Page 47 of The Duke Who Loved a Widow
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That evening, the modern hot food arranged on the sideboard proved to be a success. None of the ladies had an incident spilling food onto their silk dresses. His mother confided to Robert that Monsieur Charente had made sure the food didn’t drip sauce.
“I think we can judge this a success,” she told him. “I’ll tell Elinor we can do the same with food at the summer ball. I’ve always felt a sit-down supper wastes time and we pay so much for the orchestra. Let’s keep dancing.”
Robert’s eyes were drawn to Arabella, who stood with his sister, looking charming in a silvery grey gown with matching sparkles sprinkled in her hair. This was an elegant Lady Farrington, very different to the young mother at the picnic yesterday in her serviceable Dimity gown.
He remembered her tangled in the fishing line and how he had felt the same jolt of energy racing through his body as he helped her escape from the tangle. The same had happened again as he’d helped her into the pony trap. They had a definite connection, and he felt it strengthen each time they met.
He hoped there might be an incident where they collided and fell into each other’s arms during the soiree. He laughed out loud, and his mother asked him what he was laughing at.
“Oh, just imagining their faces when I sing a sea shanty,” he told her.
“I’ll add it to the program,” she said, with a wicked glint in her eye. “And while you are there, I am going to say that when we have the dancing, you must ask Rosalind to dance.”
“Absolutely not!” he said, in a voice of iron rigidity even as he continued smiling.
He heard his mother sigh. “If you don’t offer to dance with your brother’s fiancée, then consider the impression it will give the others. People will talk.”
“I do not care about keeping up appearances for the sake of others,” Robert remarked.
“I am your mother, and I insist that you dance,” she declared.
“Oh, I shall dance, but not with Rosalind. Nothing you can say will change my mind.” He paused and then forged ahead. “I cannot discuss it with you, certainly not here, but do not trust that woman. She is, in my opinion, pure poison. I speak from recent experience, Mama, and make of that comment what you will.”
“Robert …”
He smiled through gritted teeth. “Enjoy the evening, Mama. You have done a truly wonderful job with this gathering. We’ve got a programme of beautiful music, possibly followed by impromptu dancing. You should be proud. We’re all proud of you.” He leaned forward and kissed her cheek.
I need to say what I really think more of the time, he thought. I’ve been pretending to be someone else for years, just to uphold the family name. I feel as though a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. Now, it’s time for me to forge the life I want here at Castle Montbury.
His mother gestured to Mr Chalston for the candelabras to be lighted. She wanted the music room to glow with soft light.
The evening’s entertainment was sublime. Lady Sutton and her daughter Miss Anne sang a surprisingly competent comic duet, with all the guests rolling with laughter.
Emma Thraxton and the Reverend Colbrooke sang a duet that had such pathos it brought tears to the eyes of the listeners, and caused some comment about how they must surely be a perfect match.
He acquiesced in singing the sea shanty his mother insisted was in the programme and covered his shortcomings by encouraging the audience to join in and sing along with him.
Rosalind was, perhaps, the star turn of the evening with a spectacular aria from Dido and Aeneas by Purcell. Who wouldn’t turn around on the way out of Hades to see the owner of that beautiful contralto voice?
To form a quiet bridge between the entertainment and the dancing, his mother asked Arabella to play the harp. She stepped forward, music in hand, and headed towards the harp. She stumbled on the way to the front, and Robert wondered if Rosalind's daintily clad foot had caused her to trip a little.
He caught sight of a momentary look of triumph on Rosalind’s face and felt anger rising. Surely, she couldn’t have fixated on Arabella. He remembered her chilling words in the library when she had told him she thought there was someone else.
He hadn’t denied it. There was someone else in the shadows of his life. There was the possibility of romance and joy in the future. At the moment, that’s all it was: a possibility of love. He couldn’t deny the connection with Arabella, but it was too early to be sure what was happening between them.
He saw the look of panic on Arabella’s face as she reached the front, embarrassed by her fall. The least he could do was offer her his protection and he stepped forward, the helpful host, and bowed before her.
“Let me turn the pages for you,” he offered, moving the stool closer to the harp so she could sit and find her position ready to play the instrument.
“Thank you. I usually play the Welsh harp. They are much smaller. I am a little nervous,” she whispered.
“It will be fine,” he assured her. “Imagine you are playing for me, and I am the only person in the room.”
Her hands checked the tuning, and her fingers began to explore the strings and become familiar with the instrument.
Then, the room filled with heavenly music as her fingers raced across the harp. He watched her focused concentration, at one with the instrument, and he saw the faces in the room entranced by her performance.
