Page 30 of The Sea Siren of Broadwater Bottom
Graverley took his brandy to a tall, wing-back chair in the corner, but Mr. Nettlethorpe-Ogilvy remained standing, draining his glass of port in one go. “Thank you. If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to take this to the music room,” he said, patting his bassoon case.
“Of course,” Edward said, setting his own glass down. “Let me summon someone to show you—”
“Why don’t I show him?” said a feminine voice from the door behind him. Edward turned to see Cecilia Chenoweth, his sister Caroline’s good friend and the daughter of their recently deceased rector, standing framed in the doorway in a dove-grey half-mourning dress.
“Miss Chenoweth,” Mr. Nettlethorpe-Ogilvy said warmly as Ceci entered. He bowed over her hand. Ceci was also on the board of Anne’s charity, so they knew each other. “I imagine you could find it with your eyes closed.”
Ceci smiled. “I probably could.” Ceci was an amazing talent on the pianoforte and did indeed practice for several hours each day. She turned to Edward. “I was just wondering if Caro had arrived.”
“Not yet, but when she does, you will be the first to know.”
“Excellent.” She accepted Mr. Nettlethorpe-Ogilvy’s arm. “Did you bring any sheet music? I don’t think the Astleys have much of anything for bassoon, but if you have the scores, perhaps I could accompany—”
As they turned toward the door, she noticed Lord Graverley seated in the corner. The words died on her lips, and she staggered to a halt. “My lord, I—” She cleared her throat, then dropped a hasty curtsey. “I’m so sorry, I—I didn’t realize you were…” She trailed off, her eyes fixed on the carpet.
Graverley arched a single eyebrow and spoke in a voice as dark as a Haut-Brion vin de Bordeaux. “Miss Chenoweth.”
She stood frozen in the center of the room, cheeks aflame, until Mr. Nettlethorpe-Ogilvy laid his hand atop hers. “Shall we?” he asked softly.
“Y-yes.” She curtseyed again. “Please excuse us, Lord Graverley, Lord Fauconbridge.”
Once they’d left the room, Graverley asked, “Is she usually like that?”
Edward took the chair facing Graverley’s. “If you mean chatty and cheerful, then yes.” He gave his friend a pointed look. “She would have been less startled had you alerted her to your presence by standing when a lady entered the room.”
“I didn’t know she could speak. I hated to interrupt her.”
“She’s usually quite gregarious.”
“She never says a word at board meetings.”
“That’s because you’re terrifying.”
“Me?” Graverley smirked. “I am the merest pussycat.”
Edward rolled his eyes.
Graverley took a sip from his glass then set it aside. “That girl is a tragedy.”
“It’s terrible, yes. To lose her mother so young, and now her father, too.”
“That’s not what I meant.” At Edward’s curious look, Graverley held up a hand. “Don’t get me wrong, I know all about dead mothers.” Graverley’s own mother had died when he was ten, and Edward was surprised to hear him mention it. Even though Graverley was his closest friend, Edward didn’t know how she had died. Whenever someone mentioned it, Graverley would pointedly change the subject.
“What I mean,” Graverley continued, “is that it’s a tragedy to have all of thatlusciousness”—he traced a curve in the air— “wasted on a mousy little rector’s daughter too timid to string three words together.”
That didn’t describe Ceci’s personality at all, but Edward wasn’t about to say as much. He gave his friend a sharp look. “I see that now would be a good time to mention that I have known Miss Chenoweth since she was two years old, and I consider her to be practically my own sister.”
Graverley wrinkled his nose. “You never let me have any fun. Next you’ll tell me that not only may I not debauch Miss Chenoweth, but there will be a horde of respectable young ladies swarming me all week.”
Edward laughed blackly. “I’m afraid you have it exactly. They’re meant to be swarming me, but they’re likely to latch onto you as well.”
“Is your mother after you to wed, then?”
Edward wiped a drop of condensation from the side of his glass. “I asked her to invite them. I’ve decided it’s time for me to marry.” He glanced up and found his friend scowling. “Oh, come off it, Graverley. Don’t look at me like that.”
“I will look at you precisely how I wish. Especially when you’re making a mistake of this magnitude.”
“I’m going to have to marry someone. As will you, one of these days.”
