Page 54 of A Symphony for the Earl

“Richard will join us later. And as for his horses, you know I am hopelessly ignorant about that aspect of my son’s life, Mr. Burrell. I can only hope he shows more restraint than his poor father.”

“Your Creighton was a superb rider, Lady Amelia. By God, to see him run with the hounds was something. If only Lord Rayburn had not dared him to take that stone wall…it had to be five feet, at least.”

“No more such talk, Peter. You know it saddens Lady Amelia,” his wife interrupted. “Miss Rafferty, I have you last on the program, with five artists to perform before you.”

“Of course, Mrs. Drummond-Burrell. It’s my pleasure to play for you and your guests. Thank you so much for asking me.”

“Have you someone to turn pages for you, dear?” Mrs. Drummond-Burrell asked, as Mr. Burrell drifted off to greet newcomers at the door.

“I see Denys Spencer,” Valentina offered. “He is speaking with Miss Winston and her mother over by the fireplace. Surely, he’ll oblige. I would turn the music, Fiona, but it is more fitting for a gentleman to attend you.”

“Excellent. I shall find your mother some seats. We start at seven thirty.”

Fiona wandered with Valentina into the huge drawing room. An impressive piano graced one corner, surrounded by chairs, and she assumed this would be the setting for her performance. Portraits and gilt-framed landscapes hung on the walls, with scattered furnishings throughout the room. Denys Spencer sat on a rose-striped settee next to a pretty, walnut-haired young lady and her overdressed mother.

“Annalise Winston and her designing mama have had their sights on Denys this Season. I vow the girl squints,” Valentina whispered.

Fiona looked closer, but she could detect no flaw in the fair Miss Winston. She scanned the room, hoping to see Sir William. He stood in a far corner, conversing with a florid man in naval uniform. She wondered if he had suffered any repercussions from her ill-advised behavior on their ride.

When they approached, Denys took leave of Miss Winston and her mama to greet them. “May I say you both put the rest of the room to shame?”

“Even Miss Winston?” Valentina asked archly. A slight tinge of color appeared on Denys’s cheeks. “Will you turn pages for Fiona, Denys?” Valentina asked. “I can’t imagine what has become of Richard.”

“Of course.” Denys smiled warmly.

Fiona managed to catch Sir William’s eye, and he crossed the room toward them.

“Miss Rafferty, I hear you are to play for us tonight. Good evening, Miss Merrick, Mr. Spencer.”

Denys inclined his head politely, but his expression was cool. “Good evening, Sir William. I see you have come to support Miss Rafferty’s performance.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Miss Merrick, I hope you’re recovered from your indisposition?”

Valentina tapped his arm with mock reproach. “You, Sir William, are not in my good graces. Riding alone into Hyde Park with Fiona was really too bad of you.”

“Fiona was entirely to blame,” William assured her.

“You wretch,” Fiona choked.

“Since I know my friend well, I’ll allow that there wasn’t much you could do,” Valentina conceded.

A bell chimed, and the guests moved to their chairs.

“Oh, we’re starting. Where is Richard?” Valentina fretted.

Denys offered his arm. “Come, let me take you to Lady Amelia. I promise when it’s Fiona’s turn to play, I’ll assist her.”

Sir William escorted Fiona. “Are you nervous?” he whispered.

“Heavens, yes. And there are five to perform before me.”

“I would be worried if you were calm. A bit of nerves will enhance your performance. Good luck.”

The first performance began as Fiona opened up her program. She glanced at her name near the bottom of the page, Miss Fiona Rafferty, piano, barely hearing the first vocalist, a young lady whose strong alto faded in and out of key. Fiona concentrated on her pieces, visualizing the notes and the placement of her fingers.

Next, Miss Gunstead played her Schubert violin sonata quite well, and after her, an older woman sat down at the piano to play some charming folk songs. She was followed by two singers—first, a soprano with a lovely, somewhat thin tone and good range; and then a handsome blond gentleman with a fine baritone. In her estimation, the best pieces were the soprano’s delicate rendition of Handel’s Ombre Mai Fu and his stirring Toreador Song.

As the baritone finished to enthusiastic applause, Fiona removed her elbow-length gloves, flexing and stretching her fingers. She stood, waiting for Mrs. Drummond-Burrell to introduce her, and was dismayed to find her legs trembling.