Brummel had long since fled to France, and Heath didn’t give one whit what any caricaturist thought of him. But when his valet had begun to ready him for tonight’s musical performance, Heath could not help but wonder if Miss Winfield would be in the audience.
Of course not. At least, probably not. She was Lady Roundtree’s companion, and Lady Roundtree had a broken leg. The salon was far too crowded for safety.
Then again, the injury did not seem to stop them from attending any number of other Society functions. Soirées, tea gardens, carriage rides in the park.
The Grenville musicales were among the most celebrated ton events of the Season, and if anyone were to risk the elbow-to-elbow packed ballroom with a broken limb, that person would be Lady Roundtree.
Accompanied by Miss Winfield.
His heart gave a strange twist. Hehopedshe was out there. Hoped she was under the family roof, in the same spacious chamber as his mother and father and siblings. Of course it was not the same thing as inviting her to meet his family. Heath and his sisters would be on stage, and as for their parents… No. Tonight he would be fortunate to merely catch a glimpse of her amongst such a large crowd.
Yet the thought of her in the audience, watching him, seeing his family, listening to their music, filled him with simultaneous joy and nervousness. His instrument was positioned at the rear of the dais for a reason. He was competent at the pianoforte, but no prodigy. His sisters were the ones who would truly impress.
He could not help but hope Miss Winfield loved hearing them as much as he did. Her opinion oughtn’t to matter so much but, well, there it was. Heath would not be performing tonight just for his friends and family. He would also be performing for her. Surrounding the both of them with music.
Bryony frowned up at him. “Are you well? There’s a flush to your cheeks.”
“It’s nothing,” he said quickly.
He must remember that. There was nothing between Miss Winfield and him, and it had to stay that way.
And yet, the beat of his heart remained erratic. He needed tonight to be perfect just in case.
“Is my hair mussed?” he asked Bryony.
His sister burst out laughing. “It’s supposed to be mussed. Unkempt curls flopping every which way is the current rage. Peek through the curtains at the audience if you don’t believe me.”
Heath grinned back at her. “I meant, is my hair mussed enough? Should I let a badger run through it a few times before we start the show?”
She harrumphed. “You’ll do.”
A sudden wave of applause rustled through the audience on the other side of the curtain.
“Almost time,” his sister called over her shoulder as she flounced off to fetch her violin.
Heath shook his head. He wasn’t even certain Bryony bothered to practice her violin, and yet she still took everyone’s breath away any time she placed her bow to the strings.
He turned to check on his other sister, and frowned.
Of all of them, Camellia was in a league above any other. Her soaring soprano was that of an angel, capable of making the hardest heart weep or sing for joy.
And for some reason, tonight her countenance was pasty and wan.
He hurried to her side. “What is it? Never say you are nervous. We’ve sung the same set for nearly a decade.”
She looked up at him with a strange intensity shimmering in her eyes. “Aren’t you tired of it?”
Heath blinked. Tired of a musical set he hadn’t chosen, nor was particularly talented at reproducing? He’d been born tired of it.
That wasn’t why he was here. He toiled at the pianoforte at the rear of the stage because someone had to in order to let his sisters shine.
All this time, he believed he was doing this for them. Particularly for Camellia, who rarely opened her mouth in public for any other reason than to sing. To think that he had been wrong all these years…
“I thought you loved it,” he stammered. “Performing, I mean.”
“I do,” she blurted, her face still alarmingly pale. “It’s the one thing that brings me joy.”
A wave of relief washed over him. He hadn’t been wrong. But she’d had him worried.
