Bella and Lady Malmsby exchanged quick glances. Bella knew Lady Malmsby was concerned for Gwinnie’s enthusiasm, but she merely told her granddaughter they would be delighted to meet the gentleman.
Gwinnie led them to an antechamber just beyond the concert room.
“I thought you said there was to be a betrothal during intermission.”
Gwinnie laughed as they walked. “There was supposed to be—however, the intended fiancé has fled the city with another man!”
“So much for Lady Amblethorpe’s odd happening at her concert,” Lady Malmsby said.
“Oh, I don’t know. I’m sure the story will get around of what was supposed to happen that didn’t. That will set the gossips’ tongues, don’t you think?” Gwinnie said.
“Hmm, perhaps that’s true,” Lady Malmsby conceded. “Can’t have Lady Amblethorpe’s concert marred by a lack of excitement.”
Bella and Gwinnie laughed.
“Don,” Gwinnie said, as they entered the room where the musicians were sitting and enjoying refreshments, “I’d like you to meet my grandmother, the Duchess of Malmsby.”
The gentleman rose slowly, relying lightly on a cane, and bowed deeply. “I am grateful to make the acquaintance of a personage such as yourself, your grace,” he said. His voice was deep, and a little husky.
After her time working for Candelstone, Bella studied the Spaniard before her. He sported a trimmed beard with a waxed, twirled mustache. Curious—it appeared he resorted to a touch of blacking for his hair and beard. The vanity of some men, she thought as she smiled to herself.
When he and the Duchess had finished their greeting, Gwinnie introduced her. “This is our friend, Lady Blessingame, from Derbyshire.”
“Enchanted, Lady Blessingame,” the man said with his slight Spanish accent, as he bent over her hand, holding it a moment longer than necessary.
“I quite enjoyed your flute playing,” she told him.
“Thank you, you are all graciousness to a mere amateur musician as myself,” he said, placing his hand on his chest.
Bella stepped back as she silently acknowledged his words. She didn’t know why, but the man made her uncomfortable. She felt like he was silently laughing at her, and she could not conceive why.
“We will see you again after the concert,” Lady Malmsby told Gwinnie.
They left Gwinnie with her musician friends and went in search of Ann and Ellinbourne.
“I did not like him,” Bella said softly to Lady Malmsby.
“Why? He seemed like any other of the parade of gentlemen who’ve decided they’d like to capture the interest of a duke’s daughter,” Lady Malmsby said drily.
“Yes, I can see that,” Bella said. “But there was something else. Like he was laughing at me—or at us,” she exclaimed, her brow furrowing as she thought of the gentleman. “You grace, why hasn’t Gwinnie ever married?”
“After her mother died, her passion turned from music to food, and she became quite ample and therefore, terribly shy. Since my son Arthur does not socialize much, it was easy for her to stay away from social functions. Thankfully, music once again reclaimed its hold on her, and she sometimes just forgets to eat. She has slimmed down, but now lacks interest in marriage. At seven-and-twenty, she considers herself on the shelf.”
“I am sure there are men who would not hold her spinster status against her.”
“Yes, but she also feels they only overlook it for her position in society. She is confident as a musician—she is not confident as a woman. It is a bit of a conundrum, you see.—Oh, there are Ann and Ellinbourne. Ann is looking through his sketchbook. He must have been quite busy! I wonder if he’ll show us,” she said.
They made their way to the back of the concert room.
“Have you done many sketches, Ellinbourne?” Lady Malmsby asked.
“Many!” said Ann excitedly. “And they are wonderful! Here, let me show you this one of Gwinnie,” she said, as she flipped back through the book. “Here!” She handed the sketch over to Lady Malmsby.
“Ah!” Lady Malmsby’s breath caught. “It is stunning.” Her eyes watered. “You have so caught her emotion, her feeling for the music, and this is only a sketch!” she said. She looked up at Ellinbourne, a lone tear sliding down her cheek. “How do you do it? I wish she saw herself like this; however, if she sees this sketch, I doubt she will see what I see.”
Ann handed her a handkerchief while Bella gently took the sketchbook from her hand.
The Duchess dabbed at her cheeks. “Thank you, Ann. Silly, me. I don’t know why this sketch catches at me so powerfully. Can you—can you do this in paints?” she asked tentatively.
