Chapter Fifteen

 

Serena stole a few moments of privacy in the ground floor music room. A small pianoforte beckoned her to sit and she gave in to the impulse. She plucked out a few chords and smiled at the memory of her first lessons with the vicar’s wife. Mrs. Gilchrist had always smelled of rosewater and though Serena could barely summon her face or her hair color to mind, she remembered with perfect clarity the beauty of her hands on the piano keys and the gentle melody of her voice.

Serena began to play, then added her voice to the performance.

“My love, a lily grows, without sunlight

Without sighs.

I seek to hear him on the garden path

And in the flowered lanes.

My love, swiftly flees, without a sign

Of his return and I am left to plead.

To find him in the meadow fair

Or in the gentle plains.

My love, another seeks to hold,

My heart abandoned there.”

“It’s as if an angel had come into my house,” James said as he applauded from the doorway.

Serena stood, swallowing displeasure at the intrusion. “I am not much of a singer, Mr. Osborne, but I thank you for the compliment.”

“I meant to collect Phillip for an outing we’d planned but I was drawn to the sound of your voice.” He crossed toward her. “You should sing for our small company after dinner tonight.”

“I am not a performer, Mr. Osborne.”

“What? It is not unseemly at a small house party to be entertained so! A guest should earn their keep and I am a man eager for diversion.” He smiled. “It’s not as if I’ve committed the offense of asking how much you charge for a song! Though I have yet to meet a woman who could not name a price when pushed to it.” He winked at her slyly before he openly made an appreciative survey of the rise of her breasts above the cut of her bodice. “What is a coin or two for lively entertainment between the sexes?”

Serena tipped her head to one side, studying the man. “Mr. Osborne, I wonder. I once knew a man who would blurt out the most extraordinary things. Horrible things sometimes but then at other times, it would be poetry and lengthy odes to make people laugh.”

“Was he a great man?” James asked.

“Not at all,” she said simply. “He wore rags and mumbled to himself from a corner of the pub and everyone who knew him credited him with having no wits at all. And I would have agreed until I spotted the game.”

“What was the game?”

“He knew exactly what he was saying and tempered every outburst to those within its hearing. Ladies and the older men of the priory would throw coins if he quoted the bible or spouted poetry. Gentlemen would pay him to leave if he made a jolly lively show of it and the rough locals would slip him a coin for his most ribald pieces.”

“So he had his wits.”

“His wits and a plan.” She nodded slowly. “He lived very well.”

“It is an interesting tale, Lady Wellcott. But I am not sure why you’ve shared it with me.”

“I shared it because I am determined to see if you have your wits only, or your wits and a plan—or neither.”

James smile died in an awkward slow demise. “Do you think to mock me to my face, Lady Wellcott? Is this what you consider a grand jest?”

“No, sir. I meant only to reassure myself that when you allude to some grotesque belief that all women are nothing better than whores that if it is just the impulse of your foul humor, I should know to slap your face. Or that if it was your hope to shock me, then I must try to understand what gain could be secured. Or were you speaking without thought or plan?” She held her ground. “For then the insult is one I will ignore, the way I would ignore the mindless barking of a dog.”

James’ gaze narrowed, a flare of disgust in his eyes. “How sensitive you are, Lady Wellcott! A compliment about your voice and an invitation to share your talents with my wife and cousin and…you bristle like a cat thrown in a bathtub!”

Serena smiled sympathetically. “My claws are sharp. A good thing I never lash out without warning and how fortunate I am that you are so understanding.”

James crossed his arms. “I understand you well enough. I am honored to have a woman of your station under my roof, but I don’t care if you are a crown princess. At the end of the day, you are just a woman and I—I am the master in this house.”

Serena nodded, a wicked gleam in her eyes. “What did you say, Mr. Osborne? I couldn’t hear you over the sound of all that barking.”

It nearly ended, right then and there, as James hands curled into fists and Serena sensed that she had pushed him far enough to achieve her aims.

He’ll strike and it’s all to the good. Pepper will be out of it and he’ll commit an act of violence he cannot retract.

“James!” Phillip called out from the doorway. “I thought you were going to meet me on the steps. Your land manager, Mr. Chilton, is already outside.” He stopped abruptly. “Oh, Lady Wellcott! I didn’t see you there.”

James turned away from her, his arms dropping. “I’m sorry, cousin. I was distracted by Lady Wellcott’s riveting presence and forgot the time.”

“I cannot blame you then,” Phillip conceded with a smile. “Do you mind if I pull him away, Lady Wellcott?”

“Not at all,” she said in a level tone that conveyed nothing of her frustration.

Damn the timing!

James retreated without looking back and Serena watched him stride out, his brisk steps betraying his unhappy state.

God, how simple might that have been? Seconds more and I would have had him!

Best to warn Mrs. Osborne that she must lock her bedroom door and make sure that the maids are warned of their master’s foul mood. But I don’t think I should tell her that this is the last day.

It’s too close and nothing can tip our hand.

Damn it to hell!