Prelude for a Lord (5 page)

Lucy crowed, “What did Miss Jenkins say to you before she quit her post? That she hoped you would one day have a child exactly like—”

“Miss Jenkins was the worst governess of the lot,” Alethea protested. “She wanted me to curl my hair. Every morning.”

“The curling
iron did work
for two entire minutes before it all straightened again.”

“Miss Jenkins’s curse has not come to pass,” Alethea said. “I have quite enjoyed having Margaret about.”

“Have you now?” Lucy regarded her sister with narrowed eyes. “And what of her education?”

The elms rattled in the wind like a thousand fingers shaking at her. “Education?”

“Is she adequately prepared to be enrolled in a ladies’ seminary?”

“Er . . . no,” Alethea said.

“I assume Aunt Ebena has not funds to hire a governess, so her schooling must fall to you.”

Alethea coughed. “Me? But . . . I haven’t the faintest idea where to begin.”

“Surely Margaret brought some school books with her?”

“None except an atlas that had belonged to her father and several books of published journals from personages who have travelled to various parts of the world.”

“So . . . no French or history?”

“No. I must teach her French?” Alethea felt panic begin to set in.

“And not only book learning, but she must learn to sew, paint, and play music.” Lucy ticked off the items on her fingers. “And above all, genteel deportment.”

Alethea steered them away from the obelisk at the centre of the gardens. “Are you hungry? I am hungry. Let’s go have tea.” Anxiety always made her want to eat.

“Where is Margaret this morning?” Lucy looked vastly entertained by Alethea’s discomposure.

“She had nothing fit to wear to church. Her clothes are too small for her, and apparently she spent a great deal of time roaming the woods near her Aunt Nancy’s home.”

A choked sound came from Lucy that sounded suspiciously like a snort.

Alethea ignored her and continued, “Aunt Ebena wouldn’t
allow her to attend church in a muddy petticoat. So, this morning Mrs. Dodd is teaching her to bake a cake.”

“Good. If she is like you, she will eat vast amounts of food.”

Alethea halted in the middle of the path. “I do not eat vast amounts of food.” She might need a bit of extra nourishment because of her active nature, but surely not
vast
amounts.

“To be fair, as a child, you spent a prodigious time out of doors, escaping your governesses.” Lucy gave her a toothy smile.

“As I recall, I often visited you and your mother.”

“Unlike you, I would have welcomed a governess with open arms. And now you will need to become one.” Lucy sounded positively gleeful.

Alethea continued walking out of the gardens and across the street. Her eye sought out her aunt’s door, a gold colour slightly darker than the Bath stones of the building. However, that uncomfortable prickling sensation at the base of her neck had her rubbing it roughly, and then a furtive shadow just at the edge of her bonnet made her turn toward the corner of the square.

Church-goers had filled the streets, walking and conversing, and Alethea did not recognize all of them. How to know if she was imagining things or if someone had been watching her?

“What is it?” Lucy asked.

Alethea didn’t answer, but hurried to the low, arched doorway to her home. The butler opened the door to her, and Alethea didn’t breathe easier until it closed behind them. “Tea in the sitting room, please,” she said to the butler.

“What has upset you?” Lucy persisted as they entered the sitting room. The old-fashioned furniture, its shabbiness enhanced by the faded burgundy and blue colours, today appeared soothing and safe.

Alethea sank into a rickety chair. “I think someone was watching me at the marketplace a few days ago.”

“Watching you?” Lucy dropped onto the settee.

“I’m not certain. I had a peculiar feeling.” She explained what had happened, pausing only when the butler entered with a tea tray.

After he’d left, Lucy said, “I’ve told you that you shouldn’t be doing the marketing for the cook. The marketplace is not safe for you.”

“It is safe for
you
—”

“You and I, no matter how you pretend differently, are not the same.” Lucy stared hard at her sister, her face and dark eyes making Alethea almost feel she were staring at a mirror. Except she was certain she never looked at herself like a recalcitrant child as Lucy did to her now.

Alethea gave a cup of tea to Lucy. “Mrs. Dodd is grateful for the help when her rheumatism is acting up. And she makes sure I get extra seed cakes with my tea.”

“What were you saying earlier about not eating much?” Lucy took a sip of tea, which didn’t completely hide her smile.

“And if I did not help Mrs. Dodd, I should go mad within these walls. I enjoyed twenty-seven years of galloping across the fields and walking up the downs every day. Bath is a prison. It is not considered genteel to walk for the sake of walking—that sort of thing is much more acceptable in the country.” Alethea had not wanted a lack of her normal vigorous exercise to force her to adjust the fit of her gowns, so she had kept active as best she could.

Lucy understood her sister’s energetic nature and sighed as she nodded.

“I am not certain if it is related, but a man spoke to me on the street when I was returning from the market.” Alethea explained about Mr. Golding. “Did Calandra mention anything unusual about her violin?”

“Not at all. She would be more likely to speak to you about it than to me.”

“I know her husband bought it for her as a wedding gift,” Alethea said. “They returned to Italy for their wedding journey so she could visit her relatives. He bought it for her from a peddler. It was in terrible condition and not very expensive.”

“Is it very old?”

“I am not sure. I don’t know how to find out.”

“Do you or your aunt know anyone who might help?”

Alethea’s thoughts immediately flashed upon Lord Dommick’s lean, dark face in the window of the coach. He, along with the others in the Quartet, played their favoured instruments as well as any professional musician, which was unusual among noblemen. Lord Dommick was considered an expert in the violin, in addition to the violin compositions for which he was also famous.

He had told her women ought not to play the violin. She would not ask him for help if he were the last man on earth. “Aunt Ebena’s friend Lady Whittlesby is a well-respected patron of music. She will perhaps know a violin maker or instrument repair tradesman.”

“Perhaps I should go in your stead. Those may not be places appropriate for an earl’s daughter.”

“You will not waste your half day running errands for me,” Alethea said.

Lucy glanced at the clock on the mantel. “That reminds me, I must be going.”

“So soon? It has been barely an hour.”

“Mrs. Ramsland requires me to return early today to help her prepare for a dinner party tonight.”

Alethea frowned. “She is an unreasonable employer.”

“She pays me every quarter,” Lucy said calmly. “And an abigail’s life is preferable to being an upper housemaid.”

Alethea grasped her sister’s hands. “Two more years. Then we shall be able to go to Italy and keep house for each other and you will never need to serve another woman again.”

Lucy smiled warmly before leaning over to kiss her sister’s cheek. “Two more years.”

Lucy had left barely a minute before the front door opened and Aunt Ebena entered the sitting room. Her thin eyebrows rose at the half full tea tray. “Had no appetite today?” Her deep voice was stiff.

“Lucy had to return early.”

“Ring for more tea.”

“I’ll get it myself.” Alethea took the cold teapot to the kitchen, where Margaret was washing dishes sulkily.

“This is most unpleasant,” the girl said to Mrs. Dodd. “Don’t you have maids for this sort of thing?”

“There are no fine ladies in this kitchen, so if you dirty the dishes, you wash them,” Mrs. Dodd told her. She turned to Alethea with a tray already prepared with a fresh pot and extra cup. “I heard Mrs. Garen come home. Your sister didn’t stay long.”

“Her employer requested her to return early.”

Mrs. Dodd sniffed. “And Mrs. Ramsland wonders why she can never retain her servants.”

“Who’s your sister?” Margaret said. “Is she my cousin too?”

“Yes. She’s my half sister.”

“Why doesn’t she live here?” Margaret scratched her nose with a wet hand.

Alethea, used to the scandal of her friendship with her sister, was suddenly acutely aware of the impropriety of explaining that relationship to a twelve-year-old girl.

She was rescued by Mrs. Dodd. “Never you mind,” the cook told the girl, and Alethea escaped the kitchen.

“It took you a long time.” Aunt Ebena frowned.

Used to her aunt’s complaints by now, Alethea ignored her and poured tea. After all, she had lived with her father’s and brother’s criticisms for too long for her aunt’s abrasive personality to affect her much.

Aunt Ebena had already appropriated a piece of seed cake for herself. “It’s cold,” she said with a touch of petulance.

“You could have joined Lucy and me when they were still warm,” Alethea couldn’t resist saying.

Aunt Ebena sniffed. She took a sip of tea, then set the cup down. “Contrary to what you believe, I do not impose during your sister’s visits, not because it is unseemly for me to take tea with a lady’s maid, even though that is still true.”

Alethea blinked at her aunt.

“I do not impose upon you and Miss Purcell because I cannot abide the giggling that inevitably erupts when you gather over tea and cakes.”

“We don’t giggle.”

Aunt Ebena gave her a speaking look that made Alethea’s cheeks grow warm, but she smiled at her aunt. The older woman did not return her smile, but it was not an unfriendly omission. It was simply Aunt Ebena.

Her aunt sipped her tea, marking the end of the topic. Alethea hesitated, wanting to say something but uncertain what to say, yearning for . . . she knew not what.

She’d had difficulty getting accustomed to her aunt, especially since Wilfred had forced them together. But did this comment about Lucy indicate Aunt Ebena was starting to unbend, perhaps even appreciate Alethea more? Would they achieve more than this polite veneer?

The problem was that Alethea did not know how to relate to respectable women. The women in the area around Trittonstone Park had been polite, but they had also avoided her because they disapproved of the “low company” she kept. Alethea would never have changed her behaviour to gain their approval, but their neglect made her feel lonely.

Did she want to develop a closer relationship with her aunt? Or
would it be better to be alone and unhurt by disappointments? She did not expect her aunt to treat her as her father and brother had, but Alethea’s experience with family members had been less than ideal. She realized she was idly massaging the two last fingers of her left hand and stopped.

She was simply missing Lady Arkright, she decided.

“Where is Margaret?” Aunt Ebena asked.

“Still in the kitchen. Cleaning up.”

“Allowing her time in the kitchen is acceptable until her clothes arrive and she is more decently attired.” Aunt Ebena didn’t quite sigh, but she breathed heavily as if the remembrance of Margaret’s wardrobe had been a particular trial. “However, since it is apparent the girl is staying, you must take her education in hand.”

Alethea looked at her aunt incredulously. “Not you too.”

“What?”

“Lucy said I should teach Margaret French.” Alethea shoved a bite of cake into her mouth.

“Among other things.” Aunt Ebena sipped her tea. “Lady Whittlesby’s youngest granddaughter has just left the schoolroom, so she may still have the girl’s schoolbooks. I shall ask her when next I see her.”

Lady Whittlesby’s name reminded Alethea of Mr. Golding’s interest in her violin, and it occurred to her that perhaps the man knew of her violin because of her aunt. “Aunt, did you speak to anyone about my violin?”

“Whyever would I do anything of the sort?” she said irritably.

“Many of your friends are fond of music . . .”

“They are also exceedingly proper. Why would I confess that my niece is so unladylike as to play a violin? And against my advice.” Aunt Ebena gave her a pointed look.

Alethea’s warmer feelings toward her aunt dissipated. Why must people insist on telling her what she could not do? She realized
with a surge of annoyance that it had been Lord Dommick telling her that exact piece of advice during Alethea’s season that had spurred her to master her violin over her pianoforte and harp.

And why was she remembering that unpleasant experience with Lord Dommick? She must take herself in hand.

“Why would you think I have spoken to someone about this?” Aunt Ebena asked.

Alethea hadn’t decided if she ought to tell her aunt about Mr. Golding, but now she must. She explained briefly.

Aunt Ebena grew grave. “Why would anyone want your violin?”

“I must speak to someone about it. I thought perhaps Lady Whittlesby might know to whom to direct me?”

Aunt Ebena nodded. “That is a very good thought. She had an expert repair a violin that belonged to a great-uncle and could give you the tradesman’s direction. We shall visit her tomorrow. Is your violin safely hidden?”

“Yes.” Thanks to Lady Arkright’s husband and his woodworking abilities.

“Anyone passing by on the street would have heard you practicing,” Aunt Ebena said with a touch of asperity, for she considered Alethea’s hours of practice excessive. “But how would they know what particular instrument you owned?”

“Only Lucy knows.” And there was no one in Bath who would understand Alethea’s passion for an instrument unusual for ladies to play. Most of the ladies she knew would be shocked.

“I am curious to see it. Bring it down.”

Alethea headed upstairs to her bedroom. She doubted Aunt Ebena could shed any light on the affair, but this was the first time she’d shown any interest in her music. They attended every concert faithfully, which her aunt enjoyed although she did not play herself, but at such events, Aunt Ebena equally enjoyed the company of her cronies, who were more avid musicians.