Page 14 of My Devoted Viscount (Brazen Bluestockings #2)

chapter-seperator

Upon returning from his pleasant yet unproductive walk on the beach, Vincent was delighted to find that his valet and luggage had arrived in the rented carriage that had followed him from London.

After sleeping in the hayloft above the stables last night, he was more than happy to give care of his clothing and person over to the ever-efficient Lawrence.

Stray bits of hay in his clothing were worth the tradeoff of having more room to stretch out than the library sofa, but they had begun to itch.

The other benefit to choosing the loft was avoiding the potential risk of encountering guests in other bedchambers.

“This was delivered moments after you left London, my lord.” Lawrence handed him one letter, then another. “And this one arrived just as I was departing.”

Vincent sat on the edge of the bed while Lawrence relieved him of his boots, and broke the seal on the first note.

It was an invitation from his friend Matthew Huntley to join him at their club for dinner the afternoon he left.

Intrigued by Aunt Gert’s note about the ghost, Vincent had moved up his plans already in place to leave for Italy, and hadn’t taken the time to notify any friends of his change in itinerary.

Poorly done, that. With a twinge of guilt, Vincent opened the second letter.

V,

Wherever you are, I sincerely hope you are having more fun than I am. My cousin, and now myself by association, have become bywords for licentiousness. The tabbies want their pound of flesh and you are not here to distract them. I hate you.

M

Vincent chuckled at Matthew as he sank into the bath, regretting again that he never remembered to send to Hobart Grange a bathtub large enough to accommodate his adult self.

This tub fit the ladies who’d occupied Hobart Grange going back well into the previous century, but his knees bent uncomfortably close to his chest. As usual he made the best of it, and let Lawrence pour a bucket of water over his head to rinse his long hair when he was done washing.

Was he having fun, as Matthew hoped? Interacting with Miss Walden so far had been fun. Tracking down whatever entity tried to pass itself off as a ghost could be fun. Aunt Gert had confided that she’d seen a female personage on the beach at night two other times, dressed all in grey.

He was in a hurry, though. Visiting here was only a stop on his way to Italy. His investigation could proceed at twice the pace if Matthew were here to help him.

Shaved, dressed, and sitting before the fire while his hair dried, Vincent penned a note of apology to Matthew and invited him to come to Sidmouth.

* * *

Once everyone was seated at the dining table, Vincent held up the letter as he explained his intent. “You truly don’t mind?”

“Of course not!” Aunt Gert waved Kendall over to take the letter. “Your friends are quite welcome here, Vincent. I’ve always enjoyed their company, even when still young and mischievous.”

“Bickford will take it to town tonight so it can go out with the morning mail coach,” Kendall said, handing the letter off to the footman.

“Is Mr. Huntley the one who sings like—” Aunt Agnes waved a hand as she cut herself off. “Doesn’t matter. All your friends have lovely voices.” She smiled at Miss Walden, who had been quiet, then addressed Aunt Gert. “Imagine the music the three of them could treat us to!”

“Do you sing, Miss Walden?”

Finally she looked up from her smoked haddock to meet Vincent’s gaze. “I’ve been told my voice is passable.”

Gert and Agnes instantly protested, talking over each other in praise of her voice. Angelic, sweet, and other similar adjectives floated out.

“I had the best voice at the Academy,” Miss Walden finally said, addressing Aunt Gert. “Is that sufficiently lacking in humility?”

“Better,” Aunt Gert said with a broad grin.

“Perhaps we can play together this evening.” Vincent raised one eyebrow to acknowledge his double entendre.

Miss Walden met his gaze, her head slightly tilted, mischief in her light brown eyes, which sparkled like a glass of sherry held up to the sun. “Perhaps.”

“And I’m sure Matthew will be of great help in tracking down our fake ghost,” Vincent added.

“Indeed.” Aunt Gert raised her wineglass in a toast.

Miss Walden dropped her fork. “How clumsy of me,” she murmured as the footman picked the fork up from the floor and Kendall handed her a clean utensil. Instead of resuming her meal, however, she set the fork on the table and hid her hands on her lap as she studied the floral pattern on her plate.

How odd.

Busy discussing which songs they wanted to hear and thought Vincent and Miss Walden might both know, Aunt Gert and Agnes paid no attention.

He didn’t think Miss Walden was frightened of a ghost, real or fake. What made her retreat this time?

* * *

After the meal, Vincent offered an arm each to Gert and Agnes, who steered him toward the drawing room. As he saw them settled, Miss Walden seated herself at the pianoforte and began to warm up.

His harp playing skills were not sufficiently developed to share if anyone was listening.

He considered the harpsichord, then checked the cupboard and found the violin case.

There were other small instruments, but playing the violin would give him the perfect excuse to stand behind Miss Walden and play from her music.

He checked the violin’s tuning and began his own warm up.

After a few moments he recognized the tune Miss Walden was playing, and switched from the tune he’d been playing to the one she’d started.

They finished in perfect unison. She gave him a sideways glance, then immediately started another song.

He let her play the first few measures while he cudgeled his memory, finally recalled the correct song, and finished it with her.

Not bad, considering she still hadn’t got out any music and he hadn’t played that tune for quite some time.

Her last chord hadn’t even faded when he began a tune. He was barely two measures in when Miss Walden joined him. He soon recognized they were playing two different arrangements, but they worked together surprisingly well since there were only two instruments and no voices.

Aunt Gert waved her hand to cut them off before he could decide which song to play next. “Yes, yes, I’m sure you two could spend all evening challenging each other with Guess That Song—”

“But we want to hear you sing!” Aunt Agnes clapped her hands twice for emphasis.

“A duet!” Aunt Gert gestured for them to get on with it.

Vincent set aside his violin. “Lady’s choice.”

Miss Walden narrowed her eyes at him when he gave her a slight bow, then set her hands above the keys. She wiggled and stretched her fingers for a moment, then played the opening bars of the first warm-up song she’d played just minutes before.

Vincent exercised great restraint in not rolling his eyes.

How many times had he heard some husband-hunting miss warble The Last Rose of Summer at a musicale in an attempt to show off how accomplished she was, to prove what an excellent wife she would make?

He should resent Miss Walden for her role in teaching this song to so many vacuous young ladies.

However, given the look of expectation on dear Aunt Gert’s face, he swallowed down any acerbic comments he might have made and joined in.

Sophia had been so certain Lord Fairfax would not accommodate his aunt’s wish, not with this song.

Yet he joined her, his voice a passable tenor, though a bit strained on some of the higher notes.

Given his rumbling speaking voice, she had expected his singing voice to be much lower.

Perhaps he was more accustomed to playing than singing?

His skill with a violin had been better than average.

And how had she not noticed until now that he was left-handed?

When they finished, she looked at Fairfax expectantly. It was only fair they take turns.

“Are you familiar with Moore’s ‘ The Meeting of the Waters’ ?”

She launched into the opening chords. Her alto and his tenor did indeed sound pleasant together, she had to admit.

Mrs. Digby and Mrs. Royston looked like they were enjoying the entertainment.

In fact, they almost looked like Sophia and Fairfax were singing novelty songs.

What could possibly strike them as so amusing?

She and Fairfax sang two more songs before Enid brought in the tea tray.

Sophia perched on the sofa as she accepted a cup of tea and two of the same kind of biscuits she’d had on the day she’d arrived.

If there was to be more entertainment, she was more than happy to let Fairfax play.

After writing all day and then playing after dinner, her hand was on the verge of cramping.

“Did you enjoy your walk on the beach this afternoon?” Mrs. Digby stirred two sugars into her tea as she addressed her nephew.

Fairfax drained half his cup in one go. “I met your new neighbor walking Lady Lyttleton’s dogs. Nice chap.”

“Oh, Mr. Thorpe.” Mrs. Digby turned to Mrs. Royston.

“I have been quite remiss. I’ve barely said five words to him when I’ve seen him while walking Henry.

” Upon hearing his name, the white terrier raised his head from Mrs. Digby’s lap.

She gave him a reassuring scratch down his back. “I should invite him to dinner.”

“Yes, we certainly should. I’m surprised we haven’t done so already,” Mrs. Royston said. She practically dropped her cup into its saucer as she leaned forward. “Do you think it’s the ghost of Lady Lyttleton that we’ve seen walking on the beach at night?”

Mrs. Digby shook her head. “One, I’m not entirely sure it’s a ghost we have been seeing.

And two, Lady Lyttleton was a dear friend for nearly twenty years.

In the highly unlikely event she’s come back as a ghost, why would she walk along my stretch of the beach but not come inside the house for a coze? ”