however, she had located the butler.
“Mr. Ramsey, how close is the nearest town?”
“There is the village of Bexleyheath, only ten minutes away by horse.”
Brilliance considered a moment, recalling it was on their schedule for a visit the following day. “Is it tiny?”
The butler nodded. “Yes, my lady. Only a single main street, although its shops are of the best quality and stocked regularly.”
“Is there a music store?”
“Are you in need of an instrument?” he asked.
“Printed music,” she explained.
He shook his head. “You won’t find any in Bexleyheath, my lady.”
Brilliance wasn’t ready to give up. “Is there a larger town not too far away?”
“Indeed, my lady. Dartford would have what you seek.”
“Could I give a footman coin enough to purchase sheet music?”
“That is unnecessary, my lady. Lady Twitchard has instructed that all her guests’ needs be taken care of. If you write down what you seek, I will handle it directly. By tomorrow at the latest.”
“This is the most accommodating house party I have ever attended,” Brilliance told him, earning a satisfied nod from the head of the household staff before she left him.
Charades were as difficult as ever she found them. How was anyone supposed to make sense of the riddles? Brilliance made suggestions to her handsome partner, but invariably Lord Hewitt gave his own answers for their team. And he was usually correct!
Embarrassingly, she’d even forgotten the answer to the riddle Ms. Austen had made famous by putting in her acclaimed novel Emma . Their hostess read it aloud.
“My first doth affliction denotes, which my second is destin’d to feel. And my whole is the best antidote for that affliction to soften and heal.”
“Isn’t it something about sponge cake?” Brilliance asked, which engendered hearty laughter, not only from Lord Hewitt but from all those within hearing. Lady Georgiana was loudest of all.
Brilliance’s cheeks heated, but upon learning the answer was woman , she laughed, too.
“ Woe plus man ,” Lord Hewitt explained.
Brilliance shrugged. A woman was nothing like a sponge cake except for being soft in places. Ms. Austen hadn’t given the answer either. Maybe she hadn’t known. In any case, the rest of the riddles might as well have been in French, the way all the complicated rhyming confounded her.
Expectedly, she did no better with the second riddle that was purportedly easy for its plain language:
“My first is an animal most useful have you vermin, my second is an article of speech as common as the first letter, my third should be used every day lest you give an appearance of dishevelment, and my whole is a place for the dead.”
“Something about mice and a hairbrush,” she guessed.
“Very close,” Lord Hewitt said encouragingly. He even winked at her, which she appreciated.
“Cat-a-comb,” Martine called out a second later.
Brilliance leaned close to Lord Hewitt, breathing in his clean smell. “I am sorry you have such a wretched partner.” Fortunately, he didn’t seem the least bothered by her incompetency.
Brilliance supposed she should forgo charades in the future along with painting and fishing.
She sighed, wanting to contribute to the evening’s entertainment. Before the next charade was offered, she told the gathering, “I know a funny jest. What smells the most in a chemist’s shop?”
“The nose,” Lady Georgiana responded, sounding utterly bored. A few people chuckled, nonetheless.
“Why, yes,” Brilliance said, “but you were supposed to let me give the answer.” Had Lady Georgiana spoiled her joke on purpose?
On the other hand, when it was time for a pantomime charade, Brilliance successfully made Lord Hewitt guess both an umbrella and a walking stick. Acting was always easier than solving riddles.
Feeling redeemed, she didn’t mind when their partnership came in fourth place for points earned. And the evening concluded even more delightfully with cucumber salad and stewed duck for supper, one of her favorites.
The following day, after a mid-morning game of croquet, which was so close to pall-mall Brilliance didn’t know why anyone bothered changing the name, she followed the other guests to the shaded back terrace for lemonade. Lord Hewitt had been behind her team, of course with Lady Georgiana stuck to him like pitch, and finished their round later. Thus, Brilliance had procured an extra glass and was keeping an eye out for him when Lady Twitchard’s butler approached her.
“I have secured the musical score you requested, my lady.”
“Have you? How wonderful.”
“It is in your room,” Mr. Ramsey added.
“Thank you!” Thrusting her half-empty glass into his hands as well as the one for Lord Hewitt, she rushed to the main staircase.
As good as his word, “The Hummingbird” sheet music lay upon her bureau. It looked very complicated. However, having heard it played often, Brilliance could hum parts of it and might be able to pick out the tune.
Surely, Lord Hewitt would admire her determination while also being inspired by seeing the music in print. If she could play a little of Mr. Castern’s wonderful composition, then she hoped Lord Hewitt would write down one of his own for her to learn to play.
Vincent could not believe his ears. His sonata was coming from the conservatory’s open door. Plonk, plonk, plonk . A second later, he shook his head . No, it wasn’t his music. Simply something that sounded a little like his melody. Then again, yes, it was his! Wasn’t it?
Drawn toward the room, he knew whom he would see at the piano by the long pauses between the notes that made her torturous to listen to. Sure enough, Lady Brilliance was on the stool.
Plonk, plonk, plonk.
The dark-haired young lady was hunched over the keys, her left elbow upon the piano case, while she studied the page before her and picked out the notes with her right hand.
The page!
Striding forward, Vincent couldn’t believe his eyes. “The Hummingbird” by Ambrose Castern. He felt ill just looking at it.
Her head swiveled to look up at him an instant before he snatched the printed sheets from the piano’s music rack.
“Lord Hewitt, please put those back.”
He couldn’t take his eyes off the staves filled with the notes he’d composed years earlier. And then red fury clouded his vision.
“Please, my lord. I wish to practice this lovely piece that you were playing recently.”
He stacked the pages together and tore them in half.
“No!” she shrieked, rising to her feet. “That was meanly done of you.”
He looked down at her. “Where did you get this? I am certain my cousin did not have it.”
“From a shop.” Then she stamped her foot, distracting him. “Why did you tear them up? You had no right!”
“I had every right,” he ground out, but then he stopped. Did he want to confide in this particular female?
“You are jealous of Mr. Castern?” she asked.
“No!” he shouted nearly as loudly as she had.
“I am glad to hear it, for you shouldn’t be.” She laid a hand upon his arm. “Why don’t you write your own on similar sheets with all those helpful lines —”
“Staves,” he said curtly.
“I had no idea there was a name for them. Let me see.” She reached out her hand.
Unthinkingly, he returned the pages to her. Quick as lightning, she ran around the other side of the piano.
“Thank you. I shall use some glue or whatever our hostess keeps on hand to repair these. Elsewise, I will never be able to practice.”
“Return them at once,” he ordered, going around the piano and holding out his hand.
The minx darted out of reach. Vincent tried again, but she kept eluding him. Like children, they were running around his cousin’s piano. Finally, he ground to a halt.
“Give those sheets back to me.”
“No, they are mine,” she said, lifting her chin to infuriate him further.
He gave chase again. “I do not wish to hear you play that music.”
“How rude! If I practice, I will get better.”
He lunged toward her, but she scurried away once more.
“Practice something else!” he said, gritting his teeth against the urge to scream.
“This is the very reason you should write down your music, in order that anyone can play it whenever they desire.”
He nearly growled. That was another reason he did not want to write it down. Then anyone could play it, control it ... steal it!
With that thought, he dove low and scrambled under the piano table, making Lady Brilliance shriek again. He had his hand on the toe of her kidskin slipper, but she managed to tug it out of his grasp and scamper away. Instead of remaining near the piano where he could reach her, she went toward the window.
“Ha!” he exclaimed, knowing she was trapped.
“Stop this,” she insisted, running into the curtains.
“Give me that music,” he ordered again as he rose to his feet and began stalking her.
“No!” She had her back to the window. Her cheeks were pink, and her eyes looked a little wild, stirring something in his blood.
“You cannot escape,” he told her, “and I will take back those pages.”
Instead of being reasonable and handing them over, Lady Brilliance quickly rolled the half sheets and stuck the cane-shaped tube of paper down her décolletage between her ample breasts. Only the top of the pages was still visible.
Well! The encounter was becoming less irksome and more entertaining.
“Let me pass,” she ordered, but he would vow she was enjoying herself by her satisfied smirk.
“Or what?” he asked, crossing his arms.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I suppose we have achieved a checkmate, which I have never done when playing chess.”
“You haven’t done it today, either.” He took a step closer with his palm out. “Give me that music.”
Raising her hand to ward him off, Lady Brilliance implored, “Lord Hewitt, be reasonable.”
He longed to toss the torn pages into the nearest hearth. Since it wasn’t lit, however, he would take them to the large oven in Alethia’s kitchen.
“I am past being reasonable.” Taking another step, he was slipper-to-boot with her, able to see the instant when her pupils dilated.
His gaze fell to her sweet, kissable lips.
Twice wasn’t enough, he realized. But first, the music. Reaching forward, his fingers hovered over the valley between her lovely breasts.
“What is going on here?” came his cousin’s voice.