Love's Refrain Read online

  “Lord Covington, how delightful to see you,” Laura said as she curtseyed. “And Lady Covington, what a wonderful surprise.”

  Lord Covington nodded, though she detected a bit of anger behind his polite mask.

  “I asked my son to bring me here this morning,” the countess informed her, “because I was so enchanted with your sister, and I wanted to see her again.”

  Laura’s brows rose. “I am pleased my sister made a favorable impression, my lady.”

  “Indeed she did, but she is far too pale. She needs to get outdoors more. My son will be available to take her for a ride this afternoon, if you allow it.”

  ****

  “So Lady Covington invited me to ride with Lord Covington?” Miranda asked after their guests had departed.

  “Er — yes. And I accepted for you. Do you mind?” Laura asked.

  “No, I don’t mind. Though I would have been simply agog if it had been Mr. Davis. Don’t you agree, Laura?”

  Laura worked hard to tamp down her irritation at her sister’s shallowness. Couldn’t she see that for all his good looks, Mr. Davis was nothing more than an opportunist? His sole purpose was to find a rich woman so he could live a pampered life. He had no title, no property, and no money other than what he coerced his friends into giving him. And now he needed a wife who could help him continue the life he craved.

  “Mr. Davis is indeed handsome,” Laura agreed. “But Lord Covington is also good-looking,” she continued.

  “Oh, I suppose,” Miranda agreed. “It will be nice to join him for a ride this afternoon. Best not to cast him aside in case I can’t find someone better.”

  Laura took a deep breath to keep from losing her temper. “Lord Covington will be here at half-past two.”

  “But that gives me only three hours to prepare!”

  “Er — do you want me to help?”

  “No, no. I’ll manage with Francesca’s help. You’re closer to his age, so I’m sure you can entertain Lord Covington for a while if I’m not ready when he gets here.” She swept away.

  Laura closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. When her father had married Lady Rothschild, her stepmother had come to their home with her young daughter, Miranda. Laura had been excited about the union, having spent a lonely childhood with few friends. She’d been eager to greet and love a new sister. But the spoiled young miss had not shown any interest in forming a bond of any kind, especially since Laura had little interest in fashion, jewelry, or landing a wealthy husband.

  She finished her breakfast then rose to take care of the household matters. Three hours would give her plenty of time to see to the menus, take care of correspondence, and get dressed for the afternoon’s outing.

  Four hours later, Laura and the earl waited in the front parlor. But they were so engaged in their discussion, neither of them noticed Miranda had yet to make her appearance.

  “The last time I went to Drury Lane, it was to see a presentation of Macbeth,” Laura recalled.

  “And did you enjoy it?”

  “Absolutely. Mr. Edmund Kean’s performance of Macbeth was riveting.”

  “Yes, but he falls a bit short of the representation by Mr. John Philip Kemble. He was indeed a legend.”

  “I have not had the privilege of observing Mr. Kemble on the stage, but I have heard his representation of the tragic heroes is truly unparalleled. Still, there are some who say his acting in other roles seems a bit - methodical.”

  “Perhaps. But Mr. Kemble is a veteran of those tragic roles. I attended a performance of his eight or nine years ago and enjoyed it immensely.”

  The two compared performances, and they shared anecdotes of the plays they had seen. Laura laughed aloud at a particularly funny story until a cough from the doorway interrupted them.

  “It would seem my chaperone might be in need of her own chaperone. Goodness, Laura, surely you realize you need to behave with the decorum expected of any unmarried woman?”

  Laura gasped, unsure how she should respond. Fortunately, Lord Covington rose, stepped easily to her sister, and bent low over her hand.

  “Lady Miranda, how good to see you again. Thank you for accepting my invitation this afternoon. Your sister was good enough to help me choose a pleasant route to take. Shall we go?”

  Jones appeared as they stepped into the lobby and helped Miranda into her cloak. Laura held out her cloak to Jones but froze when the earl lifted it from her arm and settled it over her shoulders. The warm touch of his fingers, even through the cloak’s fabric, threatened to melt her. She leaned back, wanting the moment to last, but Jones’ upturned brow reminded her of her role as Miranda’s chaperone. She nodded her thanks to the earl and stepped outside, where a footman assisted her and then Miranda into the waiting barouche.

  Once the ladies were settled, Andrew got in and instructed the driver to take them to the Vauxhall Gardens.

  ****

  Andrew sat back in his seat and allowed Lady Miranda to chatter. The barouche he’d hired had a seat wide enough for three people to sit comfortably. He would have preferred to discuss topics other than the weather and fashion, but Lady Miranda kept a steady stream of commentary. And she was quite lovely.

  He’d been furious with his mother for tricking him into this outing, and he’d told her as much when they’d left the Montgomery home that morning. She’d blithely informed him she’d decided to help him find a bride, since he’d been reluctant to choose one.

  He had enjoyed his conversation with Lady Laura. She was pleasant enough in appearance, though she was no beauty like her sister. But Lady Laura shared a passion for the theater and knowledge about classical literature, music, and art. She still looked familiar, but he couldn’t remember where he had seen her. Perhaps she’d been a friend of Priscilla’s. He’d have to ask her one day.

  “What do you think, my lord?”

  He’d done it again. He had no idea what Miranda had said. “Er, I’m not sure.” He leaned forward and made eye contact with her sister. “What is your opinion, Lady Laura?”

  Lady Laura’s eyes twinkled, and her mouth curved into a wide grin. Had she guessed his dilemma? “My lord, I believe it is of utmost importance, indeed,” she replied.

  Blast. I still don’t know what Lady Miranda was talking about.

  Chapter Four

  Laura knew she probably looked silly, but she couldn’t stop smiling. The carriage ride had been a rare treat. Lord Covington had made every effort to include her in conversation, as if he were courting the two of them at once. She had to remember she, Laura, was simply the chaperone. But their conversation while waiting for Miranda had been so stimulating. He’d asked her opinion about various performers and compositions. And he’d listened to her answers.

  She’d almost laughed when Miranda had asked his opinion about something. He obviously hadn’t been listening because his wide hazel eyes had pleaded for assistance when he’d leaned over and asked, “What is your opinion, Lady Laura?” She would have gladly helped, if she’d had any inkling of what Miranda had been prattling about, but she too had let her mind wander.

  Returning to Cousin Reginald’s home, Laura decided to read. She hadn’t had much time for reading since they’d arrived in town, and she had a new poetry book she wanted to browse. She let the book fall open and brightened at the first title to catch her eye: To Hope. John Keats’ words filled her with a sense of serendipity:

  When by my solitary hearth I sit,

  And hateful thoughts enwrap my soul in gloom;

  When no fair dreams before my “mind’s eye” flit,

  And the bare heath of life presents no bloom;

  Sweet Hope, ethereal balm upon me shed,

  And wave thy silver pinions o’er my head.

  Whene’er I wander, at the fall of night,

  Where woven boughs shut out the moon’s bright ray,

  Should sad Despondency my musings fright,

  And frown, to drive fair Cheerfulness away,

  Pe
ep with the moon-beams through the leafy roof,

  And keep that fiend Despondence far aloof.

  Should Disappointment, parent of Despair,

  Strive for her son to seize my careless heart;

  When, like a cloud, he sits upon the air,

  Preparing on his spell-bound prey to dart:

  Chace him away, sweet Hope, with visage bright,

  And fright him as the morning frightens night!

  Laura looked up from the page, her eyes shining, her heart filled with a joy she hadn’t felt in years. Hope. There was hope. Perhaps the earl was her soul mate, and perhaps he wasn’t. If he chose her sister, he would be her brother and would still be a part of her life. She could still have stimulating conversations with him, and that would be enough.

  She read the words again, her spirits rising with each line. The words suggested a melody, slightly melancholy, beginning in the lower part of her vocal range and gradually rising in pitch, reflecting the dawning of hope. The music in her head cheered her so much she began to sing out loud, her voice slowly gaining intensity and assurance, until she threw her entire being into the song.

  A second melody began to weave its way through hers. The mellow tones of a wooden flute played a merry dance with her song, sometimes echoing, sometimes dipping below to accompany, sometimes soaring above to embellish. She rose, going to the open window, and continued to sing, hoping to see where the music came from, but no mystery musician stood in the courtyard below.

  The flautist was so skilled he seemed to anticipate her every turn. Entranced, Laura forgot about the words and danced about, though she continued the melody, substituting “la” for the lyrics.

  She didn’t know how long she and the flute player engaged in their duet, but the door slamming open behind her had her gasping.

  “Laura! Didn’t you hear me calling you? I need your help getting ready for the Dunwiddie party tonight. I simply can’t abide Francesca’s careless hairdressing again.”

  Her spirits still floating after the music session, Laura beamed at her sister. “I guess I was daydreaming, Miranda. I’m sure some handsome gentleman will sweep you off your feet. Maybe tonight.” She rose, clasping her sister’s hands. “You’d admired Lady Amanda’s coiffure at the concert last week, so I spoke with her mother, Lady Fitzhugh, and inquired about the maid who arranged it. She has agreed to let the girl come over as soon as she’s finished with Lady Amanda’s hair and do yours. This means we will be a little later arriving at the ball—”

  Miranda’s bright blue eyes widened and she bounced with excitement. “Oh, Laura, this is perfect! I shall be sure to make a grand entrance if we arrive later tonight. Thank you, sister.” She squeezed Laura’s hand and then turned away, assured the crisis was solved. “Now, I just have to decide whether to wear the blue or the green gown.”

  Laura felt the shade of green made her sister look rather ill, but kept her opinion to herself. Miranda, she knew, would wear what she liked, regardless of what anyone thought.

  ****

  On the other side of the hedge separating the Montgomery courtyard from that of their neighbor, Andrew put his flute back in its case and returned to his own townhouse. Now, he knew the identity of the mystery singer who had entranced him before. The angelic voice belonged to Lady Laura Montgomery. Though the shrubbery prevented him from seeing her clearly through her open window, he’d caught a glimpse of her dancing about. Her auburn hair gleamed, and she seemed younger and more vibrant than at the Kentridges’ ball.

  He prepared for the evening, his heart lighter than it had been for some time. Perhaps he should continue to court Lady Miranda. If they were to wed, he’d have a talented sister-in-law.

  Sister-in-law? He paused with his arm halfway into his shirt sleeve, causing his young valet to eye him curiously. Somehow, the title didn’t seem right. But that’s what she would be, if he continued to court, and eventually marry, Lady Miranda.

  Why couldn’t Miranda be more like her sister?

  Chapter Five

  Andrew stepped out onto the crowded street, his thoughts on the meeting he’d just held with his solicitor. It seemed his mother might get her way yet again. Cousin Nelson, it seemed, was an unsuitable heir. In order to preserve his lands and title, he would have to remarry. Men married for far worse reasons than to gain an heir. At least Lady Miranda was pleasing to the eye. He could do far worse than to marry her. Why, then, did he have the feeling such a course wasn’t right?

  He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he gasped when a strong hand gripped his arm, stopping him in his tracks. Seconds later, a rapidly moving carriage, pulled by four huge horses, passed in front of him. Had he stepped onto the cross street, he would have been crushed.

  Gathering his wits, he turned to thank his rescuer. His long-time friend Phillip Peartree, Duke of Bartlett, stood behind him, his hand still wrapped around Andrew’s arm.

  “Bartlett!” Andrew cried. “Thanks, friend. My daydreaming nearly killed me.”

  His friend’s eyes were as wide as his must have been. “Are you all right?” Phillip asked.

  “I’m none the worse for wear, I suppose,” Andrew replied as he dusted off his coat. Looking up, he realized Phillip, having lost his hearing in a hunting accident, hadn’t heard his response. Andrew repeated his answer, careful to keep his face toward the duke, who depended on reading lips to understand what was said. “I’m fine, Phillip, thanks to you.”

  Reassured, Phillip released his hold on Andrew’s coat. “I’m just headed home for tea. Would you care to join us? Amelia would be pleased to see you again.”

  Phillip had wed Lady Amelia Partridge only a year before. The new duchess was a delightful woman, intelligent, and passionate about her role teaching the poor children in the Cheapside neighborhood near St. Paul’s Cathedral.

  “I would be pleased to join you,” Andrew replied.

  The duke and his new duchess lived in a modest home, rented for the season so Phillip could tend to his duties in Parliament. He spent most of his time and energy on his estate, rebuilding the financial mess his father had left him. But Phillip’s sister and Amelia’s brother lived in London, so the couple came often to visit.

  They walked to the townhouse, chatting as they went. The spring chill had warmed to a pleasant degree, and the men shrugged off their overcoats as they walked. Phillip led the way to a less affluent area, to a row of smaller townhouses. Though the neighborhood was well kept, the homes were much more modest than the one Andrew occupied.

  “Here we are,” Phillip announced. He stepped up to the door just as the butler opened it. Andrew followed, wondering if his friend was in worse straits than he had thought.

  But as he entered the cozy setting inside, he knew Phillip was rich in another sense. Amelia, Lady Bartlett, put down her stitching and rose quickly to greet her husband. Andrew watched their brief interaction, noting the light in both their eyes, the love filling the room. Their hands entwined, and he knew their greeting tonight was much more modest than it would have been had he not been a witness.

  “Lord Covington, how good to see you again.” Lady Amelia turned her still shining face to her guest. “How is your dear mother?”

  “Very well, thank you,” Andrew replied as he bent over her hand.

  “Please make yourself comfortable. Connors will be in shortly with tea.”

  Andrew sat, engaging in small talk, but absorbing the harmony so evident in Phillip’s life. He and his wife clearly adored each other, and they had shared interests. This is what a marriage should be like, he thought.

  He blinked when he realized the conversation had paused. Both Phillip and Amelia had turned toward him, wearing expressions of polite interest. Drat. What had he missed?

  “Sorry, I was woolgathering. What did you say?”

  “I had asked about the lovely lady with whom you danced at the ball a week ago,” Phillip told him. “I heard a rumor you took her for a ride later. Lady Miranda, I believe?”
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  “Yes, she’s the younger daughter of the Earl of Norwood.”

  “Miranda?” Amelia blurted. “She’s a child!”

  Andrew stared agape at Amelia, who blushed. “Forgive me,” Amelia murmured. “My tongue has engaged before my mind again. It is not my concern, and I should not wonder what a man our age would have in common with a young woman in her first season. I shall let you gentlemen talk. I need to plan this evening’s lessons at the chapel.” She rose and swept from the parlor.

  Andrew was at a loss. Had he insulted Lady Bartlett? Should he leave?

  “I’m not certain what my wife said, but please forgive her for her outburst,” Phillip began.

  Andrew waved a dismissive hand. “She didn’t say anything I haven’t said to myself in the last several days. Lady Miranda is indeed quite young.”

  “Then why are you calling on her?”

  “I’m not exactly calling on her, but Mother seems to have taken a liking to her and seems keen on having her for a daughter-in-law. She’s lovely—”

  “True. And what do you talk about?”

  “Er, the weather, her new gowns, her headaches…”

  “Fascinating,” Phillip quipped. “Does she ever inquire about your interests?”

  He thought. Did she really care about him at all? “I’m an earl, and I have the money to buy her more gowns. It’s probably all that matters to her.”

  “So you would be proud to have her on your arm, but nothing else about her appeals to you. Is that enough?”

  “It bothers me when she keeps me waiting. The time would be boring if it weren’t for Lady Laura.”

  “Her older sister.”