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“Quite by accident. Mama took me to the museum, and we happened upon Viscount Caldwell.”
George knew Thomas quite well, for the gentleman was a frequent visitor to Aphrodite, and he even considered him a friend. Unfortunately, Thomas was also the damned fool who had recently fought a duel with the husband of his married lover.
George suppressed a groan and the powerful urge to seek out Caldwell and warn him away from his sister. He loved her dearly, and the thought of some careless gentleman trifling with her affections was enough to stir every protective instinct he possessed. When she eventually married, he wanted her husband to be a man who would worship the very ground she walked upon, cherish her happiness above his own, and never give her cause to question his devotion. Society was forever extolling the virtues of love matches, and though George had always regarded such unions with a healthy measure of skepticism, he wanted nothing less for his sister. She deserved a man who would adore her with his whole heart, and George would be damned if he stood idly by while some unworthy fellow made sport of hers.
With any luck, Jane would forget the man long before she made her debut in society. They entered the music room together, the late morning light spilling through the tall windows and glinting off the polished surface of the pianoforte. George took his place beside Jane on the bench, close enough that her shoulder brushed his sleeve as she settled herself with unmistakable purpose.
“You can never go wrong with flowers,” Jane announced sagely. “And poetry. Particularly poetry you have written yourself.” She cast him a cheeky grin. “Ladies ardently admire gentlemen who understand verse. It suggests sensitivity. Depth of feeling.”
George snorted softly. “You are insufferable.”
“And correct,” she replied without hesitation.
He ignored her triumphant smile and placed his hands upon the keys. The first notes filled the room, sure and fluid, and Jane followed with ease, her earlier struggles all but forgotten as the music carried them both. They played for a long while, losing themselves in the rhythm and harmony until the world narrowed to melody and shared instinct.
“George?”
He glanced up from the pianoforte to find his mother standing in the doorway, her expression warm but faintly contemplative.
“Have you come to play with us?”
She laughed lightly. “Not quite.” Her gaze moved to Jane. “My dear, allow me a private moment with your brother.”
His sister glanced between them, a mischievous smile spreading across her face. “Oh, I know! This is about Miss Maubry, is it not? May I stay?”
“No, my dear. This is no concern of yours,” their mother replied, though the amusement in her voice rather undermined her sternness.
Jane rose, leaned down to kiss George’s cheek, and whispered, “Do tell me everything afterward.”
“Go away, you little nuisance,” he murmured affectionately. “And find yourself a copy of Pride and Prejudice. Perhaps Miss Austen’s Mr. Darcy will provide you with sufficient romantic intrigue to keep you from meddling in mine.”
She laughed and departed. His mother approached the pianoforte and settled beside him. For a moment, she said nothing, merely resting her fingers upon the ivory keys and playing a few gentle notes. George watched her with quiet affection. It had been years since she had played with any regularity, though he could still remember sitting beside her as a boy, fascinated by the beautiful sounds she coaxed from the instrument. His father had considered music a pleasant accomplishment but hardly a pursuit worthy of serious devotion. His mother, however, recognized how deeply George loved it and insisted on securing the finest instructors for him.
“You used to play for me every evening,” he said.
“And you were a most demanding audience. I could scarcely finish one piece before you insisted upon another.” She smiled at the memory, then withdrew her hands from the keys and turned upon the bench to face him.
George recognized that particular expression. “Now, what have I done?”
“Must you always assume I have come to reprimand you?”
“Only when you look at me in precisely that fashion.”
His mother gave a soft huff of amusement before her expression grew thoughtful.
“You know how greatly your father dislikes gossip, George. Indeed, he has always taken considerable pride in the fact that our family has never been embroiled in any scandal of consequence.”
“An admirable accomplishment,” George murmured.
“Despite the occasional whispers concerning your reputation as a libertine.”
He chuckled. “Mother, are you about to inquire into my congresses with the fairer sex?”
“George!” She scowled and delivered a light slap to his arm, which only deepened his amusement. “Must you be so provoking?”
“I find it a most agreeable occupation.”
“Well, you may spare me the particulars of your wickedness, thank you very much.” Her lips twitched before she continued. “Your father and I have always appreciated that, whatever liberties you may take in your private affairs, you have conducted yourself with sufficient discretion to spare this family public scandal and scrutiny.”
