Page 11 of The Spinster’s Stolen Heart (Willenshires #5)

The day was grey and cloudy, not really ideal for a garden party. Still, the event had been scheduled for at least a month, and accepted several weeks ago, so they were going.

Nathan tried not to feel too miserable. It was just a party. Indeed, there was work to do at home, but garden parties were day-time events, and he was likely to return home and be hard at work well before sunset.

Lately, however, Nathan felt that he had been distracted. Work didn’t enthral him the way it once had. Piles of paperwork had always made his heart sink a little, but now he felt so miserable he could hardly force himself to get started. His mind had been wandering during meetings, too.

He was thinking of Pippa Randall far more than he ought to have done. There was no real reason for the woman to be on his mind as much as she did, and yet he couldn’t seem to shut her out.

She’d be at the party, to be sure. Nathan wasn’t sure if he were excited for that or dreading it.

His plans to hold back and wait and see what happened with Miss Randall seemed rather foolish now. She was in Society to be married, everybody knew that. Women came to London for nothing else.

What sort of woman would choose a viscount over a marquess?

“Nathan? Nathan, I am speaking to you!”

He jolted out of his reverie, tearing his eyes away from the scenery flashing by, and blinked at his mother.

Rose was watching him with a faintly amused expression, eyebrows raised.

“You were a hundred miles away,” she remarked. “Pray, share your thoughts.”

He flushed. “I wasn’t thinking of much, Mother. I am simply not looking forward to this garden party, that is all. I don’t generally enjoy them, you know that. Not that it matters much, of course.”

She pursed her lips. “I’m sure Miss Randall will be there.”

He sighed. “That thought already occurred to me, Mother.”

“Do you plan to speak to her? You should, you know.”

“I imagine it will be unavoidable.”

Rose fell silent after that. Nathan glanced up at her once, afraid that he’d been too brusque and hurt her feelings but only found that his mother was eyeing him with a strange, unreadable expression. When she caught his eye, she smiled and turned towards the window.

“I hope you do talk to her,” she said at last. “You might rescue her from Lord Owen Barwick. You know what sort of reputation he has.”

“He’s a marquess, Mother. He’s a good match.”

“Is he really?”

Nathan hesitated. “Well, no, I suppose not. But he is rich, and he is a…”

“If you remind me again that the wretched man is a marquess, I shall scream.”

Nathan had to smile at that. He wisely let the subject drop.

*

Lord Henry Willenshire was not a remarkably sociable man, everybody knew that. He was an extensive traveller, a sharp businessman, and a hard worker. Some people had their opinions on whether or not a lord ought to have a business, but they were generally the sorts of ladies and gentlemen that had never had to even consider working a day in their lives, or even worrying where the flow of their money came from.

Nathan privately pitied such men.

Lady Eleanor was also much frowned upon, in being a woman – a married woman, at that! – who refused to keep herself at home, sewing things in preparation for children, and proceeded to efficiently and diligently run a most successful pottery business. Nathan had confessed himself surprised to hear that Henry, of all men, was marrying, but now it was clear that he and Eleanor were perfectly suited.

When Nathan stepped onto the terrace with Rose on his arm, Henry came forward to greet them with his easy smile.

“Nathan, how good to see you! And you too, Lady Whitmore! I’m surprised you could pry him away from his work,” Henry laughed, shaking his head.

Rose laughed politely, but it seemed a little strained. Nathan felt a twinge of guilt. He knew that he’d been particularly difficult lately, especially when his work had stopped producing as much joy as it once had.

Henry, thank goodness, did not seem to notice their reticence. He and his wife entertained less than any of their family, most likely due to their busy schedule. It seemed that they were more preoccupied with managing their guests. There wasn’t much time for conversation. Nathan and Rose slipped past them and headed towards the table.

Compared to other members of the ton , Henry and Eleanor’s home was somewhat modest. The garden, however, was excessively beautiful. It was not as expansive as some grounds, of course, but it was well cared for, full of lush plants and sprawling meadows, herbs, vegetables, and more.

The tables and chairs had been set out on the terrace, overlooking a rolling, green lawn. It was a relatively small party, mostly familiar faces.

Nathan noticed Pippa Randall straight away. She was already sitting down at the table, with her mother on one side and Lord Barwick – of course – on the other. The Dowager Marchioness, Lady Henrietta was standing behind her, deep in conversation with Lady Randall.

For an instant, he met Miss Randall’s eyes across the terrace. There was resignation and boredom in them, the expression of a young woman who is beyond bored. Something lit up in her eyes when she first saw him, something that made his heart beat faster.

Or perhaps it is your imagination. Perhaps you are only seeing what you want to see.

He bit back a sigh and let his mother steer him through the guests towards their end of the table, far away from where Miss Randall sat. It would be a long afternoon.

As the last of the guests found their seats and the chatter quieted down, Eleanor rose to her feet, smiling round at her guests.

“Now, everybody, we have a special treat. Usually, we all enjoy a little pianoforte music with our food, but of course, the instrument can hardly be dragged out onto the terrace!”

There was a mutter of laughter at that, and Eleanor continued.

“So, before we eat, I have asked Miss Pippa Randall to demonstrate her skills on the violin. She has brought her instrument specially on my request, and I must say, you are all in for a delightful surprise. Pray, proceed, Pippa. Whenever you find yourself prepared.”

The air seemed very still as Miss Randall rose to her feet, gripping a glossy violin in white-knuckled hands. She smiled faintly around, then lifted the instrument to prop beneath her chin. The bow dragged across the strings, and a shimmering, ethereal note filled the air.

Nathan leaned forward. On closer inspection, the violin was only glossy due to a recent application of wood polish. It was a well-maintained instrument, to be sure, but knocked and scratched with age, and faded in places. Still, the instrument seemed to bend itself into Miss Randall’s grip, as if the two of them were one creature.

Closing her eyes, Miss Randall began to play in earnest.

It was some strange, simple piece, one that Nathan did not recognize. Generally, ladies who played music at parties chose jaunty tunes that one could dance to, or classical pieces that showcased their talents, or else fashionable songs that were played in everybody’s parlour. They were skilled, certainly, but Nathan had never found himself mesmerized by their performances. Not in this way.

There was absolute silence as Miss Randall’s music unfolded itself, mournful and slow, as if telling a tragic story to which there could be no happy end. Tearing his eyes away from her, Nathan glanced up and down the table.

Almost everybody was fascinated, held captive by her spell. One older woman lifted a shaking hand to her lips, as if reeling from some long-forgotten sorrow brought to mind by the music.

Not everybody was listening so intently. Lady Randall was glancing up and down the table too, looking anxious and a little annoyed. She looked up at her daughter with a frown, as if wishing she would stop playing. Lady Henrietta, the Dowager, had her lips pursed together in obvious disapproval.

Lord Barwick was stifling a yawn, and Nathan found himself longing to throw a plate at the man’s head.

How could they not see how beautiful the music was, how talented Miss Randall was? Did they truly not see, or did they not wish to see?

Abruptly, the music came to a sweeping crescendo and ended. Miss Randall opened her eyes, as if waking from a dream.

Applause broke out up and down the table. Nathan leapt up from his seat to applaud, and he was not the first one on his feet. Miss Randall blinked at them, seeming almost a little stupefied.

Eleanor stood up, beaming, still clapping.

“Well, Pippa, that was beautiful ! Everybody loved it, of course. You are most talented!”

Miss Randall blushed. “My father taught me.”

Abruptly, Lady Randall seized her by the wrist, pulling her down into her seat. The younger woman lost her grip on her bow, which clattered across the paving stones. She scrabbled for it with an intense urgency, and Nathan had to look away.

“That’s enough, Pippa,” Lady Randall hissed, probably a little more loudly than she’d intended, as Nathan clearly heard and so did others.

Eleanor fixed the woman with a pointed glare.

“Right. Well, then, shall we eat?”

*

The dinner passed swiftly. Nathan found his gaze diverted down the table again and again, where Miss Randall sat. She didn’t seem to speak much. In fact, her gaze was fixed on the plate in front of her, although she barely ate. Her mother and Lord Barwick talked over her head a good deal. The violin had disappeared somewhere, and Miss Randall’s hands, laid gently on the table beside her plate, occasionally flexed, as if wishing she had the instrument once again.

When the food was being taken away and people were lounging around the table in a more relaxed fashion, Nathan noticed a few people making their way towards the gardens, in twos and threes, obviously with the aim of taking a light stroll. There would be games after – croquet, or perhaps bowls, with a chessboard and backgammon board being promised for later.

“Poor thing, she looks bored to death,” Rose commented, nudging Nathan and nodding in Miss Randall’s direction. “If he’s trying to court her, he might want to try and speak to her.”

Miss Randall was in the same position as before, between Lord Barwick and her mother. They were talking animatedly about something or other, Lady Randall clearly trying to impress the marquess. Neither of them even glanced at Miss Randall.

They don’t need to impress her, he thought, with a rush of anger. Lady Randall knows that her daughter will marry where she’s told, and Lord Barwick is too full of vanity to imagine that he might need to woo any woman at all. He probably imagines she’s in love with him already.

She didn’t look like a woman in love. She looked like a woman plotting escape.

Nathan was on his feet before he realised what he was doing. Rose blinked up at him, perplexed.

“Nathan? What is it?”

“Excuse me, Mother,” he answered, determined not to give himself time to lose his nerve. His feet carried him down the length of the table, until he was standing before the three of them.

Miss Randall noticed him at once, staring up at him with large eyes. It took a moment for Lady Randall and Lord Barwick’s conversation to falter away. Once there was silence, he smiled tightly.

“Excuse me, I only came to see if Miss Randall would like to take a turn around the rose garden over yonder. There are quite a number of guests walking there, in full sight of the terrace. It’ll be quite safe.”

And, more to the point, quite proper.

Lady Randall’s eyes bulged. “Sir, we are having a conversation.”

“Are you sure?” Nathan found himself saying, before he could think twice about whether or not it was a sensible thing to say. “Because I have not seen Miss Randall open her lips in the last half an hour. I believe your conversation has moved on without her.”

She flashed him a taut smile. “My daughter does not…”

“Yes,” Miss Randall blurted out. “Yes, Lord Whitmore. I’d like to come.”