Anne Barbour (33 page)

Melody scarcely noticed the passage of time. She was aware only of Josh’s long, sensitive fingers on the keys and her own response to the sound he created. The music seemed to flow from her effortlessly, almost without thought.

How very odd, she thought. She and the earl had quarreled. The words she had hurled at him had been born of a genuine concern, but it was not surprising that she had angered him. Yet, he had valued her sentiment and had taken her intemperate speech to heart. How long had it been since anyone actually valued her opinion?

Why, it was almost as though he considered her a friend. The thought warmed her. She had few friends—the vicar and his wife, the daughter of a nearby squire, a couple of former school friends in London. With none of these, however, did she feel the odd and wholly unexpected sense of connection she experienced with the earl. She uttered a small sigh of contentment, contemplating the void in her life that now seemed filled.

Melody sang on, her heart so full she could hardly bring out the words. As the song drew to a close, she turned to Josh.

“I think that about finishes me for the evening,” she said with a laugh. “Perhaps—that is—you have said you are out of practice, but could you favor us with a solo selection?”

She returned to her chair, leaving Josh seated at the piano, a thoughtful frown on his face. A moment later, he lifted his hands and brought them down in a simple but achingly beautiful melody. Melody listened, enraptured. It was obvious that Josh had not exaggerated when he spoke of his artistic skill, for he possessed the rare gift of drawing not just notes from the great instrument, but seemingly the very soul of the music itself. Even Lady Sandborne and Mary ceased their conversation to listen.

“Oh!” breathed Melody when he had finished. “That was magnificent. But—I think I have heard that piece before.” She lifted her brows questioningly.

“It was written by Herr Ludwig van Beethoven. It is his Sonata Number Two in C Sharp Minor, the first movement. Some call it ‘The Moonlight Sonata.’ It is not technically difficult, but is exquisitely crafted—as you say, a magnificent piece of music.”

Lady Sandborne crowed her delight. “I had no idea you were so talented, Josh. You must play the organ at the church. It would be a refreshing treat from poor Miss Verney’s efforts. Perhaps a special presentation at the offertory on Christmas Day.”

Thus, Josh entered another phase of his tenure at the Court. He continued his sessions with Mr. Brickley, absorbing with gratitude the older man’s intelligence and expertise and his dedication to the Weston family. He found himself growing more interested every day in the management of the estate, and learned, almost without conscious effort, the price of wool, the best markets for the other fruits of the estate, and the needs and desires of his tenants. He learned who among these could be relied upon to produce an honest day’s work for a fair wage, and who must be prodded into effort. He discovered a great enjoyment in visiting the cottages to assure himself that all was in good order.

He plunged into county activities. The hunt was nearly over for the year, but he took part in one or two outings among good-natured raillery on his ignorance of proper protocol. The snickers turned to cries of admiration, however, when, on shooting expeditions, he unfailingly hit his mark.

Most of all, however, he relished the hours spent in the music room. His former proficiency returned to him with surprising speed, and he engaged frequently in duets with Melody on the harp. He even began lessons with her on the piano and was delighted by the aptitude she displayed almost immediately.

Meanwhile, preparations continued apace for Christmas. From the beginning of December onward, guests arrived almost on a daily basis at the Court’s great front doors. Relatives, close and distant, poured in from all points of the compass. Surrounded by an ever-widening galaxy of cousins, aunts, nephews, and nieces, Josh gave vent to his bewilderment one afternoon as he sat at the piano with Melody.

“I have twice confused cousin George with cousin Harold,” he complained, his fingers wandering aimlessly over the keys. “And, I have recently paired each of them with females other than their wives. I cannot remember if Aunt Letitia Weston is a member of the Wiltshire or the Sussex branch of the family, nor can I ever remember Uncle Septimus’s last name, except that it is not Weston, since he is, apparently not a blood relation.”

Melody laughed. “I suppose it must be difficult for you, acquiring an instantaneous—to say nothing of multitudinous—family.”

“Oh, but—” Josh began, ready to dispute her. He realized suddenly that he could not. How could he explain to her that, though the people streaming into the manor house were related to him, he could not possibly consider them family?

Family, to him, meant what the members of his Uncle Eli’s flock had shared—at least all of them but him. Bonds of affection and tradition forged over generations—a fierce loyalty to one another and an abiding interest in each other’s welfare. Though he was now the head of his own household, he was coldly aware that he and his newfound relatives felt nothing for each other beyond a mild interest. And that was how he preferred it. He certainly did not wish for any encumbrance in his life.

He considered that he had done his duty as the Earl of Sandborne. He had surveyed his little realm and found it good. His lands were in good stead, and those who worked it were well cared for. When the members of his extended family made their departure from the old homestead after Christmas, the earl would be at the head of the pack. After a brief tour of his other estates in various parts of England, he would be off on the first available ship from Bristol.

He would return for the occasional visit, of course, but his home was in America, and his life as well. He must remember that, he concluded, wondering why this plan, so eminently reasonable in its conception, seemed to be losing some of its luster of late.

“No, no,” he said to Melody, shaking off his reflections. “You must lift your fingers higher during this passage. Every note must sound clear and crisp.”

He gazed fondly on her as she bent earnestly to her task. She was flushed with her endeavors and her lovely hair had almost completely escaped the confines of her cap, with curls drifting in an enticing manner about her cheeks. Her magnificent eyes were narrowed in concentration. He knew an unwelcome urge to place his lips just there, at her temple, where a faint pulse beat beneath a satiny feather of hair.

Good Lord! he thought, startled. Where had that thought come from? Melody was his aunt’s companion, a confirmed spinster—and his friend. Of course, he realized with a painful twinge. That was what had been bothering him. He would miss Melody when he returned to America. He would miss her laughter and her wit and her songs. Most of all, he would miss their long, late-night chats after Lady Sandborne had retired.

He jumped as Melody’s fingers splayed over the keys in a discordant jangle.

“Drat!” she exclaimed. “I shall never get through this passage without blundering. I fail to understand,” she continued indignantly, “why composers can’t simply write everything in the key of C. Why must they make us struggle with all these sharps and flats? In addition, why can’t they realize that not all pianists are men? Look at this chord! I cannot possibly make my hand stretch to cover it.” She turned to face her mentor, blowing a wisp of hair from her eyes.

Smothering a chuckle, Josh lifted one of her hands in his.

“To be sure, composers are an inconsiderate lot. However, I think if you strive for more flexibility in your wrists, you will experience less difficulty with those unruly sharps and flats, and perhaps we will allow you to turn this particularly menacing chord into an arpeggio.”

Turning, Melody repeated the passage, this time without error, dispatching the last chord in a ripple of notes. She lifted her hands with a flourish.

“Brava!” cried Josh, planting a noisy kiss on her cheek just as Lady Sandborne put her head in the door.

The countess said nothing, but halted abruptly, watching unseen as the two erupted in laughter. Josh removed the piece of music from the piano, replaced it with another, and began a prosaic series of instructions to his pupil. Slowly, Lady Sandborne backed from the room. Closing the door behind her, she pursed her lips thoughtfully, her eyes narrowing in speculation. She remained in this pose for several moments before she at last opened the door once more, this time rattling the handle briskly.

“Melody, dear,” she said in a clear voice. “There you are. I do apologize for interrupting your lesson, but I need your help.”

Melody jumped from the piano stool at once. “Of course, my lady. Goodness, it is almost eleven o’clock! I am so sorry. I did not realize I had been away from you for so long. Do you wish to continue with the correspondence we started yesterday?”

“Yes. I owe letters to half the persons of my acquaintance, and I really must take care of it now before I all but sink out of sight beneath the Christmas muddle. How are the lessons coming?” she asked, as Melody moved toward her.

“Famously,” replied Josh with a laugh. “She has begun—” But Aunt Helen had already turned away, her interest dissipated. His eyes narrowed. It occurred to him that he must have a long talk with his aunt before he left, on the subject of Miss Melody Fairfax. To be sure, Melody was not mistreated, but her ladyship must be apprised of Melody’s importance to him as a valued friend and the necessity of according her more respect in the household. Aunt Helen, as well as Mary and Arthur, must be made aware of the importance of treating her as one of the family. They must cherish her and make her realize her worth.

He returned to the piano and launched into a rather melancholy Bach fugue.

VII

For Melody, it seemed as though the Christmas season had never before contained so much sparkle and anticipation. As the house filled with the chatter of the gathering Westons, her duties increased. She found herself heavily occupied with countless demands on her time, from assuring that Great-aunt Horatia’s breakfast tea was served at just the right temperature to finding suitable occupations for the numerous Weston progeny now inhabiting the nursery floor. Still, she found time to assist in decorating the house. Luxuriant boughs of pine, holly, and mistletoe were hung in every room, bound with garlands of gaily colored ribbon. The scent of holiday potpourri issued from strategically placed bowls all over the house.

In her room, she crafted gifts for the family, a pair of slippers for Lady Sandborne, a set of pen wipers for Arthur, and an embroidered reticule for Mary. After some thought, she had sent to a friend in London for a set of piano variations of Josh’s favorite, Herr van Beethoven, published just last year. They now reposed in the bottom drawer of her dressing table and she spent an inordinate amount of time picturing the pleasure on his face when she presented him with her gift.

She realized she was becoming entirely too fond of the earl. At first, she had simply enjoyed the fact that she had found a friend, but of late she was forced to admit that her feelings for him were growing far beyond friendship. She relished his companionship, but it was not, she realized guiltily, only his wit and Intelligence and kindness that she cherished. She reveled in the warmth of his laughter and loved to watch the firelight reflected on the planes of his face as they lingered in conversation late at night. She was fascinated by the strength of his fingers on the keyboard and in the performance of such mundane tasks as slicing a piece of fruit or mending a pen nub.

She was being unpardonably foolish, yet she could not deny herself his company. It seemed that her whole day centered around the moments spent with him at mealtimes or in the music room.

The full extent of her folly was brought to her with unpleasant abruptness one evening at dinner. The Christmas ball was now less than a week away and the house had become as full as it could hold. The state dining chamber had been opened and every place around the massive table was filled with guests. Melody, seated as usual near the foot of the table where Lady Sandborne reigned, had been addressing herself to the gentleman on her right, cousin Harold Weston. If the truth were told, she was not properly attending to the conversation, which consisted of a rather ponderous monologue on soil conditions in Northumberland. Lady Sandborne’s voice caught her attention.

“Yes, of course, Charlotte Ponsonby is a very good sort of girl, but I hardly think her a suitable match for Josh. Maribelle Grant, however, would be perfect.”

Netta Weston Graham, Countess of Mayfield, seated at Lady Sandborne’s right, nodded sagely. Melody gasped. It was as though a chill wind had blown through the dining room, dimming the candlelight and settling just below her rib cage. She listened as the conversation swirled around her. She was unacquainted with anyone named Charlotte Ponsonby, but Maribelle Grant was the daughter of a viscount living within two days’ ride of the Court. She and her family were fairly frequent visitors, and they had accepted with alacrity Lady Sandborne’s invitation to the Christmas ball.

Had the countess been pursuing her own agenda in inviting the viscount’s family? Melody knew a moment of self-chastisement, realizing with appalling clarity that she should have expected something like this. Good Lord, she knew full well that one of Josh’s first priorities as the new Earl of Sandborne must be to seek out a worthy bride. The succession must be secured, after all.

Now that this critical circumstance had been brought home to her, Melody’s brain whirled in a dismal fog of speculation. Josh had said nothing to her of being on the hunt for a wife, but perhaps he felt that his marital plans were none of her business. Which, of course, they were not.

But, what would his marriage mean to her? To the precious rapport that had grown between them? In all likelihood he would forget her very existence once he married. It would be his new wife with whom he would share his music. Would he give her piano lessons as well?