Page 42 of The Derbyshire Dance (Kendall House #3)
“ H annibal, Scipio, come away from there,” said Bel.
With a brisk wave of the hand, she shooed the two cats off the bench of the pianoforte where Nigel was sitting.
He glanced up from the music to flash her a smile and continued to play without missing a single note of the complicated arpeggios.
The cats, rather than disappearing from the music room, continued their adoration of him by slinking past his boots and purring against his toes.
“Your husband is an excellent musician,” said Mrs. Haverstall.
She and her husband Ned had travelled with the Ferrises to Lincolnshire to attend the Lymington newlyweds’ first house party.
It was a small and intimate gathering, the perfect way for Bel to practice being a hostess in the grand old house of Grimsbald.
“Yes, indeed,” said Bel. “I’m afraid I have no such accomplishments, but his grace more than makes up for my deficiencies. ”
Nigel’s fingers stopped mid-phrase. “I believe it is common knowledge that my real deficiencies far exceed any imagined ones on your part.” The notes began again.
“Ha!” said Uncle Jack, slapping a hand against the knee of his old-fashioned breeches. “Are you always this complimentary to each other? Or is it solely for our benefit?”
“Jack, dear,” said Lucy reproachfully. “They are in love. It is to be expected.” She nodded happily to Bel as her niece took a chair beside her to listen to the rest of the music. “I’m so glad to find you happy. And a duchess! Who would ever have thought?”
“Not I,” said Bel promptly. “I forget that I am one, most days. For we haven’t gone into society—Nigel’s had no interest in visiting town. I shall need someone to teach me the finer points of town manners if we ever do.”
Lucy nodded at Jack’s niece, Mrs. Haverstall. “Perhaps Clarissa could help. She has done an excellent job guiding Miss Trafford through the pitfalls of town living.”
“Are you chaperoning Miss Trafford again this season?” asked Bel.
The Haverstalls exchanged a glance. “No,” said Clarissa lightly. “Lord and Lady Kendall are back in town, but dear Penny has been sent away to Bath.”
“Sent away?” said Aunt Lucy. “That sounds ominous. I hope the poor girl is not in any…trouble.” She and Bel had briefly encountered Penelope Trafford at the Haverstalls’ house during their visit to London a year ago, and although she seemed high-spirited, she did not seem the kind of girl to fall in with bad company.
“No, nothing at all of that kind,” replied Mrs. Haverstall.
“But lest you think the worst of her, I see I must tell you all. Last summer, her younger sister Ginny, who was not even out yet in society, had the good fortune to contract an excellent match. And poor Penny…well, she has taken it hard to be ‘beaten to the altar,’ as it were. She has had dozens of suitors, but somehow, none of them has managed to—what is it the young people say? — ‘come up to scratch.’ Lady Kendall had much ado to console her, and Lord Kendall finally had enough of her histrionics and banished her to Bath in the care of an aged relative of his.”
The pianoforte came to a cadence, and the small crowd applauded the duke’s performance. Even the cats gave a short meow of approbation.
“Good heavens!” said Aunt Lucy, continuing the conversation as the clapping came to an end. “In all my time chaperoning Bel, I never had to deal with tantrums. She was far too sensible for that.”
“She was saving them all for me,” said Nigel cheekily. He gave his wife a wink and stood up from the instrument to rejoin his guests.
“What’s that?” cackled Jack. “Tantrums from Bel? So, all these compliments are pre-emptive measures, eh? What do you say to that, Bel?”
“I wouldn’t call them tantrums,” said Bel. “Differences of opinion, perhaps.”
“On what?” asked Ned Haverstall. “Politics?”
“No, not that,” said Nigel with a laugh. “I don’t think I’ve even asked her if she’s a Tory or a Whig.”
“Household management?” guessed Clarissa Haverstall.
“Er, no. Mrs. Grenville and Mr. Randall have everything running so smoothly that neither of us have changed a thing indoors.”
“The keyword there must be indoors, ” said Aunt Lucy. “If I know Bel, it’s some sort of dispute about agriculture. She was forever wrangling with Harold Brownlee about the proper way to farm in Derbyshire.”
“You are as astute as ever, my dear Lucy,” said Nigel. He looked at their houseguests with a grin and entertained them all with a longsuffering sigh.
“We subscribe to different systems of crop rotation,” Bel explained. “It makes for some lively dinner conversation.” She turned to Nigel with a superior smile. “I should remind you, my dear, that your steward Billings agrees with me .”
“And I should remind you , my dear, that I have read the most up-to-date science on the matter, and Billings has not.”
“Reading and practice are not always of equal value—”
“Do you see what I mean?” said Nigel with mock severity.
“I can’t even stop her from arguing in front of guests.
” He took his wife’s hand and brought it close to his lips, letting it hover there in expectation.
He swept a thumb over the back of her fingers in a wordless sign of affection.
Her eyes fastened on his for a little longer than was comfortable for their guests.
Ned Haverstall snorted and whispered to his wife. “I don’t think they like arguing as much as they like making up afterwards.”
“Well, they are newlyweds,” Clarissa whispered back, “so let’s leave them to it.
” She raised her voice to speak to the others in the room.
“Uncle Jack, Aunt Lucy, what do you say to a game of whist? You can partner each other against Ned and me, unless the gentlemen would prefer to take us ladies on?” The two couples rose from their chairs and drifted toward the card table on the other side of the room.
And meanwhile, pleased that their guests had found something to occupy themselves, Nigel and Bel slipped away to their own rooms upstairs for further discussion on the proper care, management, and husbandry of one’s beloved.
FINIS