Lady Brilliance shrugged her slender shoulders, bare due to the fashionable neckline of her dress.How the devil did those little lace and satin sleeves stay up on her arms?Vincent wondered.
“Why would you deprive people of hearing your talent?” she persisted, and he was irritated to find them back on the topic of music. “Many, if not most, would love to be able to play with such skill. You can, therefore you should.”
She blinked at him, waiting for him to agree, he assumed.
“ShouldI? You speak as though I were blessed with piano playing like a gift that I opened for Christmas. Since I have it, I ought to share it. I spent years learning and practicing.”
“Precisely. And for what purpose if not to perform for others?”
Vincent was squeezing his wine glass stem so hard, he feared he would shatter it.
“Perhaps for myself,” he ground out and then turned away. He did not have to explain himself to this chit named for cheese.
Striking up a conversation with Alethia, he could practically feel Lady Brilliance staring at his right ear. He ignored her. Andthat’s what he would do for the rest of the evening if at all possible.
Chapter Three
The poor man! Brilliance had heard of actors afflicted with stage fright, a term she’d learned when attending a play at Covent Garden only to be disappointed by the absence of one of the primary cast members. Her mother had waved down the play’s manager, a harried individual in a worn top hat, who bowed low when realizing he was speaking with a countess.
“Stage fright,” he had told them succinctly. It had derailed the performance.
Brilliance’s mother had sent the actor some fruit the following day by way of a cheering gift.
Brilliance could not imagine any other reason why Lord Hewitt wouldn’t wish to share his music with the rest of them. It would explain his annoyance with her earlier when she had interrupted his solitary playing.
For he could not be in any doubt as to his superiority of talent over everyone else in attendance. The possibility that there were two gifted pianists at the same house party was improbable, if not utterly unlikely. Moreover, she was equally certain that many of the ladies present and undoubtedly some of the gentlemen would give a drawing room performance before the party’s end. Some would play the piano, others the violinor flute. Some would sing, and a few would give a dramatic recitation. It was expected when gathered in the country.
And Brilliance had been to her fair share of gatherings where talent was decidedly lacking but made up for by a performer’s enthusiasm. Nobody minded a flat note or two if the singer’s heart was full, nor a stuttered piano performance if the player continued with jovial determination.
Why, she had once seen a young lady be sick upon her slippers while waiting to sing, yet sing she had, and beautifully, too.
Moreover, while the basket of fruit probably had little to do with the Covent Garden actor’s recovery, he had, in fact, made it onto the stage the following night to high acclaim. Thus, Brilliance intended to assist Lord Hewitt in any way she could.
That night, since the guests had arrived only hours earlier, some from afar, they had little demanded of them beyond attending the dinner and relaxing in the drawing room. A very light and early supper would be served at eleven. And then, of course, they could retire to their beds.
In the drawing room, cards were provided without much interest, along with a chess board, and plenty of creamy syllabub, despite it falling out of favor lately, as well as coffee, tea, biscuits and cake, which did garner some enthusiasm. Most talked in small groups, getting to know each other. For those literary-minded, there was the library, but no one seemed inclined to reach for a book that night.
And of course, Brilliance knew there was a conservatory, but she imagined it was already occupied by Lord Hewitt, probably with the door barricaded. She, for one, had no intention of bothering him again, not until the following day at the earliest.
Although after a moment’s thought, she asked the footman at hand what type of fruit Lady Twitchard had. Thrilled to learn of fresh oranges, she requested one and placed it outside theconservatory door with a simple note. “For Lord Hewitt.” She could, in fact, hear him playing the same tune as earlier.
Not willing to sit on one of the drawing room settees after the coach ride and the lengthy dinner, Brilliance instead opted for a stroll of the upstairs gallery.
Gladly, she accepted the company of Martine and another two ladies, new to her but amiable so far. They were all four of a similar age and had seen one another at events during the Season, but never before until that evening had they been formally introduced.
They strolled the long hallway created when the enfilade, or long series of rooms stretching from one side of the house to the other, had been closed up. It made for an excellent place to display paintings.
“Any prospects?” the blonde Miss Newton asked a little forwardly.
Brilliance instantly loved that about her since she had wondered the same thing. However, before she could jump into the conversation and say how intriguing she found Lord Hewitt, Martine squeezed her hand and spoke first.
“I think it’s early for that,” she said.
Her tone reminded Brilliance of her sister Purity, but she appreciated the cautionary reminder to hold her tongue, for she was often apt to speak without thinking. If the others knew she was at all interested in Lord Hewitt, they would watch her every move. The most innocent of gestures might be misconstrued.
The other young lady, a pale brunette, Lady Georgiana had a somewhat wolfish grin in the flickering lamplight of the landing. And she seemed ready to discuss the male guests.
“I think Lady Twitchard did a grand job with the invitations. I see more than one man with a fine face and figure. Not to mention the latecomer, Lord Hewitt. I thought him to be well worth waiting for.”
