Page 4 of The Poet’s Stern Critic (One Night in Blackhaven #5)

A lice had been completely focused on the music, and yet there was also awareness of him . His awe elated her—her music moved the great poet! And then all her emotion, all her passion, had crashed at the first sound of Atherstone’s voice.

Somehow, she had held her own, greeting him with bare civility that verged on contempt. How dare he contaminate this moment? How dare he contaminate her home ?

“What is it?” Cornelius said, his voice urgent and yet so gentle that she wanted to weep. And throw things. “My lady, what is wrong?”

Of course he could feel her trembling. And that made her angry too. “Nothing,” she snapped. “I just imagined I had left all that stupidity back in London, but it has followed me!”

He had swept her back into the ballroom, where she was once more enveloped in the warmth of the crowd, the chatter, and the music. It infuriated her because she had so enjoyed the peace of being alone with him. But Atherstone had spoiled that too, and now she was back with the ever-familiar. And yet she felt safe here, and that made her ashamed.

To her relief, Mr. Vale did not return her to her family. Instead, he conducted her to a miraculously quiet corner, and a glass of wine appeared on the table before her. She picked it up with both hands to avoid spilling it.

He watched her, his eyes steady, still curiously gentle, though there was something implacable about the set of his long, firm mouth. “Atherstone has followed you? What did he do to you?”

The wine slopped over the edge of her glass, dripping on her fingers. “Nothing!” she said in fright. “He merely represents the ghastliness of the Season for me.”

He presented her with a large handkerchief to wipe her fingers. “Why ghastly? I thought young ladies loved the Season. My sister Felicia did, and Lucy, as I recall, was furious she could not have one when my brother-in-law had the temerity to die.”

“My sisters enjoyed them too,” Alice said. “Or at least the oldest two did. Frances and Serena were wild and daring, of course, as well as beautiful and charming. Fortunately, Frances caught a Scottish earl—who is incredibly kind and sweet—before she could ruin herself, and Serena was sent home for dancing three times with Lord Daxton and jilting her perfectly respectable betrothed, after which she met Tamar and now lives happily ever after.” She ran out of breath, inhaled, and began again. “Maria is more shy and anxious, of course, so no one minded that she married beneath her.”

She took another gulp of wine. “I’m babbling again. You have an ill effect upon me, sir.”

“Were you shy and anxious?” he asked curiously, almost as if her contradictions interested him.

“No,” she sighed. “Worse. I am bookish and opinionated.”

He smiled. “You are.”

“I suppose we younger three were left more to our own devices when Frances and Serena came out, and then Gervaise—my brother, Braithwaite—went into politics. We all went our own ways, following our own inclinations, which has given us too much independence of spirit. On top of which, I am too blunt to be conciliatory. No one, least of all me, expected me to have a successful Season.”

“Did you?”

“Gervaise received twelve offers of marriage on my behalf.”

He blinked. “That sounds successful.”

“Well, three were from gazetted fortune hunters and one from a schoolboy, but even so, Mama was impressed.”

“Were you?”

“Lord no, not one of them had any interest in me, only in my dowry, my birth, and my family’s influence—in various orders of importance depending on the suitor.”

“Which was the Duke of Atherstone’s chief interest?”

She glanced at him, not sure whether his perception pleased or annoyed her. He was watching her, twisting the stem of his glass in his large, yet elegant, fingers. “Birth, probably. Certainly, he thinks I cannot refuse him because he is a duke.”

“And yet you did.”

“How do you know I did?” she challenged.

“You were hardly glad of his presence.”

“I’m not. And I did. Refuse him, I mean.” She took another sip, glad that she could hold the glass now in one steady hand.

“Why? Most girls would give their eye teeth to be a duchess.”

She curled her lip. “I didn’t like his manners.” She sipped again. “I can’t imagine he likes mine.”

Mr. Vale—dear God, Simon Sacheverill!—raised his own glass, clinking the base off hers. “I could have throttled him for interrupting. You play divinely.”

Heat seeped into her face. “I hope you are not saying that merely to cheer me up.”

“No.” He gave a quick, self-deprecating smile. “I thought I would have to find a tactful way to explain your limitations to you. If you have any, I am not knowledgeable enough to discern them. I understand your frustrations better now. What was it you played? It was exquisite.”

She could hardly breathe for happiness. “Thank you,” she gasped. “I…I composed it myself.”

His eyebrows flew up, perhaps in disbelief, though she hoped it was merely surprise. “What do you call it?”

She set the glass down on the table before she gulped it dry and blurted everything. “It does not have a name yet. Perhaps I shall explain my dilemma to you one day, and you can help me decide.”

“I would be honored.” His gaze flickered toward the entrance and then back to her face. “Are you promised for the supper dance?”

“Do I need to be?” she asked, and he understood immediately.

“The duke has seen you but is moving toward Lady Braithwaite. I can offer you protection if you wish it.”

“I don’t,” she said at once. “I have any number of old friends who will dance with me without my having to hint.”

“And if I ask because I want the pleasure of your company?”

“That is different.”

*

In the short carriage ride home to Braithwaite Castle, only Gervaise and Eleanor made desultory conversation. Helen, who was Alice’s closest sister yet sometimes now seemed miles away, seemed lost in her own dreamy, rather pleasant thoughts. So Alice thought of Cornelius Vale, who was also Simon Sacheverill.

He had surprised her so many times and yet seemed to have no idea how rare he truly was. He had been rude, haughty, forgiving, apologetic, delighted by her music, kind, and interested in her . On top of that, during the supper dance and then supper itself, he had revealed an unexpected sense of humor. That should not have surprised her, of course, for Sacheverill’s poetry was littered with sly witticisms and subtle jests. But thinking on one’s feet was different from composing. He had made her laugh. And he was certainly well educated, for they had conversed on many intriguing topics that proved his knowledge and his depth of thought. And he was observant. She was sure he guessed the nature of Atherstone’s offense against her.

And yet none of these were the reasons she thought of him now. She had been too anxious and angry during their first dance to properly appreciate him, but now she found herself remembering the strength of his arms, the breadth of his shoulders, the grace of his every movement. And as she felt it again now, she remembered the odd, tingling heat his nearness had brought her.

In London, she had waltzed with many men, of all ages and character. Some had been handsome. Many she had liked. Many had amused her, both consciously and unconsciously. But this physical reaction, which she had felt in the bookshop too before she ruined everything, was new to her, and peculiarly precious.

She found herself smiling as she gazed out of the carriage window at the dark fields and tall, silhouetted trees lining the castle road and the curved, sweeping drive.

“Alice?” Gervaise said when they were inside the castle and she would have run upstairs after Helen to talk over their secret plans.

“Yes?” Alice paused her foot on the steps. Eleanor had swept toward the nursery wing to see her children.

“You danced twice with Cornelius Vale and sat out a dance with him.”

“Did I? Well, no one counts such things in Blackhaven.” They might when his true identity was revealed, although she was more likely to be lost in the storm of adulation.

“I suspect His Grace of Atherstone does,” Gervaise said. “Though fortunately he did not see your earlier dance with Vale.”

“I’m surprised you did.”

“I didn’t,” he confessed. “Eleanor is more aware, as she tries to take her chaperone duties seriously. You would not take advantage of her, would you?”

“Of course not.” Alice smiled crookedly. “Are you afraid Mr. Vale takes advantage of me?”

“No. I am more concerned with your spoiling your chances with Atherstone.”

“I have no chances with him. I refused him.”

“And yet here he is in Blackhaven. I believe you have made a conquest. If you knew how many caps had been set at him…”

“I can guess. I’m sure that is half of his own attraction to me, because I never did.”

“What do you think is the other half of his attraction to you?” Gervaise said, smiling.

“You,” Alice replied. “Gervaise, he is not for me, and I am certainly not for him. I wish he had not come.” She could not quite hide her shudder of revulsion, and then she thought again of dancing with Cornelius Vale, who was also Simon Sacheverill.

Why had he not yet even warned his family of his alter ego, when he had only a week before the castle garden party revealed all?

*

Cornelius could not wait to get home. Julius had, inevitably, vanished halfway through the evening, but the rest of his siblings chattering away about dances and acquaintances was a mere annoyance to him. His head was full of music and beauty and words he was desperate to spill onto paper.

Once in the house, he yelled a general goodnight loudly enough to reach the twins—who were doubtless skulking somewhere in the house to hear all about it—and ran straight up to his bedchamber.

“He has an early start, poor fellow,” Delilah said in the hall below.

“Can’t he have one day off?” Aubrey returned. “I certainly intend to.”

There came the sound of a slap on the head. “No you won’t—you’ll drink your waters like a man. And Cornelius, refreshed by sleep…” Roderick’s voice faded into the drawing room.

If only they knew his rush was not to sleep, but to get the words down on paper while everything was still in his head. After kicking his bedroom door shut behind him, he lit the lamp on his desk, tore off his coat, cravat, and waistcoat, and threw himself into the chair.

In shirt sleeves and his black satin breeches, he wrote feverishly, then scored out with fury where the language proved unequal to the task and replaced the words with others. His vision seemed to tumble onto the page, more like music than mere words.

Dawn was breaking before he set his pen back in the stand. He was far too tired to know if it was any good, but he felt a certain satisfaction as he stood up, dropped the rest of his clothes on the floor, and fell naked into bed. Two hours of sleep and he would get up to oversee the drainage ditch in the lower field and fix the gutter on the Battys’ cottage, then, hopefully, get the cows back from Daubin and get some truth out of the lazy Barton, who had been his father’s steward.

To his relief, Lady Alice’s lovely face with its myriad expressions no longer haunted his vision, but as he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep at last, her music still played in his head.

*

“ I wish he had not come .”

Alice’s shudder when she spoke of the Duke of Atherstone did not go unnoticed by her brother. On the other hand, the next instant she had looked so untroubled, even happy, that he could easily have mistaken the cause of that shiver. She was probably merely tired and cold.

However, when the duke called the following morning, not long before midday, Braithwaite was wary.

An alliance with the duke would be most advantageous for the whole family. Alice would be a duchess, with all the wealth and position of her husband’s family behind her. The political and social connections were second to none. And the marriage settlements would be generous.

Braithwaite was not an avaricious man, but there was no denying there had been many demands on his purse in the last few years. As well as alterations and repairs to the castle, he had loaned a fortune to his brother-in-law Tamar for the repair of his ruined house and lands. He had bought a house in London for his sister Maria and her husband. He grudged none of it, and he was hardly facing ruin. However, his coffers were not inexhaustible and a few more bad years could certainly make things difficult. A marriage alliance with a wealthy man would stabilize his finances nicely.

And so he received the Duke of Atherstone in his library with great affability, and gave him a glass of wine.

“I shan’t beat about the bush, Braithwaite,” Atherton said in his cool, oddly expressionless voice. “My offer for Lady Alice stands.”

“Sadly, so does her refusal,” Braithwaite replied. “I spoke to her on the subject last night. It may not be the answer either you or I wish for, but there it is.”

Atherton blinked slowly, sipping his wine. “Do you have no say in your family affairs, Braithwaite?”

To his annoyance, Braithwaite felt heat seep into his face. “I do,” he said, “and I have always let my sisters choose.”

“You’ll forgive me for pointing out the mistake. Females—especially young females—do not have the gumption to make wise choices. To be blunt, your own sisters are living proof of that. Torridon may be very well, but Tamar? The Gaunts are a ramshackle bunch—bad blood and profligate to a fault. I would not allow my sister to marry there, even for the honor of being a marchioness.”

“Well, it is hardly an option,” Braithwaite said as pleasantly as he could, “since Serena is the marchioness.”

“Costly,” Atherstone remarked. “As for Lady Maria’s disastrous marriage, the least said, the better.”

“There I agree with you,” Braithwaite said icily.

“A little advice for you, Braithwaite. You are the head of a noble family. Act like it. If you wish Lady Alice to marry me, tell her so. Neither of you will regret it.” With another sip of wine, the duke set his half-full glass on the table and rose. “I am going up to Scotland for a few days. I shall hope for a different answer upon my return to Blackhaven, for it will be my final offer.” He smiled without warmth. “I would appreciate a personal interview with Lady Alice at that time. I would not like to think you stand against me.”

Atherstone held out one languid hand, and they shook with outward cordiality. “Indeed, I hope you would not,” Braithwaite said.

And yet, as the duke departed, Braithwaite found he liked him less. He did not care to feel threatened.