Chapter Twenty-Three
A Question Is Asked…
Two days later, Richard stood in his study and surveyed the meticulous stacks of documents on his mahogany desk.
His new secretary was a nephew of Falworth’s, previously employed as a junior clerk to a wealthy merchant.
In the space of two and a half days, the young man had taken care of minor bills, endless correspondence, and an impressive pile of legal papers.
Baskets of elegantly addressed vellum lay outside the door, ready for delivery—pale-blue envelopes for the betrothal ball less than three weeks from now and cream for the wedding seven days later.
The grandfather clock in the corner chimed half past two.
After being closeted with his secretary most of the day, he craved physical activity, but the day was overcast and damp.
Riding didn’t appeal, nor did a drive in his curricle.
He contemplated some faro at White’s, but any serious card games were unlikely this early in the afternoon.
He had scarcely seen Fiona amid the flurry of preparations that swept the household. The ladies of the house were dressing to attend tea at Lady Jersey’s house in Kensington, followed by a small party hosted by Mrs. Castlereagh.
Restless and a trifle bored, Richard debated a visit to Debenhams. Maxwell was tailoring a black superfine wool coat and embroidered waistcoat for the wedding, and he needed a new top hat.
Perhaps afterward he would make a stop at Rundell and Bridge to purchase some jewelry for his fiancée.
If Fiona refused his gift, her fiery temper was an antidote to any inertia.
Amused at the thought, he ordered the carriage and went to find Hansen, asking the majordomo to convey a message to Lady Amelia that he was going out and would most likely take supper before returning.
Twenty minutes later, Jerome waited at the curb with the horses.
“Will you be drivin’ ’em, Your Lordship, or shall I?”
“You may take the reins, Jerome. The first stop shall be Fleet Street, then we will go to Cavendish Square.” The tiger leaped nimbly onto the high perch seat and once Richard settled in the back, turned the phaeton south.
After he finished his business and dined at his club, Richard returned to Merrick House close to seven o’clock.
Entering, he glanced about for Hansen, then remembered he had given the majordomo the night off.
The doorman greeted him, and he handed over the packages, removing his hat and gloves, when the faint sound of the piano drifted down the hallway.
He had expected to find an empty house; it was odd the ladies would be home so early from the evening’s festivities.
But when he entered the music room, Fiona was the sole occupant.
She sat at the piano, studying the sheet music and glanced up briefly, frowning at the interruption.
After repeating a passage several times, she lifted her hands from the keys with an impatient shake of her head.
“A difficult piece?” he asked, bending to inspect the sheet music. “Ah, Mozart.”
The subtle perfume of lilies of the valley wafted from her skin. He now associated the scent with her, and even a suggestion of it caused his pulse to quicken.
“Yes. I just can’t master the counterpoint. This particular sonata has always eluded me. Especially the second movement, where the suspensions and dissonances are so subtle.”
“I am certainly no expert, but I would enjoy hearing the piece in its entirety. Perhaps I may offer some insight.” Her upswept coiffure exposed the delicate nape of her neck, and he had a strong desire to kiss the ivory curve. “How is it that you did not attend the party at the Castlereaghs’?”
“After hours of fittings and measurements, I wasn’t much in the mood for a party. I came home to practice.”
“And is Madame Brigitte well? Are you satisfied with her suggestions?”
“Oh, yes. She had some lovely fabrics just in from Paris. Lord Richard—”
“Richard.”
“Richard.” She said it hesitantly and his blood stirred again. “Thank you for your generosity. I know at times I may have seemed…well…ungrateful.”
“Never say so, Fiona,” he murmured.
“Are you teasing me? You know I am trying to apologize. Why I even bother—”
“There is no need to do so. I understand your reluctance to accept my gifts and your wish to remain independent. But please allow me the pleasure of giving you beautiful things. It’s customary for the bride to have a trousseau.”
“Richard…about the wedding…”
“Surely you are not going to refuse me again?” He raised an eyebrow. “Have you thought of the damage another rejection will do to my self-esteem?”
She hid a smile, trying to remain stern. “Now you are just being absurd. I just want to ask if you’re positive you wish to go through with this. There must be some other way out of our predicament. I’ve no desire to trap you into marriage.”
“You are not trapping me, Fiona and I’m positive I wish to marry you. Until then, I offer amends.” He pulled the slender case from his pocket, which she regarded with a mixture of curiosity and stubbornness. “Consider it a wedding present,” he encouraged.
“But you have already given me so much…I can’t accept anything else.”
He found her disappointment promising. “Fiona, if I were a man of the middle class, what gifts might you expect from me? A new pair of gloves perhaps? Or a hat, if I could manage it?”
“Yes…” she answered, looking at him dubiously.
“In comparison with my station and wealth, isn’t it right that those gifts are substantially multiplied? You certainly wouldn’t refuse some new gloves from a poorer spouse, would you? So, how can you refuse this?”
“Leathcheann!” She snatched the case from his hand, laughing. “You are the most ridiculous man.”
How could he think he could hope to stay dispassionate when it came to his betrothed? Every day, she enchanted him more.
Her eyes widened as she opened the case. The glorious necklace had caught his eye at once. It was a simple string of raspberry-red gems set in gold, framing a brilliant ruby surrounded by diamonds, and he had known it would look stunning on her.
“Will it fit the wedding gown you have in mind? I have the earrings as well, but I hesitated to tempt fortune and give you both at the same time.” She nodded, speechless.
He pulled a chair close to the piano, sinking against the cushions with a deep exhalation of pleasure. “Perhaps you can thank me by playing the Mozart? The last few days have been incredibly tedious.”
She set the case aside and stretched her fingers. “Lady Amelia mentioned you were deep in consultation with your new secretary. I hope he meets your expectations.”
“Absolutely. I wouldn’t be able to take you to Newmarket otherwise. But we will speak of our plans later.”
She fingered the keys, refusing to meet his eyes. “Is this what you meant when you said I would play just for you?”
“No. That is something entirely different, for a time when we have privacy.” She blushed and began the sonata. The allegro started with both hands in unison, followed by difficult trills and a repeat, to various elaborations of a rather grand first theme in E minor, then cadencing to the dominant.
It had been a long time since Richard sat at a piano. But his love of music had never faded, and knowing he would share this with Fiona was pure joy.
The second theme provided a balletic contrast to the tumultuous allegro and developed into various keys with a hint of the counterpoint to come in the adagio.
She managed the passages and harmonic exploration in that movement, but he heard the tentativeness in her playing, and it lacked the smoothness of the first section.
The third movement was captivating; playful and light in texture, it featured the scales and arpeggios of a well-written allegretto.
When the last notes echoed in the still room, she turned to him. “It’s good, but not as powerful as it could be. Have you any advice, Richard?”
He recalled the different elements of her performance. “The piece, in my mind, is all about tension and release. Otherwise, the cadence becomes somewhat commonplace. Can you extend the melody a bit more to enhance the new themes in the second movement and interrupt the tempo?”
Her eyes opened wide with excitement. “Of course. I will try drawing out the tension…it will emphasize the release you noticed.”
She went back to the adagio, experimenting quickly with the fermata and forte until the tone of the movement became more expressive and less repetitive.
When she played it a third time, he nodded approvingly.
“Excellent. Your adjustments have carried it beyond the commonplace.”
Fiona regarded him so radiantly that he rose involuntarily, crossed the distance between them, and lifted her from the bench, slanting his mouth possessively to hers.
She melted into him, and his heartbeat became a tattoo of desire. Dragging his lips away, he sought the pulse beating in the delicate hollow of her throat, and his mouth slid down to her breasts. She arched toward him.
“Fiona—” he groaned.
As if through a fog, he heard voices and relaxed his grip, brushing her lips with a gentle kiss and stepping away.
Her hand touched her flushed cheeks. “Richard…we have an arrangement, that is all…isn’t it?”
Before he could reply, his mother’s call echoed in the hallway. When she entered the room with his sister, Fiona was once more at the piano, and he stood by the fire, wondering if he knew the answer to his betrothed’s question.
*
Richard greeted Lady Amelia and Valentina with his customary address.
“Fiona, you missed a lovely time.” Valentina walked over to the piano. “Were you able to practice?”
“Yes.” She steadied her breathing, wondering if it was obvious she had just been ruthlessly kissed. “A Mozart sonata. Your brother was helping me with the interpretation.”
Lady Amelia removed her gloves. “I have decided to take Octavia to the opera while you are gone. It’s The Magic Flute, and she has been begging to go since the Season began.”