“Horace.”
She turned to him, eyes wide. “No! I cannot… can I?”
He grinned at her. “Why not? Is it not perfect for a gathering such as this?”
Did she dare? She was breathless with excitement — to speak in Latin, publicly! She glanced at Mama, smiling benignly, her own performance completed satisfactorily. She would not smile if Bea were to use her Latin! But a learned poem was not the same as knowing the language, and she barely understood a quarter of Bertram’s ode. Surely she had the courage to do it?
When her turn came, she rose and walked slowly to stand before the audience. Even then, there was time to draw back, to stay with the safety of Shakespeare or Wordsworth or Scott.The Lady of the Lake— she knew a good piece from that, and Mama would smile and be pleased with her. But she caught Bertram’s eye, nodding encouragingly to her and the die was cast.
She set her feet at the proper angle, arranged her arms and straightened her spine. “Carmina liber tertius, carmen novem.”
A murmur passed through the room, as soft as a summer breeze. She saw surprised looks exchanged, expressions become more alert, as anticipation filled the air.
“‘Donec gratus eram tibi nec quisquam potior bracchia candidae cervici iuvenis dabat, Persarum vigui rege beatior’,”she began, the words of the long-dead Quintus Horatius Flaccus ringing out, tentatively at first and then with growing confidence. She tried to capture Bertram’s intonation as best she could, but in the end, the magic of the words caught her in its thrall and she forgot the watching company, forgot everything but the beauty of the ancient words.
She came to the end, and silence fell. Then the room erupted in cheers and applause and cries of‘Splendida!’and‘Magnifica!’.She curtsied to them, laughing, and as she made her way back to her seat. The marquessmurmured,“Wonderful, M-M-Miss F-F-Franklyn,”as she passed, beaming at her. She caught Bertram’s eye again, and saw him smiling… smiling so widely that her heart lurched in delight. She must have done it well, for he was pleased with her!
She took her seat and someone else stood up to perform, but she heard none of it. Her heart still raced with excitement. She had done it! There were one or two words she was sure she had mispronounced, and one line in particular where she had muddled the metre, but on the whole it had gone off tolerably well. The gentlemen were pleased, anyway… Bertram was pleased, and that made her glow inside. It was odd how she valued his approbation above that of anyone. No doubt that was because he had been at such pains to help her learn. It was gratitude she felt for him, nothing more.
Eventually, she dared to look at her stepmother, but she was gravely attending to Miss Pikesley’s stuttering performance, so there was no hint there of her reaction, but her father smiled benignly at her.Hewas pleased, at least, and that must also be an object with her.
By the time all had performed, the room felt horridly warm, the air close, all the ladies plying their fans vigorously. Someone threw open the doors to the terrace and there was a general movement outside. Bea heard Lord Grayling’s voice in her ear.
“Shall we walk, Miss Franklyn?” he murmured.
At last, an opportunity to see if the baron’s kiss could set her on fire. “That would be delightful.”
He offered his arm and they strolled along the terrace and then onto the narrow strip of lawn beside it. Without a word being spoken, he steered her onto the nearest path and thenoutwards, into the garden. It was full dark by now, and no light from the saloon penetrated so far, but she was not afraid. Lord Grayling was with her, and no harm could come to her in his company. They walked slowly, and before long her eyes adjusted to the gloom well enough to make out the dark shapes of the overgrown shrubs and the pale line of the gravel path unfurling before their feet. She knew where she was — just around the next corner was the marble seat by the old fountain. They reached it, and with one accord, stopped. She turned expectantly to face him, he lowered his head, she closed her eyes…
“Miss Franklyn! Miss Franklyn!”
Distantly, from nearer the house, several voices called out. Bea heaved a sigh, but Lord Grayling chuckled. “We are not to be permitted a moment alone, it seems. Is that Atherton’s voice? And Fielding, I fancy.”
“Whatever can be the matter? Why are they looking for me?”
“Let us find out.” Raising his voice, he called out, “Miss Franklyn is here.”
“Where are you?”
“The Minerva fountain,” he called back.
Footsteps on the path gradually became louder, until Bertram and Mr Fielding appeared at a rush. Bea heaved a sigh of pure annoyance.
“There you are, Miss Franklyn,” Bertram said, waving a shawl at her. “Do, pray, wrap yourself up and come back to the house. The night air… my mother would never forgive me if you were to catch a chill.”
“I am not cold,” Bea snapped. “I can hardly catch a chill on such a balmy night. What is the matter with you, Bertram? You have windmills in your head if you think I would— Wait a moment. That is not even my shawl.”
“Never mind,” he said, wrapping it around her shoulders. “You should not go directly outside from an overheated room into the night air without a shawl. Do come back to the house.”
“Miss Franklyn is well protected now, and I shall not keep her out long,” Lord Grayling drawled. “I thank you both for your solicitude, but you may leave Miss Franklyn to my care.”
“Absolutely not!” Mr Fielding said hotly.
“She will be better protected inside the house,” Bertram said, glaring at his friend. “Come, Bea. I will not have you risk your health like this.”
“I am not some weakling who—” she began, but there was yet another interruption in the form of an irate Miss Grayling.
“That ismyshawl, Miss Franklyn, and I will thank you to hand it over at once. And Mr Atherton, I would remind you that taking another person’s property is theft. Whatever were you thinking?”
