Page 20 of The Honorable Rogue (The Notorious Nightingales #5)

CHAPTER TWENTY

“ D ear Lord, I fear this is going to be one of those moments of extreme embarrassment for all concerned,” Ellen whispered as Mr. Huffleford lumbered up the stairs.

Mr. Huffleford could at best be termed stout. His belly was large, and his voice booming. Charles had, in total, conversed with the man twice and regretted both times. He shouted and waved his hands about; the first time, he struck Charles in the nose.

“It’s like a birthday gift. You’re never quite sure if you’re going to like it or not,” Leo whispered.

“Good evening. My name is Mr. Huffleford.”

“Lady Chippington already introduced you!” someone heckled.

That was the thing about society: They never hesitated to heckle if there was a chance to do so.

“I have called this piece ‘I Am Happy,’” Mr. Huffleford continued.

“Let’s hope we are afterward,” Alex muttered from in front .

“I was happy with my friend,” Mr. Huffleford began in his great booming voice.

“I told my delight, my delight did end.

I was happy with my foe.

I told it not, my happy did glow.”

Charles couldn’t meet the eyes of his family because hysteria was welling up inside him. Alex’s shoulders were shaking, and Flora was gulping in deep breaths as she attempted not to laugh. Beside him, Ellen was giggling. Ram coughed.

“You’ve stolen William Blake’s poem and rewritten it!” someone called from behind him. “Terribly shabby behavior on your part, sir!”

Turning, he found the voice belonged to the Duchess of Yardly, one of society’s most formidable matrons who rarely had a nice word to say about anyone. Charles secretly thought her wonderful, but then he’d not got on her wrong side yet.

“I assure you, my dear duchess, it was written entirely by my hand,” Huffleford protested.

“Boo,” the duchess heckled. “Get off the stage, you fool!” She stomped her cane down hard. Beside her sat the Earl and Countess of Raine; both appeared to be battling with laughter also.

“I want to be like her when I am older,” Flora said loudly.

“God save us all,” Charles and Ram added at the same time.

After Huffleford had been booed off the stage, there was a pianist who played well, and then a young lady who sang off-key.

“God’s blood, Miss Alder just pierced my eardrum,” Ellen muttered.

“A bit harsh on your fellow sister, surely?” Charles whispered back. “After all, she is up there, and you are not. ”

He received a jab in the ribs with her pointy elbow for that.

Next, both Miss Bromleys read poetry together, which was a trifle odd but entertaining, as they were in perfect unison. When they finished to rapturous applause, the lady of the house once again took the stage.

“As is tradition for our musical, we finish the season with a performance from our children. Please welcome them to the stage.”

“Thank God,” Leo moaned from beside him. “These seats are damned uncomfortable.”

“You feeble old man,” Charles taunted as he watched the Althorps all file up the steps and onto the stage. While the older siblings had their polite faces on, Violet looked like she wanted to empty the contents of her stomach, which would certainly make an impression.

You can do this, Violet.

Until her, no woman outside his family made him want to do whatever it took to make them happy. Right then, he’d vault over every person between him and Violet, pick her up, and run if she asked it of him. It was an unsettling thought for a man who was usually contained. He feared he was unraveling like the blanket Mr. Alvin had made Curaidh, which he chewed constantly.

Violet Althorp had begun to mean something to Charles, and it was an odd thing considering he had not spent a great deal of time with her. But the few times they’d been together were etched in his memory, especially that kiss.

Perhaps with more exposure, these feelings inside him would wane?

He studied her face as she moved across the stage.

Is she completely recovered? She looked pink cheeked and healthy once more, much to his relief.

Her grave expression made his chest hurt .

Look up, Violet.

He knew she didn’t sense him, but her eyes rose. She then did a quick sweep of the room, stopping briefly at him before moving on. The contact had been brief, but he’d felt it. Felt her fear at being up there.

“Did your eyes just meet Violet Althorp’s across a crowded room, Cousin?” Ellen whispered.

“Shut up,” he hissed back.

Violet wore white. The dress was cut low enough to see the tops of her breasts, and Charles had the urge to dash up there and tuck a scarf into her bodice.

I am in so much trouble.

Violet took a seat at the piano. Talbot played the cello, Clarissa the violin, and the other, Octavia, the flute.

“They all look like they have a stone in their shoe—not excruciating but uncomfortable,” Ellen whispered.

“I’m glad I’m not up there,” Charles whispered back.

“Flora told me you sing like a donkey.”

“And I suppose she told you that her voice is like a rusty door hinge, and our cat, Miss C, used to yowl her protest when she sang in the house.”

“Miss C?” Ellen asked.

“ C for cat.”

“Ah, of course. Your Miss Violet Althorp looks stunning in that dress,” Ellen then said.

“She is not mine.” He kept his words calm. In fact, Violet was stunning.

“What are you two whispering about?” Flora said from three seats down. She was now bent at the waist, looking at him.

“Face forward.” Charles waved his hand at her. “It’s nothing. We are just chatting.”

Her eyes narrowed. “It’s not nothing, and I will have all the details after the performance,” his sister hissed .

“Now see what you have done, Ellen?”

“Sisters have an instinctive knowledge when their brother is hiding something from them,” Ellen said.

“I loathe that about them,” Leo added.

Charles ignored his cousins and focused on the performance… Violet. He’d been hopeless at music, even though his mother had great hopes for the opposite. She had thrown every instrument at him along with tutors in the hopes one would suit. None had, and looking at the Althorps, he was quite happy about that.

As the music began, Talbot looked at his little sister and smiled. It was gentle, and Charles guessed meant to be reassuring. She in no way looked reassured.

He’d seen the bond between them that day at the Hen and Rooster. These two were close, and Charles guessed some of that was due to what she had suffered losing Tobias.

He could hear at once they had talent—no wrong notes with this family. As they progressed through the first piece, Charles focused on Violet, watching her hands fly over the keys. The tension left her body as she relaxed, losing herself in the music.

“There is no doubting they are all related, even with the different hair colors. They all have those high cheekbones,” Ellen whispered.

Ellen was right; they did all have some similarities. Talbot was simply a larger, more masculine version of his sisters. His eyes would lift occasionally to check on them, making sure they were all right.

Looking along the row to his right, he saw the side of Flora’s face and understood exactly what the man was doing. His sisters had tugged on his protective instincts his entire life. Returning his eyes to Violet, he knew that if she were his, it would be no different because she’d already raised that emotion and more inside him.