Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
A s it turned out, speaking in terms such as magnificent and heroic was the way to make Mr. Rockwell blush. In fact, he continued to blush nearly every time one of the ladies of the household brought it up even now, three days later.
However, at the moment, only the ladies were gathered in the music room preparing for this evening’s activity. So, though Lady Emily was giggling over Miss Yates’s recounting yet again, Margaret was more interested in helping Lady Abernathy get ready for tonight.
Mr. Stein had ordered the footmen to have the pianoforte moved wherever Lady Abernathy wished it. Together, Margaret and Her Grace decided where the chairs would be placed and had a table brought in for cranberry punch.
At one point, Lady Emily’s voice grew so loud that Margaret and Lady Abernathy could not help but overhear. “What I wouldn’t give to be rescued by a gentleman in such a manner,” she said with a heavy sigh.
Margaret only laughed silently.
“You know,” Lady Abernathy said to Margaret, “you truly are lucky Mr. Rockwell was there. I hate to think what would have happened without him.”
“As do I,” Margaret conceded. “Only,” she added with a smile, “don’t tell Mr. Rockwell.”
Lady Abernathy smiled in return. “As for your reticule, what a terrible loss. It was such a beautiful one, too.”
“As it happens, I have decided not to toss it. I have sewn it shut once more and will sew a dense ribbon of beads over the cut to conceal the damage. I think it will look quite fine when I am done.” She’d always been much complimented on her needlepoint and beadwork. It was, perhaps, not the most useful of talents, but she found peace and happiness when she worked with her hands. Creating something beautiful lifted her spirits when nothing else could.
“How very industrious of you,” Lady Abernathy said. “Though I am still mortified that anyone dared rob you in the first place. Perhaps you ought to take up adding pockets to your skirts. I have them added to all of mine and to every one of Emily’s dresses. Pockets may not be the latest fashion in London, but they are imminently practical.”
They certainly would be far harder to pilfer. “Perhaps I shall.”
“Now,” Lady Abernathy said, looking over the room, “shall we set up the chairs in one long row or two shorter ones?”
“I think two shorter rows,” Margaret responded. “It will be easier for everyone to converse in such an arrangement.”
Their numbers would be uneven tonight—as they were every night. As they equaled nine, they were a comfortable group, proving neither too big nor too small. But while there were five gentlemen among them, there were only four ladies.
Lady Abernathy was a duchess and the one they had to thank for this trip. When her second son had decided he wanted a Grand Tour, she’d organized not only for him to go, but many of their family and a few friends.
There was Lady Abernathy’s daughter, Lady Emily. A sweet girl of sixteen who was rather fond of Gothic novels. Then, besides the two Abernathy women, the only ladies present were Margaret and her companion, Miss Yates.
“Have you decided if you are going to play or sing?” Lady Abernathy asked Margaret, before looking over the pianoforte and then directing the manservant helping them to angle it slightly more to the left.
“I think this time I shall only play,” Margaret said. “How about you, Miss Yates? What have you decided on?”
Miss Yates paused in talking with Lady Emily. “I am convinced I will not perform half so well as any of you ladies. Perhaps I ought to decline this time?”
“Nonsense,” Lady Abernathy said, even while she indicated with a hand where the chairs should be set. “You cannot have a proper musicale with only three ladies performing.”
“Perhaps we ought to ask the men to join us, then,” Lady Emily said with a mischievous smile.
That was an interesting idea. “Does your brother play or sing?” Margaret asked.
“My oldest brother does,” Lady Emily said. “But Fredrick does not, which is why it would be so diverting to insist he join us.”
Lord and Lady Abernathy had three children, but the oldest son, as the future duke, had chosen to stay in England with his wife.
“We may be in the country, dear,” Lady Abernathy said, “but I am determined this shall be a musicale of the highest standards. We will not be resorting to subjecting either your brother or our ears to such a thing.”
Lady Emily laughed. Margaret found she liked the duke and his family. Though Lord and Lady Abernathy could be a little stuffy, even demanding at times, they were never condescending—as many of their same station in life were. Their two children traveling with them were both generally pleasant.
“If you like,” Margaret said to Lady Emily, “I can accompany you when you sing.”
“Would you?” Lady Emily asked, her eyes lighting up. “I know a well-educated lady ought to be able to do both, without either skill suffering. But it is so much easier to focus on my singing when I don’t have to play as well.”
“You can hardly be blamed,” Margaret said, “and I would be more than happy to play.”
“Now,” Lady Emily said, waggling her eyebrows, “if only there were more gentlemen present who might fall madly in love at the sound of my voice.”
They all laughed at that.
This was turning into the best Christmas Margaret had ever known.
That evening, Margaret reveled in the evening’s entertainment. She’d never been one who grew overly anxious when performing in front of others. Though, before this Christmas she hadn’t played in front of a group for many years, Margaret felt she knew everyone in their group well enough not to fret about it.
Besides the four women, all of whom she considered friends, there were five gentlemen. Lord Abernathy—a duke with very staunch opinions regarding Beethoven. His son, Lord Ingram—a pleasant enough fellow but with a tendency to complain. Then there were Misters Miles and Oliver Thrup—twin brothers, and good friends of Lord Ingram. The last gentleman in their little troupe was, of course, Mr. Rockwell.
Well, Margaret supposed she felt a little nervous when she thought of Mr. Rockwell. But that was reasonable enough. Lord Ingram and both Mister Miles and Oliver Thrup were more than ten years her junior. It was easy to dismiss their opinion of her skills on the pianoforte. The duke, she supposed, ought to give her pause. But as she didn’t agree with his opinions about music, she didn’t know why she should care about his opinion of her performance.
That left only Mr. Rockwell.
He was not too many years her senior and, as far as she knew, didn’t confuse a song requiring skill and precision with a song of passion and emotion.
And he was single.
And—if she were being honest—more than a little handsome.
Very well, if she thought about it, he did make her nervous.
Margaret lifted her chin and clapped as Miss Yates finished her song and retook her seat. She’d played exceptionally well. Margaret must remember to tell the lady not to hide such a skill in the future. She performed beautifully and ought to be proud of such a talent.
Margaret was next.
She stood, head held high, and took her seat at the pianoforte.
The room quieted.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t until this moment that Margaret realized the two short rows of chairs placed Mr. Rockwell directly where she could see him most easily over the top of her sheet music.
She rested her hands lightly against the keys.
She shouldn’t be so nervous. He was sitting there, watching her. But so was everyone else. Knowing Lord and Lady Abernathy were listening didn’t make her stomach uneasy. Knowing Lady Emily or the three young gentlemen were sitting only a few paces away didn’t make her hands shake.
So why did seeing Mr. Rockwell make her suddenly very aware of herself?
She pointedly did not look at him and instead focused entirely on the music before her.
For the next few minutes, the only sound to fill the room was her playing. It was a simple version of “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing,” but in many ways, it was all the more lovely for its simplicity.
When she finished, the room filled with applause.
Margaret knew that it was no louder than when Miss Yates had played, yet the clapping seemed to pound against her ears. She quickly curtsied and then returned to her seat.
While Lady Abernathy took to the pianoforte next, Margaret took a minute to collect herself. She’d flirted with Mr. Rockwell shamelessly these past several months. But she had done so not because she was interested in gaining his attentions, but more as a means of overcoming her frustrations at his insistence of forever being at her side.
That, and because she knew the flirting would never be returned in kind.
But it seemed she had taken matters too far, for now, her own heart was starting to think something might happen after all.
Which of course it never would.
The last thing she wanted this Christmas was to start hoping for something that never would be. It would only end in heartbreak, which would color the whole of the holiday in disappointment.
She’d already wasted too many years, too many London Seasons, pining for a romance only to be saddened when it didn’t happen. No, not this Christmas. This time, she was going to focus on how wonderful the holiday was without even thinking about what would never be.
Lady Abernathy finished and then it was Lady Emily’s turn. Margaret took to the pianoforte once more, and this time she was proud to find her hands didn’t shake and her stomach wasn’t uneasy.
The evening ended with an applause that shook the windows for Lady Emily. After that, they proceeded to mingle about the room, all enjoying the punch and company.
Margaret stayed beside Lady Abernathy and Lady Emily. It wasn’t that she was avoiding Mr. Rockwell, per se, but she didn’t want to give her heart a reason to explore any ideas either.
“You know, Mother,” Lord Ingram said, partway through the evening, “Perhaps next time we gentlemen ought to be invited to perform as well. Oliver happens to be quite good at the pianoforte.”
“That is what I said, only this afternoon,” Lady Emily eagerly spoke up. “And what do you think Mother said to the idea? That we should not inflict Ingram’s playing upon anyone.”
Margaret lifted a cup of punch to her lips to hide her smile. Lord Ingram and Lady Emily may be kind and respectful to others, but they were still siblings.
“Perhaps my playing would not be so dreadful,” Lord Ingram said, sitting down at the pianoforte and punching out the start to a song, “had I been given as skilled a tutor as Dominic.”
Lady Abernathy may not think much of her second son’s playing, but Margaret could certainly find no fault with it. His version of Mozart’s “Rondo alla Turca” was more forceful than probably intended, but he didn’t miss a single note. Which, with that piece, was not easy.
After he was finished, everyone clapped for him, just as they had the ladies.
“See, Mother,” Lord Ingram said, coming over toward her, “no one seems to think my playing is all that terrible.”
“It isn’t terrible, it was only that—”
But what it was, they would never know, for just then Lord Ingram’s foot caught on something, and he stumbled forward. His small teacup of punch dumped its entire contents down Lady Abernathy’s front.
The duchess gave a startled cry.
Immediately, everyone in the room gathered close. Lady Abernathy fanned herself while there was more than one exclamation made regarding her now stained dress.
“A handkerchief, if you please,” Margaret said.
Several were produced. Margaret, Lady Emily, and Lady Abernathy all took one and began wiping at the mess.
“I’m afraid it’s ruined,” Lady Emily said.
“Never mind the dress,” Lady Abernathy said, unclasping the large brooch from her neckline. “Here, Lady Margaret, will you see to this?”
Margaret took it and rubbed at it furiously. Hopefully, she would be able to remove all the liquid before it slipped into any of the tiny cracks between the gem and its setting.
“Mother, I am terribly sorry,” Lord Ingram said repeatedly. “There must be a nail sticking up in the floorboard or some such thing.”
With the brooch successfully cleaned, Margaret placed it on the small side table directly beside her and then turned to Lady Abernathy once more. Margaret picked up a tendril of the duchess’s hair and wrapped the handkerchief around it, trying to squeeze out any of the red drink she could.
“Do not fret yourself,” Lady Abernathy said to her son. “I will go change, and all will be fine.”
“I’ll go with you, Mother,” Lady Emily said, taking hold of her mother’s elbow.
They moved by Margaret and toward the music room doors.
“Gads,” Lord Ingram said, running a hand through his hair. “Maybe I’ve had more to drink tonight than I realized.”
“If you’re imagining nails in a perfectly smooth floor,” Mr. Miles Thrup said with a grin, “then I’d say you’ve had several more drinks tonight than you realized.”
Margaret sat silently as the three young men teased and joked. She strongly suspected it would be a long time before either of the Thrup twins let Lord Ingram forget about tonight.
After some minutes, a maid slipped into the music room and walked up to Margaret. “Pardon me, my lady, but Her Grace has sent me to fetch her brooch.”
“Oh, yes,” Margaret said, turning toward the small side table. “She will be pleased, I think, to see how much punch I was able to remove.”
Margaret’s heart stopped.
The side table was empty.
There was no brooch, no beautiful purple gem placed in a gold-plated setting.
“Lady Margaret?” Mr. Rockwell’s deep voice came from only a few places away. “Is something wrong?”
The room stilled around them.
Slowly, Margaret turned and found them all watching her.
“It’s the brooch,” she said in an uncertain voice. “Someone’s taken it.”