Page 69 of The Last Debutante
Why not? Isabella was a perfect match for the laird; even Daria could see that. She glanced down the table and started when her gaze met Isabella’s. She quickly slid the slate back to Geordie.
“Miss Babcock, we were speaking of the great number of tenants leaving Scotland for Edinburra or beyond,” Jamie said. He had finished his meal and was leaning back, his fingers drumming on the stem of his wineglass. “I told our guests that you had offered a solution.”
She had no idea what he meant. “I have?”
He smiled. “Was it no’ you who suggested we drain the bog and plant a crop?”
“Oh... yes,” she admitted, noting the skeptical faces about her. “I am acquainted with a landowner who did that very thing in England. He increased his arable land.”
One of the Brodies snickered and said something that had several of them chuckling.
Lord, she felt like a fool, sitting here as if she knew what she was talking about. Had she ever spent a more wretched evening? The infamous supper party at Rochfeld ranked high on her list of wretched evenings, but even suffering the attentions of the drunken Lord Horncastle wasn’t as vexing as this.
Time was standing still by the time the meal was concluded and the party adjourned to the great hall. Daria dawdled, hoping to make an unnoticed escape. She pretended to fuss with the clasp of her bracelet and trailed behind the group, lingering at the door.
“Miss Babcock?” Jamie said, turning about as his guests crossed the hall into the great room.
She glanced down the hall. If only she had started in that direction, she might have pretended not to hear him. But he was already walking toward her. Daria said, “Thank you for supper, but if you will excuse me—”
“You donna intend to leave us yet. I had high hopes that you might play again, aye?”
Her heart seized. She couldn’t imagine anything more torturous than having to play the pianoforte with Isabella Brodie in the room. “Oh,” she said, wincing a little. “I, ah... I am feeling a bit—”
“Please, Miss Babcock,” Aileen said, suddenly appearing at Jamie’s right. “The waltz.” She smiled.Warmly.Daria had never seen Aileen smile before this moment. “Please,” she said again.
Behind her, Geordie and Robbie paused, looking back at Daria.
“Laird Brodie is quite good with the flute. He will accompany you,” Jamie said. “It would be a great pleasure for all if you would indulge us.”
Feeling trapped, Daria looked around at the Campbells, all of them looking at her hopefully. She could just imagine it—Jamie teaching Isabella the waltz; her having to watch them over the top of the pianoforte.
Geordie thrust his slate before her face.Plees.
“Aren’t you all quite persuasive.” She sighed. “Very well.”
“Thank you, Daria,” Aileen said. It was the first time she’d ever said Daria’s name. Moreover, she sounded truly grateful.
Daria steeled herself and allowed the Campbells to lead her into the great hall, where someone had moved the pianoforte. Aileen hurried ahead, presumably telling them all that there would be dancing.
The Brodies eyed Daria curiously, but someone must have told them about the music, for one of them did indeed produce a flute.
Daria sat down at the pianoforte. She looked at the people assembled, ignored the butterflies in her belly, and began to play a waltz.
Aileen and Robbie were quick to dance, moving with surprising grace and ease around the room. She expected Jamie to stand before Isabella and bow deeply, offering his hand, so she was astounded to see Geordie grab Isabella and begin to move slowly with her around the room. Several others began to waltz, too, to her surprise. The dance was apparently spreading across Dundavie, and she couldn’t help a small smile.
The man with the flute quickly picked up the harmony to Daria’s song, and before long, everyone was dancing and laughing. When she finished each song, Daria tried to pause, but the people pushed her along. After three songs, a man appeared with a fiddle. There was quite a lot of talk between him and the flute player, and then both looked at her expectantly. “Go on, then, lass,” Laird Brodie said. “We’ll follow your lead, aye?”
They were remarkable musicians, really. Daria’s repertoire consisted of five or six songs, and the gentlemen were gifted enough that they could change them all with tempo and harmony. After a time, though, Daria began to grow weary of playing. Her fingers ached; she wasn’t accustomed to playing for so long.
At the conclusion of the fifth song—played for the third time—Daria put her hands in her lap, stretching her fingers.
Jamie walked toward her. “You deserve a rest.”
“Thank you!” she exclaimed. “I fear my fingers will fall off.”
“Besides, you never taught me,” he said.
“Taught you?”
