Page 12 of A Symphony for the Earl

Richard looked over in surprise, but his friend’s expression revealed nothing. He was about to question him, but Denys rose, straightening his cuffs.

“I’m off to the faro table. Are you good for a hand or two?”

“No, I’m headed for the sheets. I must be home for breakfast to greet my new ward and set some parameters before the termagant disrupts my life completely. If she proves too troublesome, I’ll send her to some young ladies’ academy.”

“For heaven’s sake, Richard,” Denys laughed. “She’s not Octavia’s age.”

“Enough on the subject. If we stop speaking of Miss Rafferty, I might shake this damnable headache.”

“Yes, Your Lordship.” Chuckling, Denys strolled toward the gaming rooms.

*

Fiona woke to a bright wash of light across her face. She squinted, turning her eyes from the sun pouring through open chintz curtains. She must have forgotten to draw them last night before stumbling into bed. Yawning, she burrowed deeper into the covers. Merrick House. She was in London, and she was much too exhausted to leave the comfort of bed.

Sometime later, she stirred again. The room was not so saturated by light, and she heard a light tapping at the door.

“Come in.”

A young woman clad in a simple black gown with a white apron and matching cap entered the chamber. She looked to be in her early twenties and carried an earthenware jug balanced on one hip.

“Beg pardon, miss, I’m Betty. I brought some water for your washstand.”

“Thank you very much.” The gilt clock on the dresser read ten o’ clock.

“There’s soap and towels underneath, miss, and powder if you want it.” Betty had no accent, but she looked Scottish or Irish with her bright-red hair and freckled skin.

“I was sent to see if you needed help this morning. I take care of Miss Valentina, and I can help you dress and do your hair, or whatever else you need.”

Fiona pushed back the tangled curls that fell across her shoulders and reached her waist. “I certainly will need some assistance. I was so tired last night that I didn’t bother to put my hair in a braid. A Diah, I must be a sight.”

“Oh no, miss, your hair is lovely. Black as a raven’s wing, it is.”

“That is very kind of you, Betty. Perhaps you’ll grant me a few minutes to collect my wits and freshen up, then return.”

“Yes, miss. Breakfast is usually early for His Lordship, but today he asked for a late table and mentioned you might be hungry as well. Lady Amelia’s custom is to have her maid bring breakfast upstairs, and Miss Valentina too, more often than not. Miss Octavia and her governess take meals in the schoolroom, except for dinner. May I take your travel outfit to the laundry? And if you lay out your dress for today, I’ll unpack the rest of your things while you’re downstairs.”

“That would be a great help.”

“Yes, miss. I’ll be back in no time.”

Fiona went to the row of windows at the front of her chamber and unlatched a thick glass panel to let the brisk air fill the room. Leaning out over the casement, she gazed down at the gardens below.

She was startled to see the Earl of Seldon enter the path and stride purposely toward the house. She heard the clop of hooves behind him and the shout of an ostler and realized that stables lay just beyond the garden.

A sound must have escaped her, for he looked up and their eyes met. She drew back, conscious of her brocade dressing gown and long curls falling over the sill. A warm wave of embarrassment rose to her face. Hastily, Fiona swung the window inward, snapping the lock downward. When she peeked through the glass a moment later, the earl was gone.

Wonderful. She crossed to the washstand and poured water into the basin, splashing her heated face. How embarrassing to be caught looking out of the window in her nightclothes and bare feet like some gawking country miss!

Betty would be back at any time and it would not do to dawdle. Opening her fingers wide, she stretched and flexed them several times, inspecting her hands. They felt stiff and slow to respond.

She bitterly regretted leaving Ireland before the conservatory’s spring recital. The invitation to play was an important honor and the result of a year’s tireless practice on the Mozart sonata she chose as her audition piece. No wonder she wasn’t herself—it had been weeks since she had an opportunity to play. Surely, there was a piano at Merrick House.

Fiona picked up the cloth and floral-scented soap. Her dream of escaping to America with its endless opportunities might never happen now. She longed for the freedom to perform any music she wanted and to give the same concerts as men. But women were expected to play parlor pieces on a pianoforte when the music she loved was bold and emotional. London would be no different.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Life has dealt you an unlucky hand, my girl—as her athair, Gerald Rafferty, often said. There was no choice but to play it out and hope the next was better.

Betty bustled in, followed by a younger girl. “Jen here will unpack while I help you dress. I’m told both Miss Valentina and the earl will be at breakfast.”