Louisa volunteered, “I am sure Miss Bingley would be happy to assist you with the organization of the fair. A woman’s touch could be useful. There are so many logistical and even aesthetical elements to consider.”
“You are right, Mrs. Hurst.” He nodded. “Miss Bingley, should I attempt such a feat, would you come alongside me to ensure it all goes smoothly?”
Caroline fluttered her lashes. “I would be more than happy to, Your Lordship.”
Chapter 8
Louisa waited until their guests departed and Mrs. Hurst had gone up to bed to unleash her anger. “That Mrs. Bird! What does she mean by bringing her niece here, when she knows full well that I have my eye on him for you!”
Caroline, knowing her sister’s ire, tried to smooth things over. “I do not suppose Mrs. Bird had any agenda in bringing her niece. We could not expect them to keep her at home, while they dine out. She is, after all, a lady.”
“I wish Mrs. Hurst had never invited them for dinner! Did you see how Miss Greenbough instantly latched onto Lord Connally, and how quickly his eye was turned?”
“I suspect there may be some previous connection between them,” Caroline said. “Did not Miss Greenbough come to this area five years ago, Mrs. Bird mentioned?”
“If she did, then she would not have seen Lord Connally. He has been away these eight or nine years, at least.”
“Perhaps they met some other time, at some other place. Lord Connally has not always been on the Emerald Isle,” Caroline suggested.
“I suppose you’re right.” Louisa sighed. “Well,” she said, with renewed determination, “you shall simply have to work harder to maintain Lord Connally’s interest. I am certain that you, whose talents and beauty are superior to Miss Greenbough, shall prevail.”
Though Caroline disagreed inwardly, outwardly, she agreed with her sister. “Yes, she is nothing to look at. Her figure is too slight, her nose too pert, and there was something wanting in her complexion.”
“Altogether too pale, I agree,” Louisa nodded.
Miss Greenbough, who had succeeded her at the piano following their discussions about the fair, played much better than Caroline, but still, she declared, “I found nothing remarkable about her performance. Too droll. I do not know why she chose a German selection to play. She did not even sing.”
“It is a pity the poor thing cannot compare to you.”
“Indeed.”
S
Just as Mr. Hodge predicted, in the last week of April, the pear trees began to bloom. Beautiful white blossoms covered the branches so thickly, you could hardly see the sky above. Theo loved seeing the trees in all their glory. Mr. Hodge had once told him that the orchard had been his mother’s favorite place. As a child, he often sat beneath the trees and tried to imagine what she looked like. After her death, his father had put away any portraits of her. He once found one of them, while exploring the attic, and for a while he had been able to sneak up there from time to time to look at it. But after his father caught him, the portrait disappeared, and Theo never saw it again. After admiring each row of trees, Theo wandered across the moors next to it. Soon, he found himself by the wall separating his property from that of Fairclough. Someone was singing on the other side of the wall. Peering through the small gate, he could see Miss Bingley, sitting with her back to him, on a bench looking towards the reflecting pool.
He cleared his throat, not wishing to alarm her too greatly. She turned around.
“Good day, Miss Bingley.”
“Mr. Hodge.” She bobbed a curtsy. “Good day to you.”
“What lovely singing!”
“It was nothing. Merely an old folk tune my grandmother used to sing.”
“You have a wonderful natural singing voice. If I may say so, your talent shows greater when you sing in your natural range, rather than in the operatic diva style.”
Caroline drew near to the gate. “I had an Italian singing master at the seminary. He insisted on my learning the greats.”
“That is not to say you do not perform well in that style,” Theo hurried to say. He might have fibbed a little. In truth, he found her first performance of the Bonnoncelli piece to be unbearable. It was only when her sister insisted that she performScarborough Fairthat he saw how badly the operatic number obscured her real talents.
“I confess, I have never been a fan of the opera, myself,” Miss Bingley admitted. “The music and the themes are too dramatic for my liking, and while I can be taught to sing the words to an Italian song, I am afraid my understanding of the language is too dim to appreciate the libretto. I paid far better attention in French class than Italian, you see.” She smiled.
“Perhaps, your French master was more handsome than your Italian master?”
“Mr. Hodge, you shock me!” Caroline said in mock seriousness. “But if you must know, we learned Italian from one of the younger female teachers at the seminary who had little experience and was very droll. Our French master, though anold man, made class so much more entertaining with his jokes and silly antics, we all learned a great deal more.”
Theo laughed. “I see.” Looking at her through the bars in the iron gate, Theo asked, “Will you not come through to this side? The pear trees are in full bloom right now and I long to show them to someone.”
