Of lotions and potions to make aches go away!
But if you take the wrong one
Or perhaps a too strong one
You might wake up next to a tiger one day!
Delighted shouts of laughter and applause erupted.
“COR!” Mr. Delacorte smacked the table over and over delightedly. Each time he did, the duke twitched. “I’ve never been a song before!” He was dazzled.
Mariana performed whimsical shallow curtsies to the room at large.
“We could write even more verses one day! Just likeThe Ballad of Colin Eversea! The story of Stanton Delacorte.”
Everyone beamed at her. What a pleasure it was to be beamed upon approvingly, and how perverse it was that she craved one particular smile in the room and she wasn’t going to get it.
The duke hadn’t even lowered his newspaper.
“Your voice is so pretty Miss Wylde,” Dot said shyly.
“You’re very kind, Dot,” Mariana said. “Thank you. I feel as though I’m simply fortunate.”
“Would that the rest of us were fortunate.” The duke scarcely spoke above a murmur, but she heard him as surely as if he were right next to her ear.
“But it’s what I do for a living,” Mariana added. “I should be pleased if everyone else would take a turn. I should like to be entertained, too! Mrs. Hardy, do you play?”
Delilah hesitated. “Yes... I’ve no gift, mind...”
Everyone good-naturedly protested.
She laughed. “Very well! I’d be delighted. Angelique, will you join me in this?” Delilah stood.
“Oh, why not!” Angelique agreed cheerfully.
They murmured together over the pianoforte, deciding upon a tune.
And then Angelique began to play.
“Oh, Ilove‘Black-eyed Susan,’” Mariana sighed.
Delilah and Angelique did lovely justice to the long and aching song of a sailor and his woman saying goodbye to each other.
Oh Susan, Susan, lovely dear,
My heart shall ever true remain.
Let me kiss off that falling tear,
We only part to meet again.
Change as you list she wins, my heart shall be
A faithful compass that still points to thee.
And while Angelique and Delilah made eyes misty all over the room with their rendition, and even the duke seemed rather still, Mariana used the cover of John Gay’s many, many verses to compose in her head another little tune. The lyrics, born of pure simmering anger and raw inspiration and wicked, wicked, desperate mischief came to her so swiftly, so wholly, surely the angels must have been on her side. Or perhaps it was devils. At this point she thought she’d take any help she could get.
She applauded happily along with everyone else when Delilah and Angelique brought the song to an end, and waited a respectful moment.
