Chapter 13
Thirteen
Later that night, by the time the main course arrived, Violet was deep into a story that just about kept the room together.
It concerned a horse she had briefly owned, funnily enough also named Pearl, she said, that had apparently nipped three separate barons over the course of its long eventful life.
Miss Penrose was contributing observations that made the story somehow sillier.
Aurelia was laughing with her hand pressed over her mouth, while Evander covertly watched.
He said relatively little, which was his preference even on evenings that weren’t as awkward as this one to him. Nobody seemed to mind his absence from the main conversation as he focused on slicing through his pork and apples.
Patrick appeared at his elbow during a lull in the horse theatrics, leaning over to speak to him while they waited for the next course.
“So,” he said. “Tell me how married life has been treating you. It feels like years since we last spoke, must feel like years to you too in this young marriage to the ever enchanting new Duchess.”
Evander wiped his mouth on his napkin. “Would you be satisfied if I told you it was going well enough?”
“Not particularly.”
“A pity for you, my friend. Because that is the answer I am going to give you.”
Patrick smirked and looked across the table at Aurelia, who had by some miracle returned to talking about the horse with Violet. “She seems well,” Patrick said. “Happy even, by my estimation. And that’s a good thing.”
“Yes, very good,” Evander replied, reaching for his wine glass.
“But you don’t seem well.”
His fingers froze around the cool crystal stem. “And why is that?”
“Not sure yet. I only know you have looked at her nine times since I started counting, sometime around the soup. And those glances have been charged with something…” Patrick cut himself off, dropping his voice and laughing.
“This Claret has made me poetic. I will merely say that these looks have caught my attention, as your tribulations are wont to do.”
“We would not be such good friends if you paid little attention to me,” Evander said acerbically.
Surely this conversation could have waited until after dinner had concluded, when the women had gone to their room.
He took another sip and repressed a sigh.
“Is there something you actually want to say, or are you simply tickling yourself at my expense?”
“Both, always.” Patrick leaned back slightly. “But no, this time I do have a reason for asking. My interest is more-than selfish. Tell me this: Have you heard from that brother of yours?”
Evander set the glass down. Across the table, Aurelia glanced at him briefly and then looked away.
“Which one?”
“Har-har,” he mimed sarcastically. “You know which one. Well, have you?”
“No,” Evander said, growing restless. Calm yourself, he ordered inwardly, while the wall started closing in.
Patrick opened his mouth to say something more, but he was too slow.
“Oh, she absolutely must play,” Miss Penrose announced to the table, having apparently arrived at a conclusion with Violet.
They were looking at Aurelia enthusiastically.
“And don't argue with me. We have been here for half the day, and I have not yet heard you play, which is practically a crime since you have an entire wing to yourself now to play music.”
“Many grand houses have music rooms,” Aurelia said, moving around the pork fat on her plate. “But that does infer that their proprietors must play music at every given opportunity.”
The young miss shook her head and leaned forward emphatically. “Not everyone with a music room plays as well as you do. Oh, will you play? After we are done with our meal?”
“Are you afraid of needing to converse with us again, Miss Penrose?” Patrick interjected, suddenly disinterested in the topic of Frederick. “Hoping a little Mozart will ease the simmering tension between us?”
The woman was resolute. She was maybe the only woman in the world who could hold her own in front of Patrick. Evander might have been impressed if he hadn’t been buzzing with anxiety about Patrick’s questions about Frederick.
“First of all, Miss Penrose,” the aunt put in, “Aurelia does not favor Mozart.”
“Not Mozart then,” Miss Penrose said, rolling her eyes. “But something else. What was it you were working on back in London? Those songs from Thomas Moore? Oh, please, you must play for us. I can’t think of any better way to begin our house stay. I’ll even sing with you.”
Aurelia glanced at the table, and at Evander briefly, and then settled on Miss Penrose. “If you like, I suppose I could,” she concluded.
When the time came, half an hour later, she did end up playing for them.
Evander didn’t know the name of the piece.
It was Miss Penrose who selected it, and she was singing along about first loves and summers, trying to get the aunt to sing too.
Evander was enraptured by Aurelia. Her posture was perfect, shoulders rounded gently.
Her expression was attentive, undisturbed by the harsh rain outdoors.
He was the only person in the room who knew the difference between what she was presenting now and what she played in private.
And it troubled him that he liked to have this secret knowledge, even when she had abandoned him that morning without saying goodbye.
Miss Penrose applauded when the music ended from where she stood beside Patrick.
Aunt Violet – who had insisted twice over dinner that she be called that – lounged on the sofa by the fire with Titan beside her, languidly stroking the top of his inky-black head.
Nike was settled at her feet and sighed audibly at the end of the music.
“So Brilliant,” Miss Penrose said. “You only improve, even with all the excitement of moving to this new place. Your music ages like wine, Aurelia, and sparkles like champagne. I love it.”
“High praise,” Aurelia said, smiling and reaching for the wine glass on top of the piano, “considering the quality of the Sandacre stores…”
“It is actually – most people deteriorate with time.” Lydia turned to Patrick. “Wasn't that extraordinary, My Lord? Do say so. Tell her she is like wine.”
“Remarkable like wine,” Patrick said.
But Evander didn’t contribute. Aurelia did not look at him.
She moved into a second song without being asked, and the singing resumed.
Even Patrick joined in. Evander stood by the window with his drink and watched her hands on the keys.
He considered the way her body moved, and he remembered that same body cradled in his arms just that morning with a pang of regret and shame.
He realised how much he missed it. How cruel it was that the body was there now at the piano and not leaning against him listening to someone else play. He told himself to stop these delusions.
The evening ended eventually, even if the rain didn’t.
Violet retired first, then Miss Penrose followed.
The friend kissed Aurelia's cheek and said something in her ear that made Aurelia grin.
Patrick announced he was going to find the library before going to bed, and he made it sound like a threat – or an invitation.
If it was intended for Evander, he didn’t follow. Instead, he and Aurelia remained in the music room mostly by accident. She was collecting the music sheets from the piano stand one at a time. He was standing by the fire, devising a reason to excuse himself first.
The thought of sleep summoned another question to his mind. And it slipped from him before he could check himself. “Where are you sleeping tonight?” he asked – and immediately regretted it.
Aurelia straightened the sheets, but her fingers faltered a moment. Her jaw ticked.
“In my rooms,” she replied. The statement sounded more like a question.
“Yes.” He nodded, which he supposed was the correct response despite the tight knot in his gut. “Where you should be,” he agreed woefully.
She darted past him on her way to the door, coming close enough that he could feel the warmth from her body, and then she was gone. The room was empty, and the fire crackled. His chest felt suddenly too small for his heart and lungs, and he rested a hand on the mantle.
He was still standing there when Patrick reappeared a few minutes later, muttering under his breath about the layout of the house.
“The library was locked. Although for all I know I was trying to access a larder,” Patrick said. “Where is your wife?”
“She has gone to her rooms.”
For a moment Patrick said nothing. He came and stood beside him, the fire casting moving shadows on them.
“Will you tell me now what you intended to tell me before, at dinner?”
“That depends largely on how likely it is you will strike me.”
“I haven’t the energy for that tonight.”
“Good. Your right hook is vicious, and I indulged too much this evening to adequately defend myself.” Patrick angled his shoulders toward him. “I heard from John French before I left. Well, not from him. It was the acquaintance-of-a-friend type of hearing. He had it from someone in Edinburgh.”
There was an unnecessary pause. The question about Frederick had had time to settle over the course of the evening. Evander knew what was coming.
“Frederick and Lady Seraphina... The marriage went through two weeks ago, apparently. Though who can be sure about the dates from the backwaters of Scotland?”
Evander nodded, but he was miles away. He reminisced about Frederick at nine years old being taken fishing all summer and the way his hair had turned blonde in the summer sun.
He thought about Lady Seraphina, who he had been arranged to marry forever but had never managed to fall in love with – and who had apparently felt the same.
He found with some surprise that the news landed without the sting a man in his position should probably have felt.