Prelude for a Lord (8 page)

She again sensed that something uncoiled in Lord Dommick at his mother’s words. Why was he so concerned about his sister?

She didn’t have time to wonder because he led her away toward a quieter corner of the ballroom where several elderly chaperones sat snoozing. “I remember meeting you in London, my lady,” he said.

“I hardly expected you to. I’m sure I was one of dozens of women at your concert.”

“You were the only one who looked fierce enough to run me through with a sword, had you one at hand, when I mentioned that women should not play the violin.”

She gaped at him for a moment. His handsome face was impassive, and she didn’t know if he was offended or amused by
her. Possibly both. “Rest assured I did not take your words to heart. To be sure, the violin became my favourite instrument.”

Especially after he had practically goaded her with his words.
I would never allow a woman to play a violin in one of my concerts, for it would be most unseemly. You would do better to attempt to master the harp or pianoforte.

“I am not surprised by that information.” He cleared his throat. “I would be most interested in hearing more about your violin.”

She belatedly remembered that antagonizing him was hardly the way to solicit his help. “It was a gift from a good friend, Lady Arkright, who died three years ago.” What a paltry description for their relationship—Calandra had been the mother she’d never known.

“It belonged to her husband?”

The question irritated her. “No, it was hers. She was trained to play many instruments at the orphanage in Venice where she grew up, the Ospedale della Pietà.”

Lord Dommick’s brows rose. “I have heard of that place.”

“It is most famous for training
female
musicians. Calandra—Lady Arkright—trained under Vivaldi himself.”

She had his attention now. “Lady Arkright taught you to play?” he asked.

“Violin, pianoforte, and harp, although she was most gifted in violin. She always lamented that it was socially acceptable for women to play the violin on the continent but not in England.”

“How did she acquire the violin?”

“Calandra met her husband, Sir William, in Italy. On their wedding journey, he bought the violin from a peddler in Milan.”

“A peddler?” Lord Dommick looked pained.

“This is why I need help. If it were a simple matter, I could have made inquiries myself.”

“Lady Whittlesby mentioned you thought someone tried to take your violin?”

“A man stopped me on the street and asked if I would sell my
violin. I refused, but I was concerned because there is no reason for anyone to know the particular violin I own. I have never played it in public, not even for my relatives, and I practice in private. A few days later my room was torn apart by someone searching for something.”

“Was anyone injured? Anything taken?”

“No one was injured, although we were shaken since it occurred while my aunt’s niece, the cook, and the housekeeper were all in the kitchen. Nothing was taken.” Alethea again thanked the shade of Sir William for crafting such a clever hiding place for it.

“You are certain it was the violin they were looking for?”

“What else could it be? None of my jewels were taken.” She did not have many, since Wilfred’s wife, Mona, had claimed most of Alethea’s mother’s jewelry and Alethea’s father had never given her gifts, but she did have a fine pearl necklace that Calandra had given to her for her season, which had been at the top of her jewelry case.

“Perhaps the thief was interrupted?”

Alethea stopped and turned to face him. She pitched her voice low, but she said firmly, “Lord Dommick, let us speak plainly. It appears you do not believe me when I say someone wants to steal my violin. And if you doubt me, how can you help me?”

Irritation flashed across his face, quickly masked by politeness. “I apologize if I have made you feel that I am not taking your fears seriously, my lady.”

She supposed she could not completely fault him for being irritated—she had verbally challenged him twice now. She should know by now that men did not take kindly to women with opinions, especially if they were different from their own. She absently rubbed the last two knuckles of her left hand.

And the truth was that she needed his help, despite his archaic thoughts about women playing violins and his tendency like others of his sex to be dismissive of women, specifically her. “We should agree upon a time when you will call to see the violin.”

“Perhaps next week—”

“I doubt my aunt’s temper would survive another intruder in her home. Are you available tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?” He stared at her for a long moment before sighing. “Yes, I can call in the afternoon.”

“Excellent. We are at number six, Queen Square.”

He nodded and was silent as he walked her back to her aunt, but the stiff set of his head seemed to indicate he was annoyed at the disruption to his schedule. Lady Whittlesby had thankfully left her aunt. Lord Dommick bowed before marching away.

Alethea sat next to her aunt. The ballroom was hot, for there seemed to be more people than usual attending tonight. Or perhaps she was still upset from her encounter with Lord Dommick.

“What did he say to you when you first met him?” Aunt Ebena asked with a stern look in her eye. “And do not attempt to deceive me. I know something happened momentous on your part, although probably not on his.”

Aunt Ebena had a way of aiming for the truth in such a way that it robbed Alethea of any of her dignity. “He treated me as I was then, a silly girl in her first season.”

“Lord Dommick does not have a reputation for cruel wit. I cannot believe he would slice you to ribbons simply because you were being silly.”

“I
was
silly. It was the end of his concert, the largest that the Quartet had given that season. They were wildly popular, and I was not the first nor the last to speak to him after it ended. I was enthusiastic in my praise of the violin concerto he had composed, and then I mentioned that I played the violin. He expressed the opinion that it was unfeminine for a woman to play the instrument.”

“It is unfeminine. The use of your arms is quite excessive.”

Alethea remained silent. She had already borne the brunt of
Lord Dommick’s disapproval and did not intend to also allow her aunt the pleasure of it.

“I would wager,” Aunt Ebena said, “that after that encounter, you returned home from London and worked even harder to master your violin over your other instruments.”

Alethea managed to reply in a conversational tone. “I enjoy the violin very much. And Lady Arkright favoured it as an instrument as well.”

“But you would perhaps have worked harder at the more socially acceptable instruments had it not been for Lord Dommick. Am I correct?”

“Your friends do not complain when they ask me to play the pianoforte or the harp at their evening gatherings.”

“I am not denying your talent. You are better than some of the professional musicians I have heard, which forces me to conclude that you are somewhat gifted.”

It seemed Aunt Ebena could never deliver a compliment without trying to spoil it at the same time. But her faint praise made Alethea smile to herself, although she didn’t look at her aunt.

Aunt Ebena nodded. “But now I understand your reaction to Lord Dommick.”

And his reaction to her had been supremely uninterested, which may have been why she’d spoken so bluntly. She did not care to be the centre of attention, but she also did not appreciate being overlooked.

She had not truly challenged herself on her violin since Calandra died, but perhaps now was the time to push herself to her limits, especially with her newly healed left hand. She did not know how she would accomplish it, but she would find a way to acquire a copy of Lord Dommick’s latest composition and learn to play it herself, as well as he did.

He would not overlook her
then
.

CHAPTER FOUR

T
hat ugly prickle began along the back of her shoulders just as Alethea turned onto Milsom Street.

She took a deep breath, then continued on her way, head erect and eyes forward. She stopped at a print shop with large windows and peered at the reflection in the glass.

The sun was fitful today, peeking out only occasionally from behind heavy grey clouds, so she could not see as clearly as she would have liked. Many people paraded up and down the street, winding in and out of the small shops that lined the road, oblivious to Alethea’s unease. She searched the crowds in the reflection of the glass, but no one looked at her, no one loitered nearby.

What had she expected to see in the reflection? A dark hooded figure staring at her from across the street? She continued down Milsom Street.

She didn’t know what made her look slightly behind her and across the street. It wasn’t a sound, for a carriage was rumbling by and a group of old women chattered in front of her. But she turned
and in the brief gap between the horses and the carriage, she saw the same cadaverous man she’d seen in the marketplace, and he was looking directly at her.

This time the prickle was a shiver that shot straight through her spine.

Then the carriage’s movement blocked her view for a few seconds, and when it had passed, the man had disappeared. There were two shop doors nearby where he’d been standing, so perhaps he had ducked inside one of them.

And was watching her, unobserved, from behind the shop windows.

She would not give him the satisfaction. She hurried down the street, out of sight of the two shops, and when she had turned the corner, she immediately entered the shop there, which was a bookshop and stationers.

The cool space smelled of paper and leather and ink. Alethea’s heartbeat slowed at the familiar scents and the soothing ruffling of pages. She made her way to a bookcase near the large bay window and picked a book at random, pretending to read while studying each person who passed the shop outside.

“Alethea, what a happy meeting.”

She started, then turned with real warmth for her sister. After the tension of the last few minutes, her cheeks felt tight as she smiled. “Lucy, happy meeting, indeed.” Lucy tried to back away, but Alethea stepped forward to kiss her cheek.

“You shouldn’t be seen kissing a maid, Alethea.”

“I don’t care what people think, and you certainly don’t dress like a maid.” In fact, she was wearing an amber-coloured dress Alethea had given to her at Christmas that brought out flecks of gold in her dark brown eyes, a slightly lighter shade than Alethea’s. “What are you doing here?”

“Running an errand for Mrs. Ramsland.” Lucy made a small
gesture with her arms, full of paper and ink. Then her eyes narrowed as she studied Alethea’s face. “What has upset you?”

“Nothing.”

Lucy glared at her.

Alethea sighed. “It’s silly. I thought I saw that man from the marketplace. The thin one whom I thought was watching me
but probably wasn’t
,” she added emphatically.

“You saw him on Milsom Street?”

“It was only for a second. He disappeared so perhaps he wasn’t even there.” Alethea glanced outside the shop windows, but the people passing by were few. The tension across her shoulders began to ease.

Lucy’s brows crinkled. “Alethea, this is becoming frightful.”

“Bath isn’t London. It’s entirely possible I could have seen the same man from the marketplace if he lives in Bath. I’m simply nervous after what happened with my room.”

“What happened to your room?” Lucy asked.

Alethea had forgotten that the incident had been after Lucy’s last Sunday visit and before her next one. “Er . . .” Alethea pulled at her earlobe as she frantically thought about how she could tell Lucy the events without causing her to have a fit.

Her sister knew her too well. “Oh, simply tell me, Alethea.”

“Someone went through my room Sunday morning when we were at church.”

Lucy’s mouth opened for several seconds before she remembered to close it. “And after that man at the marketplace and that offensive Mr. Golding . . .”

“I don’t know that they’re connected, but it is a possibility.”

“Did he steal anything?”

“Nothing. Not even jewelry.”

“But Margaret and Mrs. Dodd were in the kitchen.” Lucy shuddered.

“They heard nothing, but it worries me that someone entered the house during the day, no less, while they were there.”

Lucy suddenly looked around. “Alethea, where is your maid?”

“Most of the fashionable set isn’t awake yet to see me maidless.”

“You are too used to country ways. You cannot go unaccompanied, and after the intruder, it would be safer if you had someone with you.”

Alethea had not thought of that. “You are right. I shall take a maid next time.”

“Alethea.” Lucy juggled the paper and ink she held in order to reach out to take her hand. “Is the violin really worth the possible danger to yourself and your family?”

“You want me to simply hand Mr. Golding my violin?”

“Think of Margaret and your aunt.”

Because she’d been left on her own at Trittonstone Park for most of her life, Alethea’s actions had rarely affected others’ safety. The newly realized responsibility seemed odd to her, settling upon her shoulders almost like a physical weight, forcing her to be stronger. Her life was now more than just her own.