Chapter Eight
W hatever had happened to Lady Edith? She rarely spoke at the dinner table that evening, seemingly content to listen to other’s conversations. Especially his. If her curious behavior continued, he would ask her about it.
Standing beside her before dinner, he’d been struck by her petiteness. He was only five feet ten inches tall but towered over her. Despite her willowy build and fragile looks, he sensed a strength in the lady. Strength he hoped would not be wasted in marriage to some dandy or another.
“We have a most accomplished pianiste with us this evening,” Lady Cairs said when everyone was settled in the music room. “It would be a pleasure to hear you play, Lady Edith.”
The lady did not appear at all flustered by the request as she took a seat at the pianoforte and lifted her hands over the keys.
“This is a favorite of my father’s.”
Lady Edith was more than proficient on the instrument. He recognized the music as a sonatina by Ignaz Pleyel, and when the last note had faded away, her audience gave an enthusiastic round of applause.
“It is my understanding that Miss Tilford has a lovely singing voice. Would you treat us to a song, my dear?” Lady Cairs smiled benignly at his sister.
Edith looked a question when Alicia came to stand beside the pianoforte. “Would you like me to accompany you?”
“Yes, please. Are you familiar with What Shall I Do To Shew How Much I Love Her ?”
She nodded. “I am! It is a piece I play quite often.”
Lady Edith began to play, and Alicia lifted her voice in song. He knew his sister had a lovely singing voice. As the other guests realized how immensely talented Alicia was, he was happy to see his sister bask in the open appreciation of her gift.
The lyrics of the song told of a deep, abiding love, and he couldn’t help but notice the tender smile Ashford exchanged with his wife, Charlotte. They were a handsome pair and happily matched.
Edith also observed the couple, her countenance wistful. She looked around, caught him staring, and was the first to look away, her cheeks blooming with color.
Did she dream of one day singing a duet with Cecil? He hoped not. The lady would be cruelly disappointed if she continued to pine after the man. Cecil had no time for anything other than finding his brother’s killers.
And what did he want? Edith was a light in the darkness. If anyone could brighten his days, it would be her as she shone brightest among all the ladies at the dinner party. She was the kindest, sweetest woman he’d ever known. And her patience with his sister seemed unflagging.
Even if Edith would accept him as a suitor, could he ask her to share his unhappy life? He pasted on a smile, despair settling on his brow like a cloud.
* * * * *
E dith was content to leave Lady Cair’s dinner soon after her turn at the pianoforte as a headache was starting behind her eyes. She was concentrating on Lord Harbury’s moods so intently that she’d given herself a migraine.
Fortunately, Charlotte pleaded tiredness, and their party made their goodbyes to their hostess.
“Alicia has such a beautiful singing voice.” Seated in Ashford’s coach, Edith could barely make out Charlotte’s face in the low light coming from the carriage lanterns outside.
Charlotte nodded. “It really is extraordinary.”
“Do you feel up to volunteering tomorrow, Charlotte? You look quite done in.” Ashford took one of Charlotte’s hands in his own.
“I merely need a good night’s rest, husband.”
Seeing the couple across from her so deeply in love, Edith was resolved to speak with Lord Harbury about Lord Wycliffe.
Edith would probably not see the baron again until she volunteered at the registry on Monday. Within the short time she’d observed Lord Harbury that evening, she believed Ashford was correct. The man was not the cheerful, carefree soul she’d first thought him to be.
Upon arriving home, the butler informed Edith that her father was still out. Tomorrow, she would tactfully ask him if he was pursuing Lady Sandhurst. Instead of a breakfast tray in her room, she would join her father in the dining room for the morning meal.
She grinned to herself. “That should put Father back on his heels.”
* * * * *
N athaniel sat straight up in bed and released several ragged breaths. The nightmare was an old friend: He walked along the beach in Denmark, hundreds of bodies with wide staring eyes surrounding him. Ever since the HMS St. George and HMS Defence ran aground there, the dunes of Thorsminde were known as ‘Dead Men’s Dunes.’
From experience, he knew it would not be easy to go back to sleep. His melancholy mood earlier that evening must have triggered the unsettling dream.
Despite there being no fire in his bedchamber, Nathaniel felt warm. Attired only in short drawers, he pulled back the heavy velvet counterpane and instantly felt cooler.
He turned up the oil lamp on his dressing table and reached for his beloved copy of Gulliver’s Travels . A favorite since childhood, the book would distract him and help to clear his mind of the images of dead men.
Squinting at the carriage clock on the fireplace mantle, he was surprised to realize it was only a few minutes past midnight. He hadn’t been in bed for very long.
Despite his best intentions, his thoughts turned to Lady Edith. Ah, but she was lovely. She was as slim as a reed, willowy and graceful. Her hair was the color of spun gold; her luminous complexion was flawless.
She had a quick and agile mind, something he imagined was often overlooked because of her ethereal looks. Her comment about experiences changing one’s temperament had caught him by surprise. Perhaps she’d merely been referring to his sister. There was no reason to think she was speaking of him.
It wouldn’t do any good to dream about the lady. He wanted to marry for love as his parents had done. He wouldn’t offer for a woman who mooned over one of his friends, even if the very thought of her set his pulse racing.
Nathaniel hadn’t thought about relations with a woman in quite a while. He opened his book, determined to read until he was too tired to think about Lady Edith or the feelings she aroused in him.