Page 14 of Hold Me Fast
“We are in a hotel,” Bran commented. “We are, I daresay, handicapped in not having a housemaid whose aunt is the cook in a place where the lady’s maid has a brother who is valet to an earl who employs a boot boy whose mother is housekeeper to a baron whose…”
God bless Bran.He was speaking nonsense to give Jowan time to recover his poise. Jowan continued in the same vein. “You are assuming that London is the same as our small village, where no one with any pretensions to gentility can do anything without a servant knowing and passing on the news, but only to their nearest and dearest, and in strictest confidence. And thus, gossip flies.”
“It is the same here in London,” Lady Snowden confirmed.
The tinkling of a bell attracted their attention. “Time to move through to the ballroom,” Drew said. “Margaret, the chairs that have been set out for the concert are upright, so Snowy won’t have to carry his stolen one for your comfort.”
The lord so named stood to assist his wife to her feet. Jowan and Bran followed the pair through a wide-open double doorway, down a short flight of stairs, and into a cavernous ballroom that could easily have held a thousand guests and still left room for dancing.
Jowan gave the surroundings a glance, registering the quality of the appointments without paying them any attention. His attention was entirely focused on the stage that had been erected in the center of one long side of the room.
The stage held a piano, several rows of chairs arranged in a curve around a music stand, and a lectern. Long rows of chairs faced the stage, grouped into three columns by aisles that allowed easy access. Lord Snowden conducted his lady to a seat at one side of the middle column, in the middle of the third row back.
Drew followed, then Bran, with Jowan close behind. He was about to see Tamsyn! He could not focus on anything else. He held himself back from leaping to his feet and demanding to be taken to her. Her letter had said, “No”. He couldn’t forget that. But he would see her soon. He just had to wait.
And wait he did, though it was excruciating. First, people took their time coming to the ballroom and being seated. Lots of people. He wasn’t going to count, though each group of seats was a score wide, so sixty in a row, and he’d guess at twenty rows.
When, at last, they were all seated, chattering away like a thousand monkeys or jackdaws rather than people, the duchess came up onto the stage. The noise diminished and then ceased when she tapped the lectern.
It was a formal welcome and an explanation of the charity hospital that the night was intended to benefit. They, the audience, would be helping the hospital through ticket sales, several raffles, and an auction.
In return, they would receive not just the pleasure of doing good—a comment that fetched a much bigger laugh than Jowan thought it deserved—but would also enjoy an evening of unparalleled musical excellence.
Jowan managed not to shout out an instruction to get on with it, but Bran must have guessed it was a possibility, for he put his hand back on his brother’s arm.
The duchess was outlining the program for the evening, and doing so with a lot of description and a few jokes.
First, a pianist of whom even Jowan had heard. He had been mentioned quite a few times in the newspapers that made their way to Cornwall.
Next, a couple who must have been well-known in London. The audience’s hum of appreciation indicated the couple was a popular choice, even if they weren’t famous all the way to the western corner of south England. They would both sing while one of them played the harp-lute.
Following that, a short break would allow the assembly to see the items that were being raffled and to write their names and their donations on the paper by each item.
A gentleman whose name Jowan didn’t catch would sing next, and would then sing a duet with Miss Lind before the pianist returned to accompany Miss Lind in further songs. Jowan sat up straighter.
Another short break would be followed by the last musical segment of the evening, this time all Miss Lind.
The duchess went on to talk about the auction that would end that part of the evening and the supper to follow, but Jowan now knew he was doomed to keep waiting. After seven years of waiting, another hour or so should not be a problem, but somehow it was.
He shifted in his seat, trying to make himself comfortable, and caught Bran watching him. His brother looked concerned. Jowan did his best to smile but must have failed, for Bran’s worry deepened.
The duchess had finished speaking, for everyone began to clap, and Jowan joined in. A tall gentleman who looked remarkably like Drew offered his hand to help the duchess down the steps at one side of the stage, while another man bounced up the other side and took a seat at the piano.
He was good. Jowan had to give him that. If not for the anxious wait to see Tamsyn, Jowan might even have become lost in the music, as many of those around him were doing. Jowan did not recognize the two pieces he played, but the gentleman sitting just behind him named each one to the lady he was escorting.
The harp-lutist couple were good, too. The man’s baritone voice complemented the contralto of his partner. Jowan knew what to call the voices because the helpful pundit behind him, who had obviously taken on the role of educating his lady, was speaking loudly enough to improve the knowledge of those around him.
Two songs for the harp-lutists, too. Ballads, and very pretty, though Jowan was hardly in the mood to hear about star-crossed love, betrayal, and dying lovers.
The applause for the harp-lutists was even more enthusiastic than for the pianist, poor man.
“We should buy a spot in a couple of the raffles,” Bran murmured, as people around them began to get up and move along the rows to the aisles or the edges.
Jowan supposed Bran was right. He wanted to stay in his chair until Tamsyn sang, but he knew nothing he did would make the time go faster.
Footmen moved through the crowd with trays of drink and plates of tiny savory or sweet bite-sized treats. He ate something that tasted of salmon and Bran handed him a glass. Champagne. The wife of the viscount two villages over had it for her yearly harvest ball.
He put his name and his promise to pay against a raffle for a fine saddle, and Bran did the same for a twelve-place setting of fine china from Doulton, Jones, and Watt. “What?” he asked, when Jowan questioned the choice. “I’m sure it will be useful, and it is pretty. I like it.”
