HUGH
The food looked excellent. Whether it tasted as good as it looked was a question for someone sitting farther away from Mother. Her signature scent had a cloying tendency to make food less appetizing. I now remembered why I sat opposite her when we dined at home.
Miss Summers had managed to dress and act with more decorum than she did at the park, and with less sensuality than in my dream. In fact, she made the opposite choice. Gone was the temptress in red; replaced by an unflattering cloud of white tulle. Her hair was filled with more baubles and trinkets than her neck should be capable of supporting.
Her Grace seated her niece next to Mother. It was likely in an effort to assure thetonthat there was no ill-will from the lemonade incident. Of course, Mother’s blatant snubbing of the girl would certainly have the opposite effect. Even though I reminded her that dismissing the girl would not go unnoticed by the duchess, she pointedly refused to turn in Miss Summers’s direction.
Mother’s scorn seemed to have no effect on the girl herself. The entire supper, she engaged in a whispered, giggled rapport with Lady Rycliffe. I would have expected more of Lady Rycliffe than she demonstrated tonight. Perhaps the rumors of her liaison with Michael were more accurate than I had credited. It would explain her complete lack of decorum and choice of friends.
Shortly after supper, and before the sexes separated, the Duke of Sutton requested a musical performance, and the purpose of the evening became clear. Miss Summers must possess moderate skill at the pianoforte and Her Grace was attempting to display her niece to the greatest advantage.
The plan backfired spectacularly when Lady James offered her talents. I had to cover a smirk with my handkerchief. She was an exceptional talent and all things accomplished. Surely Miss Summers could not be up to the task at that level.
That lady took a seat at a stunning pianoforte. Miss Summers even offered to turn the pages, proving that she was, at least, capable of behaving in polite society.
Lady James began a light and airy piece by Beethoven. Music not being my forte, I only recognized the composer, not the piece. She played with an unstudied air. The effect was quite becoming, overall. Were she unwed, and I a few years older, she would have been an excellent match for me. Her tall, statuesque form was pleasing, her light golden-brown hair suited her complexion and warm brown eyes well.
Somehow, the elderly, jowl-necked baron had managed to snag her. That was a travesty I could not countenance. Prior to her wedding, she had been quite publicly courting the new Duke of Rosehill. Everyone anticipated an engagement at any time, one day the courtship abruptly ended, and she was affianced to the baron.
Rosehill had looks, funds and a title far superior to that of James. Gossip and speculation still followed them both. Whether the failings came from Lady James or Rosehill was anyone’s guess. Though, as far as I could see, she was flawless.
When the lady finished to great acclaim and applause, she was pressed to perform another piece. She chose something even lighter. I did not know the composer but the effect was enchanting.
When it came time for Miss Summers to demonstrate her talents, Lady James correctly offered her services as a page turner.
What followed managed to stun the previously inattentive audience into rapt silence, even my mother.
Miss Summers began softly. I believed it was a Mozart composition. While timid, her technique was clearly flawless, and though I loathed to admit it, her air was artless.
As the tempo picked up, she gained confidence; her fingers flew across keys like a butterfly’s wings.
At some point, Lady James lost her place in the piece and ceased turning the pages at all. The loss did not affect Miss Summers in the slightest.
I had never seen such a performance in my life. Such a technically challenging piece should have read as showy, tedious, and pretentious. Particularly in such a situation.
Instead, the notes fell from her fingers like a strand of pearls. Each note led to the next on the strand in perfect succession, made more beautiful for its predecessor and embellished by its successor.
For all the girl was clumsy and indecorous in every other moment, she was clearly at home on the piano bench. My mouth hung open in astonishment, I could feel it. My eyes too, were wide and unblinking.
Thiswas the woman from my dream. Confident. Graceful. Sensual. Her ill-fitting gown and ridiculous hair baubles faded away in the shadow of the clear delight written across her face. Her eyes were brighter and cheeks flushed with the effort of her display. The entire picture was every bit as enticing as the silk-clad goddess of my dreams.
As the piece came to a close, the tempo slowed and drifted off until the last note held out for the audience to admire. She was met with substantial, well-deserved applause. Even I could admit her talents were worthy of praise.
The stunned crowd was too astonished to request another piece.
When no ladies were willing to demonstrate in her wake, the gentlemen retired to the billiards room while the ladies gathered in the drawing room.
Eventually, the evening drew to an uncomfortable close. No one expected such a display from clumsy Miss Summers and as a result, they had no map to proceed from this point.
Eight
JAMES PLACE, LONDON – JULY 1, 1813
KATE
I knew it was coming.I should have known. Even still, the letter in front of me rang false.
Aunt Sophie was gone.
