Page 79 of A Symphony for the Earl

She smiled up at him. “We will together, Richard.”

At midnight, buffet tables laden with everything from cold chicken and slices of beef to fresh fruit, pastries, and various cheeses stood in the back of the ballroom. Adjoining sideboards held glasses of wine, ratafia, punch, and lemonade. Lady Amelia had instructed her footmen to set out chairs and dining tables for the convenience of her guests.

Servants carried bottles of champagne from Merrick House’s fine cellars in preparation for the betrothal toast that would start dinner. The regent was in fine humor and presented the first glass to the future bride and groom with congratulations and a pretty speech for the future.

Richard had relented and allowed Octavia to stay longer. They made a charming picture on the dance floor and sipped a glass of lemonade with Lady Sally Jersey, a particular friend of the Merricks. It was well after one, and the festivities showed no signs of subsiding.

“Remember, my dear, never to apologize for your mistakes,” the most prominent of Almack’s patronesses advised. “Own them, and all of London will say you set fashions. And don’t hesitate to wear bright colors once you marry; they suit you admirably. Play the piano to your heart’s content, especially the pieces they say you should not. I have heard that you shine on a horse, Fiona, so ride at every opportunity with the tallest feathers in your hat that you can manage. You are very different from most of the ton, but embrace that difference. Do you drive?”

“No, but Richard has offered to teach me. Should I learn?”

“Most certainly. After all, you will have the best whip in London to instruct you.” Lady Jersey’s gray eyes grew misty with remembrance. “When I married Lord Jersey, I was but a girl from the country and petrified at the thought of fitting into society. If only I had a mentor back then, I wouldn’t have muddled through so badly.”

“Much more than muddled, I would say, Lady Sally,” she objected. “I appreciate any guidance you offer. I’ve no desire to embarrass Richard or his family.”

“There were speculations about your sudden engagement, but those have subsided. Lord Richard’s eyes follow you wherever you go, and he has never been one to wear his heart on his sleeve. I knew him well and thought he might never marry. His affections are so rarely engaged.”

“Well, from what I understand, he has certainly had his share of lovers,” Fiona said tartly. Seeing Mrs. Davenport at every social event they attended still piqued her.

Lady Jersey laughed. “Men do not have affaires with women they will marry.” She set down her glass. “Ah…here comes your affianced to fetch you. No doubt he fears my tongue will run away with me.”

As he approached, she opened her ivory fan, waving it idly.

“Well, Lady Jersey, have you been regaling Fiona with tales of my misspent youth?”

She snapped the fan closed, striking him smartly on his hand. “Nonsense. I am scarcely old enough to be aware of your youthful exploits. Besides, it is common knowledge that you sprang from the womb fully formed and utterly responsible.”

“Touché indeed.”

“I have been informing your betrothed that she must follow her heart and preserve that uniqueness which I so admire. Will you play for us tonight, Miss Rafferty? Everyone has been asking.”

Richard bowed. “That is why I must interrupt.”

Once on the dais, she sat and lifted the coverboard from the Broadwood, flexing her fingers and testing a few chords.

“I’ve decided to play Mozart’s Concerto 21 in C major.”

“Shall I fetch your music?”

She warmed up with a high and low glissade and several arpeggios. “There is no need. I know this by heart. It is a lovely piece.”

Guests filled the surrounding space. Once the murmuring and conversations quieted, her hands moved over the keys in the piece’s reflective and melodic opening. The audience sighed collectively. The concerto was one of her best recital pieces, and she would give an unforgettable rendition with Richard at her side.

The elegant, dream-like andante had just begun when a disturbance, sounding much like an argument of sorts, filtered in from the atrium. Fiona closed her eyes, attempting to block out the noise and concentrate on the flow of the music.

When the scuffle of feet, accompanied by raised voices intensified, Richard laid a hand on Fiona’s shoulder. “Pray continue,” he murmured, “I will deal with the disruption.”

The onlookers raised a low buzz of speculation and concern, craning their heads to see the altercation. But as Richard strode across the ballroom, Hansen met him halfway, his face dark as a thundercloud.

“My lord, this gentleman refuses—”

“Damn your hide, let me by! I may have no invitation, but you will let me enter, you hulking beast! Fiona! Fiona Kathleen, where are you?”

She froze, her fingers falling from the keys in sharp discord. The room seemed to whirl around her. Blindly, she stared as an older man of imposing height and athletic build pushed past Hansen. The gentleman’s tousled hair was long, falling well to his shoulders, and inky black with a touch of gray at the temples.

There was a roaring in her ears. “A-a-athair?” she croaked. The last thing she remembered before darkness swept in was Richard’s concerned voice in the distance.

Chapter Twenty-Eight