Passion's Song (A Georgian Historical Romance) (35 page)

“
Then, my man, you’d best be on
your way,” Alexander said calmly. When the physic had removed all
traces of what had just transpired, the three remaining men got
back into the carriage and waited.

At half past six, another carriage arrived at
Pickering Place.

“
Duke,” Alexander said grimly to
the last of the three men who alighted from the carriage. “My Lord
Fistersham.” He nodded to the duke’s second, then briefly to the
physic.

“
Are you sure, Hartforde, you
agree to pistols?” Mallentrye laughed.

“
I assure you, Your Grace, my aim
is excellent. I have every intention of killing you.”

“
You’re a damned fool,
Hartforde!”

“
I should be a damned fool, Your
Grace, if I let you destroy both my marriages. Are you
ready?”

Mallentrye gave his strange barking laugh again.
“Indeed, Hartforde, I am ready.”

At a quarter to seven the physic bent over yet
another body, and at five minutes to the hour, Pickering Place was
deserted.

I

“
Ah, Lord Hartforde! I’ve been
expecting you. Lady Hartforde intimated you might be round
shortly.” Mr. Avery, the solicitor, made a neat bow.

“
You’ve seen her?” Alexander felt
himself go limp with relief.

“
Why, of course, milord! She was
here, oh, one or two weeks ago—several days, at any rate. If you
will forgive me, milord, she insisted you were seeking a
divorce.”

“
I have no intention of divorcing
my wife.” Alexander sat down heavily.

“
Then I must inform you that she
intends to take you to law, my lord. Though ’tis my opinion if you
oppose her in the matter, there’s little chance she’ll succeed.
This puts me in mind of Lord Vane and his unfortunate wife”—he
looked startled when he realized what he had said—“though there is
absolutely no indication she is with someone else, nor, I am sure,
my Lord Hartforde, have you mistreated your wife.”

“
Where is she?” He was close to
throttling the man.

“
Well, let me see if I can find
the bill….” Mr. Avery began rummaging through the voluminous amount
of paper scattered over his desk. “I took the liberty of sending
her to your banker…assured her any preliminary extraordinary bills
would be paid…until I had further instructions from you, my lord. I
hope it is not against your lordship’s wishes in the matter.” He
peered up at Alexander. “The clerk must have the deuced thing. Mr.
Watterby!” he shouted. “Divorces generally take some time.” He
continued looking through the papers. “I hope you understand that,
in the meantime…obliged for her upkeep, milord. Though if you
prefer to cut her off, ’twould be no great difficulty,
either.”

“
Blast you, man! I’ve told you I
have no intention of divorcing my wife. Just tell me where she
is!”

“
Glad to hear it, my lord. Ah!
Here ’tis! Never mind, Mr. Watterby!” he shouted. “I’ve found it.”
He waved the clerk out of the room. “Jermyn Street, St. James’s
Hotel.” He was about to drop the paper back onto his desk when
Alexander leaned forward.

“
Give me that!” He snatched the
paper from his hand and was out the door before the surprised
attorney could say another word.

II

For the second time that day, Alexander’s carriage
came down St. James’s Street. This time, though, it turned onto
Jermyn Street and pulled to a stop at the St. James’s Hotel. He had
to give the clerk a five-pound note before he learned that Isobel’s
rooms were on the second floor, in the back. Impatiently, Alexander
knocked loudly on the plain wooden door. Just as he was about to
give up and rouse the proprietor for the key, the door swung open.
“Lady Hartforde is not at home today,” said the servant who pulled
the door open. “Would you care to leave your card?”

“
I assure you, madam, she will be
at home to me.” Alexander pushed past the surprised woman and
strode into the room. He found Isobel in a sparsely furnished
sitting room. She was holding one of the twins, and John Faircourt
was holding the other. A young woman, obviously the nurse, stood a
respectful distance from them. When Faircourt saw Alexander storm
in, he handed the baby to the nurse, then jumped up.

“
Will you please excuse us?”
Alexander asked.

“
My lord.” Faircourt bowed and
looked nervous. “I fear I cannot go”—he looked at Isobel—“unless
her ladyship desires me to. She has told me—”

“
Send him away, Isobel”—he half
drew his sword—“or I shall run him through on the spot!”

“
Perhaps you’d best go,” Isobel
said softly.

“
If you insist, Lady
Hartforde.”

“
I do.”

“
As you wish.” He looked rather
relieved as he bowed over her hand. “My lord.” He inclined his head
at Alexander.

“
What are you doing here?” she
demanded when Faircourt was gone.

“
I came to take you back to
Albemarle Street—where you belong.”

She gave a short laugh. “Have you forgotten the
duke? And, of course, now you’ve seen me with John Faircourt.”

“
It doesn’t matter,” he said, eyes
locked with hers so she was unable to look away. “With any luck,
the duke is dead by now, and if I thought it was necessary, I’d
kill Faircourt, too.” He reached to touch her cheek. “I love you,
Isobel.”

“
Do you?” she
whispered.

“
I suppose I deserve that.” He
laughed and shook his head. “I do love you, Isobel. I was a bloody
fool to believe you would go to Mallentrye. I was an even greater
fool not to admit to myself how I feel about you.” Isobel tore her
eyes away from him. The emotion in his voice was bringing an
uncomfortable lump to her throat. She was startled when he crossed
the room and went down on one knee before her. “All I know is that
I’d follow you to Hades and back again.” He lifted her hand to his
lips. “I know I told you I’d divorce you, but I didn’t mean it, not
ever. I’ve been wanting to beg your forgiveness and tell you how
much I love you. I listened to that damned physic when he said I
should leave you alone until you were recovered. I was frantic when
you left! I thought I would go out of my mind! I’ve been all over
this bloody town looking for you, and now that I’ve found you, I
want there to be no more misunderstandings. I love you, Isobel, as
I’ve never loved anyone.” When she said nothing, he whispered, “Did
you save my life only to take it away from me now?”

Isobel listened to Alexander and wondered why she
felt nothing. “You’re saying what I’ve longed to hear, and I ought
to be falling into your arms and telling you I love you, too, but—”
She shook her head. “I look at you and still think you are the most
beautiful man I have ever seen, but it’s as though my heart is shut
off from all feeling. I’ve wished for so long that I didn’t love
you…maybe I’ve got my wish,” she said softly. “I don’t know what to
say, Alexander.”

He kissed her hand again, and when he lifted his
head she saw tears glistening in his eyes. “I’ll make you love me,”
he said. He stood up and, taking the infant from her, cradled him
in his arms. Tiny fingers gripped his, and as he smiled down at the
child he saw his eyes were just beginning to turn green.

“
That’s Laurence Alexander, and
this is Charles St. James,” the nurse said in a choked voice when
she saw Lady Hartforde would not, or perhaps could not,
answer.

“
Well, young man,” he said to his
son, “shall we go home?”

I

“
Milord, my lady’s things have
arrived. I’ve had them sent to her room,” Mrs. Peaslea said after
giving a quick curtsy.

“
Very good, Mrs. Peaslea,” he
answered, without looking up from his desk.

“
M’lord?”

“
Yes?” He looked up
impatiently.

“
This must have been mixed up with
my lady’s things.” The woman held out a bulging leather case.
“Though I don’t know as why she’d have it.”

“
Put it here.” He pointed to the
comer of the desk. When she was gone, he picked up the case and
looked at it. The housekeeper had not known it was Isobel’s because
the initials embossed on it were I.F.B. His curiosity got the
better of him and he opened the case to pull out the sheaves of
crisp paper that filled it nearly to bursting. It was music, page
after page of it. He barely recognized the scrawled hand as his
wife’s. The manuscript of her first symphony was there, and as he
sorted through the papers, he found there were three more
symphonies, a violin concerto, and several shorter pieces for the
fortepiano. From the dates he could find, she must have been
writing almost constantly during the time she was at Hartforde
Hall. He put the manuscripts carefully back in the case and ordered
up the carriage.

II

Isobel sat at the fortepiano but, though her hands
rested on the keys, she was not playing. It was as if the
instrument were foreign to her. Her fingers could move over the
keys in the correct sequence, but the notes sounded flat and
uninspired. She had expected the music would come back to her, but
it had not. There had never ever been a time when it was not there,
crowding her mind until it finally demanded she write it down. Now
there was nothing and she was deathly afraid it would never come
back. It was a desolate, empty feeling.

The loss of her manuscripts had been a blow. The
case had not been there among her things delivered from Jermyn
Street, and though she had told Molly time after time to look
again, it had vanished. Reconstructing all her compositions was a
task for which she hadn’t the energy. What would be the use? she
asked herself. Music had made her who she was; without it, she was
less than no one. Her mistake had been to fall in love with
Alexander. Had she not, she would still be Ian. It seemed unfair
that falling in love should have such disastrous consequences. But,
then, one of the results of her falling in love had been the twins,
and how could she wish her boys had not been born? Her passion for
Alexander had been a heady thing, and she almost believed its
course had been inevitable. He had so overwhelmed her that she
would never have been able to refuse him. Every time she saw him,
he still made her heart leap to her throat, but the price of her
love had been steep. She got up from the fortepiano, wondering if
she would ever play again.

I

“
Well, what do you think?”
Alexander asked impatiently. “Will you do it?”

“
Lord Hartforde, I should be
honored to conduct Lady Hartforde’s symphony.” Faircourt bowed his
acceptance of Lord Hartforde’s generous offer. “It isn’t often I am
the first to perform the work of a genius, and if it will bring her
back, I’m willing to try anything.”

“
Excellent! How soon will you be
ready for a first performance?”

“
I imagine in about a month’s
time. Will you attend the rehearsals?”

“
With pleasure.”

Faircourt bowed again as Lord Hartforde left, and
when he was alone he began to leaf through the manuscripts.

II

“
Hurry, Isobel, or we shall be
late!” Alexander admonished her for ascending the stairs so
slowly.

“
I don’t want to go!” She scowled
at him. He was cruel to take her to the symphony, and if she’d
known his intentions, she would have refused altogether to leave
Albemarle Street. Music was no longer a part of her life and she
wanted nothing to do with it.

“
Nevertheless, we are going.” They
paused at the landing. “I have a new protégé I insist you must
hear. I’ve spent a good deal of money to get this music performed,
and I want to know if you think it’s worth my spending more money
on the fellow.”

He took her hand and pulled her up the stairs after
him. As it was, they barely had time to get to their box before the
overture started. Isobel didn’t know what to think when she
realized what Alexander had done. He looked steadily at her.
“Faircourt has told me more than once that the composer is a
genius. Do you not agree?” He saw the uncertainty in her eyes and
he took her hand. “Ian Boxham isn’t dead, Isobel. I want you to
make him live forever.” His eyes shone with an intense light that
made her tremble when they locked with hers. “I love you, Isobel,
and that means I love Ian Boxham. Whatever you decide to do with
your music, you have my full support. Ian deserves a patron, and I
intend to be an unstinting one.”

“
How long have you been planning
this?” she asked, trying to suppress the queer feeling constricting
her chest. She looked at him and suddenly felt the wall she had
constructed around her heart begin to crumble. He understood that
without music she wasn’t whole, just as she couldn’t be whole
without him. It was as though the world had suddenly opened up to
her again, and there was Alexander and her music at the very center
of it.

“
Ever since Mrs. Peaslea
mistakenly gave me your music,” he was explaining. “I had it
printed, and your manuscripts bound, as well. Then I hired the
hall, the musicians, and, of course, John Faircourt.” He was
startled to see a tear trickle down her cheek. “Have I done the
right thing?” he asked, a stricken look on the handsome face she
loved so well.