Page 11 of The Dove
“Please, allow me to help,” she added. “I understand how horrible a missing performer can be for a musicale … especially one as anticipated as the harpist you had hired. I might not be her, but I can certainly serve as a passable replacement.”
“A kind offer,” George chimed in. “Mother, perhaps you ought to take her up on it.”
Mrs. Bellingham bit her lower lip, then glanced toward the front door. Someone had just knocked, and the butler now moved forward to open it and admit more guests. Time was running short for her to think of any other solution.
“Very well,” she relented. “Thank you, dear. I can compensate you—”
“There is no need,” she interjected. “I am happy to do it just for fun.”
And to make amends, in whatever way she could, for the things her brother had done. She could not erase Bertram’s perfidy … but she could play the harp at this musicale. She could dosomethingnice for this family.
“Come along, then,” Mrs. Bellingham urged, placing a hand between Daphne’s shoulders and steering her toward the stairs. “Winnie and George, greet our guests and ensure they are escorted to the correct drawing room.”
“Of course, Mother,” her son replied.
Winifred had already crossed the vestibule to greet the first influx of guests. Daphne allowed Mrs. Bellingham to guide her up the stairs, not bothering to glance back to get a glimpse of whomever had just been escorted into the house. It did not matter who attended the musicale. Thanks to this fortuitous twist of fate, she would hardly have to interact with them.
“I want you to know that Winifred is quite insistent upon standing by you,” the woman said as they reached the upper level of the house.
“I am grateful,” she replied, for lack of anything better to say. “She is a wonderful person.”
“She is … and perhaps a bit naive,” Mrs. Bellingham replied, opening the door to a drawing room and leading the way inside. “While I do worry what her reputation might suffer, I also realize how fickle thetoncan be. I also understand things happen that … well, that aren’t any of my bloody business.”
Daphne’s lips twitched as she tried to keep a straight face. “I see.”
Turning to face her, the woman sighed. “I like to judge people on their character, my lady, and from what I know of you, you seem to be a good sort. If Winnie thinks so, then I have no reason to disagree.”
“Thank you,” she replied.
“Thankyoufor rescuing us this evening,” Mrs. Bellingham countered. “You may search this box to select whatever compositions strike your fancy. In a quarter of an hour, a footman will come to fetch you and bring you to the smaller drawing room adjoining the one we will use this evening. He will offer you refreshment and ensure you have everything you need before your turn to perform.”
“I will be ready,” Daphne assured her.
Seeming satisfied with that, Mrs. Bellingham swept from the room and closed the door behind herself.
Approaching the box resting on a side table near a high-backed armchair, she found a substantial collection of sheet music. Taking the chair, she set about rifling through it, grateful for the time to herself while the other guests filed in and filled the drawing room. She had been uncertain about attending the event, but had thought of Winifred’s words.
You cannot hide forever.
She had been right, and the time had come for Daphne to truly start enjoying her newfound freedom. Tonight, she would play for an audience—something she had secretly always wished to do. And she would enjoy it, without giving a single thought to a certain earl.
CHAPTER FOUR
dam took a sip of his champagne and cast a glance about the large, airy drawing room filled from corner to corner with friends and acquaintances of the Bellingham family. His connection to them came through the son, George, who had attended Oxford with him. The two had never been close, but he found George to be amiable and easy to tolerate—which was saying something, as he rarely possessed the patience to tolerate most people. Olivia had always teased him that he must be the surliest fellow she’d ever known—preferring brooding solitude to being surrounded by others.
He bore it easily now, as he found the open curiosity with which the other guests approached him amusing. They were shameful in their quest for answers, trying to draw something about Daphne from him. He remained tightlipped, which only made them try harder, the men no better than the tittering, gossiping women.
There had been a slight break in the performances—which thus far had included an Italian opera singer, a string quartet, and a passably skilled pianist. Mrs. Bellingham had encouraged guests to take part in the refreshments that had been laid out, after which a harpist was to be followed by another performance from the opera singer.
He had helped himself to champagne and began counting the minutes until he could politely take his leave. Pointless soirées such as these bored him beyond their purpose. He had come to be seen, and they’d seen him. Now, he was ready for food more substantial than finger sandwiches, and a drink stronger than the bubbly champagne.
The need for a warm cunt nagged at him, so he supposed a visit to a whorehouse would have to cap his evening. Otherwise, it would only grow worse. He was not yet ready to go marching up to Daphne’s doorstep, and he needed to keep his cock under control until he was. Remembering that The White House in Soho Square was known for whores in a wide variety and who catered to every taste, he decided he might forgo his other plans and make his way there immediately after leaving the Bellinghams. The ache in his groin and the edge on his temper superseded his need for food or drink.
“Bloody good to see you again, Hart,” George Bellingham remarked, sidling up to him with a fresh champagne glass in hand. “How long has it been? Five years, at least.”
“Aye, that is correct,” he replied, finding that he was not in the mood for idle chatter—not now that he’d decided his nagging itch needed tending sooner rather than later.
“How is life in Scotland?” the other man asked, oblivious to Adam’s increasing agitation. “Are you still hiding away in that old ruin of a castle?”
