Mary Blayney - [Pennistan 03] (14 page)

T
HE MASTER OF CEREMONIES’
announcement that Elena Verano would sing drew a round of delighted oohs and ahhs.

When Elena Verano traded places with the master of ceremonies, she curtsied to the Regent and then to both tables. Meryon nodded as though the curtsy were aimed at him alone.

As she had the other night at the Harbisons’, she waited, letting her eyes search the crowd, without lingering on any familiar face. Her glance invited them to forget trial and tribulation, lie and deception, fear and failure, and live in this moment of music. Meryon returned her smile when her gaze met his so briefly.

She looked even more beautiful tonight. The deep green of her gown set off her fresh pink cheeks. She wore her dark hair up, as she had the first time he saw her.

Signora Verano could not possibly sing as perfectly as she had the other night, even if she had lessons from the great Signor Ponto every day. Meryon tried to relax and then realized that he was nervous for her.

In a show of perfect timing, the very moment before the crowd grew restless, Signora Verano began. She sang
a capella
, a song he recognized as a traditional ballad. He had expected something Italian or operatic at least, but this was neither. She sang of love used, abused, and casually tossed away. His heart sank. This had nothing of the power he had heard before.

She sang the song with humor and the crowd was amused if not impressed.

Her expression as much as her voice invited the audience to share her disdain for anyone who did not understand that love toyed with us, especially when we tried to toy with it.

She finished. Polite applause did little to distract the audience from the abrupt departure of the Duke of Bendas. His muttering was unintelligible and the constant hushing sounds from his escort only made him louder. “Stupid song. Badly sung. Let me out before she gives me a headache.”

Meryon clenched his fist and wanted to use it to pummel the useless fool.

“I want to beat up that fool duke. He should at least wait until she does another song.” The marchioness rose a little and Meryon was afraid that she really was going to confront him.

“I feel exactly as you do, my lady, but surely the Signora has experienced harsher critics.”

“Yes, it is the fate of all who perform,” the marchioness agreed.

Signora Verano showed them all how to handle a difficult audience. She curtsied to the old man. When he had left the room she began her second song without showing the slightest upset at his caustic comments.

Meryon straightened as the first notes filled the room. Why had she started with the other when this song matched her voice so perfectly? He loved music but was embarrassingly unfamiliar with composers and such details, yet he knew enough to recognize she was singing it brilliantly.

If the song the night before had been filled with euphoria, this one promised passion. In the softest of voices that still managed to reach to the corners of the room, she whispered of a hope for love offered and shared. It did not so much touch the heart as tell them that love had touched hers.

She repeated the words, her voice no longer a whisper. The longing for love so clear, it hurt to watch her beg.

Again, she sang the same words with even greater heart, so that the offering and the wanting became a desperate need.

She finished with a soaring finale that was a passionate demand. The song ended with an abruptness that left the audience on the top of a peak with no way to climb down. Meryon wanted her more than he had ever wanted anything before.

Signora Verano accepted the cheers and shouts of “Brava!” graciously, and before the crowd was quite
finished with their applause she sang her last song, an agreeable, humorous series of words that might well have meant nothing but sounded so euphonious there was no doubt they belonged together.

Singing with a speed and assurance that was staggering, she finished with a little chirrup as though one last word must escape her lips. Laughter mixed with applause as she walked the length of the tables to curtsy deeply to the Regent, who was standing and clapping wildly.

Meryon stood as the others did, feeling a totally misplaced pride in her performance. When the clapping faded the prince raised his glass of brandy. “To Signora Elena Verano. The lady who has warmed our cold English spring with a voice that calls the flowers to life.”

Elena smiled and curtsied again, turning to face the rest of her audience as they chorused “Hear! Hear!” Her charming expression asked,
“What can one do in the face of such extravagant praise?”

“Signora,” the prince called out, “join us for the dancing. As a matter of fact we will count on you to demonstrate the way Italians dance the waltz. Straemore, you and your wife have been to France recently, please join the Signora on the dance floor and I must find someone to partner her.”

The marchioness all but danced over to the Regent and whispered something to him.

“Of course, my lady!” The prince took her hand and kissed it with enthusiasm. “Meryon, the marchioness tells me that you are an exceptional dancer. Partner the Signora and show us how it is done.” He took another long drink
of brandy, which was undoubtedly the fuel for his creativity, and named four other couples to join the rest on the floor.

Meryon set his glass down and wondered what devilment was afoot that would bring the two of them together again, this time in a place as public as their first two meetings were private.

E
LENA SMILED, THOUGH
what she really wanted was to run from the room. Her father’s reaction had unnerved her and though she had known that seeing Meryon again was inevitable, it only added to her uncertainty, especially when she was sure that the duke wanted to dance the waltz with her as much as he wanted marzipan for breakfast. With William’s warning racing through her head, she would now think twice about every gesture he made. And the handkerchief. What must he think of that?

Meryon came to her without demur. If she ever needed proof that he was a gentleman then this was the incident she would cite. He bowed and offered his hand with as much civility as he had promised, as if they had never met, kissed, argued. It helped steady her some.

“While I was in France last year,” he said, sounding like a tutor preparing a student for a lesson, “I observed that the French dance the waltz with more intimacy than the English. I imagine the Italians do as well.”

Elena curtsied and rose. “Yes, but I have only danced it once or twice, and only with my husband.”

“It will remind you of him.” He spoke with some
certainty and before she could answer he added, “I apologize for the prince’s thoughtlessness.”

“Oh no, not at all, Your Grace.” Dancing was the least of the memories she treasured. “It is only that I am not very experienced.”

He smiled a little and Elena wished she had chosen a different word.

“The prince is busy with his matchmaking.” The duke glanced toward the head table. “I think it will be a few minutes before we begin.”

She followed his gaze and saw one of the royals arguing with his brother over whom he should partner.

“Your Grace,” she began and then the words came tumbling out, “my ward, Mia Castellano, the girl who was with me today—she borrowed my handkerchief and then left it in your coach. Her governess has been filling her head with all sorts of nonsense about how to attract a gentleman. I apologize for her behavior. She is young and inclined to romantic fancies.”
Stop, Elena
, she commanded herself.
Stop babbling
.

“Your handkerchief.” Meryon looked intrigued but sounded as though he knew nothing about the item. “In my coach. If I find it I’ll be sure to send it back.”

“You did not find it?” Elena closed her eyes, mortified. Now he would think she was a fool.

“No, not that I know of,” he said slowly, “but I will have the groom look for it.”

“Thank you.” And then the words tumbled out again. “As embarrassing as it is to explain something like that, I am relieved that you did not find it. I would never want
you to think I would resort to such trickery to claim your attention.”
There
, she thought,
please let that be the end of it
.

“No such trickery is necessary.” He stopped her heart with his smile. “Some generous angel has given me a second chance, Signora Verano.” He bowed to her a little. “I would very much like to know how you
would
signal interest in a gentleman’s attentions.”

“I want no one’s attentions, Your Grace.”
Especially yours
.

“Now, you see, I cannot tell if that is an honest protestation or flirting.”

“I hate flirting.” She did not raise her voice, but the effort to keep her voice down made her words sound more fervent than she intended. At least no one was paying any attention to them. They were all watching the bickering at the prince’s table.

“I rather like flirting,” he countered. “I think of it as an invitation designed to protect one’s own interests.”

“I hate it,” she insisted, sounding to her own ears like a child refusing a treat. She wanted more than anything to leave the room. Which
would
attract attention.

“As long as you do not hate me, signora.”

Oh
, she thought,
this is awful
. He did not realize that he was flirting with his worst enemy’s daughter. “You are being quite unfair, Your Grace. I find this an unpleasant conversation but I cannot leave the floor without causing gossip.”

“My apologies, Signora Verano.” Surprise replaced his teasing tone. Surprise and a small glint of bafflement at her distress.

And I still have to dance with him
.

“I only wanted to—” The duke stopped, regained his usual air of command, and went on. “I will change the subject and tell you how impressed I was with the way you responded to the Duke of Bendas’s rudeness, over something as simple as your choice of song.”

“Oh please, don’t,” she whispered. That awful moment. She should never have chosen that song. It was an arrogant gesture and Bendas had paid her back. She could feel tears well.

“Signora?” He spoke as though she was about to faint. “I am sorry.”

Elena heard the shock in his voice even though he whispered the apology. “I never meant to upset you. Please, I can tolerate tears but not when I cause them. You handled him so well I thought his behavior did not matter to you. Here, take this.”

He handed her a handkerchief, her handkerchief.

“You did find it.” She grabbed it from him, her need to cry evaporating.

“Yes.” His embarrassment was rueful. “I thought I would keep it as a souvenir of a beautiful woman whom I wished to know better, but I think you need the distraction more than I need the memento.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” She tucked the handkerchief away, wondering if he was telling the truth. He wanted to keep her handkerchief. It had the ring of one of Mia’s novels, but charmed her nonetheless.

The silence between them lengthened until the duke whispered, “I will say nothing else. It is as my brother-in-law warned me earlier. When dealing with a beautiful
woman I will have to apologize more often than is good for my pride.”

She smiled at the absurdity of a duke with wounded pride.

“But Garrett assures me that every apology is worth the effort, for my interest in you is a sign that I am done with grief and a man fully alive once again.”

He waited. Yes, he was fully alive and seemed to have the same effect on every inch of her body even if her mind insisted it was a mistake. “It is not wise for me to be interested in you.” She took a small step back to add action to her words.

He laughed loud enough to attract the interest of the people closest to them. “Of course it is unwise. Surely, Lord William has warned you against me. There is no love lost between me and his grandfather.”

Aware that a few of the party watched them she tried to smile when she answered. “If I say he has mentioned your, uhm, ‘thirst for justice’ was how Lord William phrased it, then you will think that all we do is gossip about you.” Her smile grew more genuine at his pleased expression though she had no idea why he should be happy about that comment. “If I say, ‘No, we have not talked about the issue,’ I would be telling a lie.”

“I am relieved to know that the viscount sees it as a fight for justice. I will leave it at that. But it verifies that the respect I have for Lord William is well placed.”

In spite of his name being Bendasbrook
, Elena thought.

The duke went on without a breath. “Miss Castellano’s English has certainly benefited from her language lessons with Lord William.”

Was he suggesting that they were practicing something other than language? She worried about that every time the two of them were together.

“His Italian has as well.”

“They are two very passionate people.” He spoke as though he knew what he was talking about. “And you know as well as I do that passion can overwhelm wisdom in a heartbeat.”

“Then passion is a kind of insanity we should both avoid.”

“Oh, but my dear lady, it is not always a choice.”

His grin beguiled her and as the orchestra finally struck a chord she closed her eyes, reminding herself that she did have a choice.

“I am dancing with you because the Regent suggested it,” Elena said as she put her left hand on Meryon’s shoulder, as his left hand lightly touched her waist. He wore gloves so she could feel strength, but not anything more personal. It was quite enough.

“And I thought that you never told a lie,” he said as she put her right hand in his left.

They stood as far apart as their arms would allow and looked each other in the eyes as the music began. His smile made up for the distance that separated them.

The violins played an introduction and when the orchestra joined in Meryon led her into the first steps. He was so assured, so at ease on the dance floor that she relaxed, felt as one with him dancing as she would in an embrace. In less than a minute she surrendered her worries, closed her eyes, and let the moment be the sum of her world. It was a little bit of paradise.