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Alexander gave him an odd look, but Jonas ignored it. He needed to change the subject. Immediately.

Chapter 15

Elizabeth wore the green muslin dress to supper that night. Lady Langton had insisted that she eat with her and the duchess before their musical evening together. Under normal circumstances, such an invitation would have given rise to all manner of anxiety as she faced the daunting array of silverware beside her plate and stumbled through correct dining etiquette and conversation. As it was, her concern over her performance at the table paled in comparison to her anxiety over her upcoming recital.

The dining room was just as elegant as the drawing room. Dark-green walls with gold velvet window treatments set the tone for the dark cherrywood dining table and chairs. A white linen tablecloth ran the length of the long table, and candles flickered in the candelabra closest to where the three women sat. Light reflected off the sparkling silver and crystal goblets and the brass buttons on the coats of the two footmen who brought in one sumptuous dish after another, replacing plates as quickly and quietly as they removed them.

By following her hostess in her choice of implement and contributing to the discussion only when called upon to do so, Elizabeth managed to navigate the entire meal without incident. She wished she could have more fully enjoyed each dish, but her sense of taste had deserted her. Indeed, had she been asked to recite what she had eaten, she would have been hard-pressed to remember the course preceding the one placed before her.

When the meal finally came to an end, Lady Langton took her daughter’s arm and led them back to the drawing room and the pianoforte awaiting them there. After making sure her mother was seated comfortably, the Duchess of Kelbrook took her place at the instrument and looked at Elizabeth expectantly. “What should you like to sing, Miss. Doyle?”

If “nothing” had been a choice, Elizabeth would have seized it. Instead, she moved to stand before the pianoforte, praying that the trembling in her fingers would not also be manifest in her voice. “I fear my repertoire is small,” she said. “A few hymns and ballads are all I have memorized. My mother taught me some nursery songs, but they are better suited for children, I think.”

The duchess smiled. “I think a ballad would be lovely.” She opened a book of music and set it on the pianoforte. “Are you familiar with ‘The Oak and the Ash’ or ‘Greensleeves’?”

“I know them both,” Elizabeth said with relief.

“Then shall we begin with ‘The Oak and the Ash’?”

Elizabeth nodded. This was the song she had sung to Reynard when she had tended his wounds. The duchess played a few opening notes. Elizabeth cleared her throat slightly and closed her eyes. If she imagined herself back in that dark little room with no one to hear her but Reynard, perhaps she could do this.

“A North Country maid up to London had strayed . . .” she began. In her mind’s eye, she saw Reynard sitting on the small cot. This time, he was not in pain; he was smiling at her—at the song’s nonsensical lyrics. She wanted to smile in return, but instead, she continued to sing, and as she did, her nervousness melted away.

When the last note sounded, Elizabeth opened her eyes. Across the room, Lady Langton was staring at her with incredulity. Seized with alarm that she had done something wrong, she turned to the duchess. She too was looking at Elizabeth with something akin to wonder.

“Was it . . . ?” Elizabeth swallowed hard. “I hope I did not—”

“Oh, my dear Miss Doyle.” Lady Langton’s enthusiastic clapping broke the terrifying silence. “That was magnificent. Truly magnificent.”

The duchess smiled warmly. “A voice so beautiful should not be silent after only one song, Miss Doyle.” She turned the page in her music book. “‘Greensleeves’ next, I think.”

The Duchess of Kelbrook played an introduction, and Lady Langton leaned back in her chair, her eyes aglow with anticipation. Dazed by their uplifting response, Elizabeth clasped her hands together, waited for the opening chord, and began to sing once more.

The evening passed in a blur. Lady Langton requested one song after another, and by the time the duchess called an end to Elizabeth’s performance, Elizabeth’s throat was aching and her heart was full.

“Thank you, Miss Doyle,” Lady Langton said as the duchess rose from the pianoforte and moved across the room to sit beside her mother. “I have rarely enjoyed an evening so well.”

Elizabeth smiled. Somehow, in the everyday rigors of life at the inn, she’d forgotten the joy music could bring. “It is I who should be thanking you for helping me to rediscover my love for those melodies.”

“I think it safe to say it will not easily be lost again,” the duchess said. “From now on, you will receive all too frequent requests to sing—from Mother, from the Viscount Langton when he returns, and then from guests who come to stay.”

“The viscount and other guests?”

Elizabeth’s sudden disquiet must have sounded in her voice because Lady Langton’s expression immediately softened. “All in good time, my dear,” she said. “And only when you are ready.”

“Thank you, my lady.”

“Of course.” She smiled again. “And in the meantime, I am anxious to learn how the Langton birds sing. Cook has promised me a bowl of crumbs tomorrow morning. If you are willing, I thought perhaps we would take it to the rose garden together.”

Any lingering anxiety brought on by the duchess’s assertion receded. “I should like that very much, my lady.”

“Excellent,” Lady Langton said, rising to her feet. Elizabeth and the duchess immediately followed suit. “Until tomorrow, Miss Doyle.”

***

The bowl of crumbs was empty, and Elizabeth was not sure who was happier—the birds who had feasted on every last morsel or Lady Langton, who could now recognize the collared dove, robin, and goldfinch by their songs. A robin trilled and flew onto the top of a nearby rosebush.

“You are out of luck, Master Robin,” Lady Langton said. “There is no more. But when I come tomorrow, I shall bring a bigger bowl.”