Bayard danced with his mother in the Upper Assembly Rooms while keeping watch over his sister, dancing with Mr. Morrish.
“Bayard, I don’t understand your prejudice against Mr. Morrish,” his mother said as they danced.
He pulled his gaze back to his mother, looking particularly fine tonight in a cheerful gold dress he hadn’t seen before. His mother seemed to dress in brighter colours since his father had died over a year ago. They suited her.
“I don’t know Mr. Morrish well,” Bayard said. “I am simply exercising the rights of an overprotective brother.”
“Take care you do not stray into overbearing.”
“Clare would scold me if I did.” Clare did not look particularly happy with her partner, although Mr. Morrish danced well. He was light on his feet with far more graceful movements than Bayard could ever produce.
“Bayard, do stop staring at them.” There was a note of hurt in his mother’s voice. “You will offend your stepfather with your suspicions.”
“You know I would never deliberately do anything to upset you.” Especially now, after the pain he had caused her this past spring in London. The ton’s barbs and slurs had produced tears she had tried to hide, but he had seen how they had wounded her.
“Then do try to be friends with Sir Hermes’s nephew. If you accept him, then perhaps Clare will warm to him.”
The movements of the dance separated them, which rescued Bayard from trying to hide his surprise. When they came together again, he said, “Do you wish Clare to become more intimately acquainted with him?”
“I should like them to be friends, and if they discover a deeper connection, I shall not object. His disposition is so cheerful, much like Sir Hermes’s. He would bring light and laughter to Clare, who has a tendency toward too much seriousness.”
“But what of his fortune?” Bayard disliked being so blunt with her, but her fancies sometimes overlooked practical matters.
“Sir Hermes believes Clare would be very good for Mr. Morrish. He is not a wastrel, and with Clare’s good sense, he could become even more respectably established. Maybe even an M.P.”
His mother had avoided directly answering his question. He made a mental note to have his man of business privately look into Mr. Morrish’s prospects.
“Bayard, do stop frowning at Mr. Morrish.”
Bayard tried to smooth the tightness in his forehead. “I am not frowning.”
“You are staring fiercely. Sir Hermes will think you are attempting to scare away his dearest nephew.”
Bayard suspected Sir Hermes, in his usual careless way, would laugh and then give his nephew more tips on how to court Clare, as if it were a huge joke. Sir Hermes did not care about Clare at all—he no doubt craved the further connection with the Terralton family and their money.
Perhaps Bayard was being unfair. Sir Hermes was not as wealthy as Bayard’s father had been, but he had a very respectable estate. And while he was attached to his nephew, it seemed he was not malicious in his scheming.
But Bayard did not see Sir Hermes’s affability in his nephew. Mr. Morrish seemed more mercenary and deceptive.
Bayard happened to be looking when Mr. Morrish deliberately stepped on his sister’s dress, tearing the flounce at the hem. Mr. Morrish had been dancing superbly, which made his gaffe more suspicious. The man appeared contrite in his apologies as he led Clare off the dance floor.
“Whatever is the matter?” Lady Morrish followed his gaze.
“Clare’s dress has torn. Perhaps you should help her to the ladies’ withdrawing room to repair it.”
“No, Mr. Morrish is escorting her. She shall be fine.”
Every muscle in Bayard tightened, making his dancing stiff as he watched Mr. Morrish lead Clare out of the room. She looked around, seeking out Bayard, with a look of entreaty on her face, just before she moved out of sight.
“Clare should not be alone with him.” Bayard would have led his mother off the dance floor directly, but that would embarrass her and draw attention to his concern.
“She shall be fine. What could anyone do to her in these crowded rooms?”
It was true the Assembly Rooms were especially filled tonight, but that also meant there were more witnesses if Mr. Morrish did anything scandalous. Clare’s letter about the boy who had tried to compromise her this past summer still alarmed him. Lord God, what more can I do to protect my sister?
When the dance was finally over, Bayard first had to escort his mother to a seat next to her friend, Lady Woolton. Sitting next to her was Lady Whittlesby.
Bayard bowed to the ladies and would have hastened after his sister, but Lady Whittlesby rose and commanded him, “Dommick, it did not occur to me you would be here.”
“I did not realize you would be here either, Lady Whittlesby.” Normally the dowager avoided the dances at the assembly rooms.
Lady Whittlesby sighed and nodded toward a lively young girl, no more than seventeen, who was dancing. “My youngest granddaughter arrived in Bath yesterday.”
At any other time, Bayard would have been pleased to speak to the dowager, who was a celebrated hostess in London. He had hoped to find favour with Lady Whittlesby for her famed annual concert this upcoming season. But he glanced at the open doors to the ballroom, wondering what was keeping Clare so long.
“Come, walk with me,” Lady Whittlesby said.
He had no choice, without being rude. He gave the older woman his arm, and she tugged him toward a far corner of the ballroom.
“I intended to call upon you tomorrow morning to ask for your help,” Lady Whittlesby said.
“I am at your service, my lady,” Bayard said automatically, sneaking a glance at the ballroom doors again.
“I am in need of your expertise in the violin. My friend, Mrs. Garen, approached me today with a curious predicament. Apparently someone has tried to steal her niece’s violin. I would like you to assist the gel to discover what is so particular about this instrument.”
Why would a genteel woman own a violin? Surely she did not play it? Perhaps, like Lady Whittlesby’s violin, it belonged to a male family member.
“I will sweeten the deal,” Lady Whittlesby continued. “If you succeed in discovering the provenance of this violin, I will offer to you—and to your three friends in your Quartet—the foremost place in my annual concert this spring.”
Bayard’s step faltered for an instant, but he recovered quickly. To be featured in Lady Whittlesby’s concert would guarantee his social success and the destruction of those damaging rumours spread earlier this year. He desired it not for himself but for his mother and sister—he could not allow his reputation to harm them when they went to London.
Lady Whittlesby smiled. “I assure you I am most sincere. Your sister is a musician as well, is she not? If her performance meets with my approval, she will be featured in my concert. I flatter myself that her presence on my concert bill will bring her to the favourable notice of all the best hostesses in town.”
Clare’s performance in Lady Whittlesby’s concert would ensure his sister’s season would be brilliant—she and his mother would be courted and feted by everyone of most importance in the town.
“I thank you with all my heart,” he said to her. “May I ask what prompts your generosity?”
“I am not generous,” she said with a smirk. “I know the Quartet equals any professional musicians I have heard. And I have heard many, I assure you.”
“Thank you, my lady.” It wasn’t the answer he had been hoping for.
“Mrs. Garen is also a good friend, and her niece a particular favourite of mine.”
What was Lady Whittlesby playing at? She had no “particular favourites” in anyone as far as he knew. She loved to gossip and to stir up trouble, and fear of her was the reason why so many of the ladies in town were respectful of her—in public, at least.
“And if I do not discover the provenance of this violin?”
Lady Whittlesby’s smile deepened. “Surely there is no doubt? I have utmost confidence in you.”
“Enough for you to wager among your friends?”
She laughed outright. “You have caught me out. Yes, I love a good wager, and what is the fun of doing a good deed if I cannot have a friendly wager out of it with my friends? If you do not succeed, why, I will offer my concert to Mr. Kinnier instead of the Quartet.”
Bayard had almost been expecting it. “He is a fine musician,” Bayard said in a neutral voice.
Lady Whittlesby cackled. “Do not try to convince me that you do not dislike the man heartily.”
“I do not dislike him.”
“He certainly dislikes you. Perhaps because the two of you were often compared. In fact, my friends and I have argued over which of you were more proficient at the violin.”
“That was years ago, when I was playing in London with my friends.” Time and war had made him a different man. He hoped he would not feel the same way now about Mr. Kinnier, son of the Viscount Grimslow, as he had when he had been young and foolish.
Lady Whittlesby merely hoped to fire his sense of competition by dangling Mr. Kinnier as his rival. She couldn’t know that while Mr. Kinnier was fiercely competitive, Bayard was not. He wanted to play in her concert for the healing of his reputation and the success of his sister’s season.
They had finally reached the corner, and Lady Whittlesby gestured to two women who approached. “Ladies, may I present Lord Dommick? Mrs. Garen and Lady Alethea Sutherton.”
Bayard bowed to the elderly woman, about Lady Whittlesby’s age, and then he met eyes with the dark-haired young woman next to her. She was striking in her beauty. Eyebrows arched over large, almond-shaped dark eyes. She had high cheekbones and creamy skin with a hint of olive, perhaps from some long-ago Roman ancestor, and full red lips that he imagined would spread into a wide smile. She looked familiar to him, but he couldn’t remember where he had met her before.
He also could not fathom why she looked at him as if he had just crawled out of the mud.
Alethea stared in horror at Lord Dommick. She hadn’t expected that he would remain in Bath. She had not seen him or his friends about the town in the past week, and the arrivals in the paper had not mentioned their names.
She was being ridiculous. She had to put aside one disastrous interaction from eleven years ago. Why should she devote any more space in her brain for him? After all, he wouldn’t have remembered her.
“Lady Alethea, have we been introduced before?” Lord Dommick had a politely puzzled expression, probably wondering why she looked as though she desired to run screaming from the ballroom.
For a brief, wild moment, she considered lying to him. Their previous interaction meant nothing to him, and he couldn’t have known the effect of his words upon her temper and the direction of her musical study.
But a few people in Bath would remember her horrific London season, and it would seem odd for her to pretend that she and Lord Dommick had never been introduced.
“We met briefly many years ago,” Alethea said.
He parted his lips as if about to say something more, but then changed his mind and simply bowed instead.
Lady Whittlesby hadn’t missed Alethea’s reaction to Dommick and had a curious gleam in her eye. “Lady Alethea is a fine musician. Perhaps you met at one of Dommick’s concerts?”
A spasm ran across Alethea’s throat before she answered. “Yes. When the Quartet played in London.”
“Did we meet perhaps more recently, Lady Alethea?”
She doubted the glimpse on the street, with her dressed like a servant, hardly counted as “meeting.”
“I am never in town, my lord.” Not by choice, but London had no appeal for her.
“You shall have opportunity to become more acquainted,” Lady Whittlesby said. “Lord Dommick has agreed to help you investigate the provenance of your violin.”
Why in the world would he agree to that? She cleared her throat rather that blurt out her surprise. “My lord is too kind.”
“I have given him incentive. If he is able to solve your little mystery, I will feature the Quartet in my concert this spring.”
Ah. Lady Whittlesby’s famous concerts featured only gently born musicians, and to be chosen was a high honour. No wonder he’d agreed to help her.
“You’re too good, Honora,” Aunt Ebena said to her friend.
“Nonsense, Ebena. I hadn’t yet decided on the musicians for my concert, and young men enjoy challenges.”
Lord Dommick didn’t look as though he considered Alethea’s problem anything close to a challenge. “I am always at your service, Lady Whittlesby.” His eyes strayed to the ballroom doors, which belied his gallant words.
“I do not wish to take up my lord’s valuable time.” Alethea tried to be gracious but was afraid she sounded peevish. “Lady Whittlesby, I had expected no greater favour than the direction of a shopkeeper or an instrument tuner.”
“I had considered that, but Lord Dommick intends to spend the winter in Bath, and there is none more knowledgeable about the violin, with superior contacts in the musical world.”
Alethea had to admit her logic was sound. It was hardly Lady Whittlesby’s fault that Alethea didn’t like the solution.
Lady Whittlesby turned to Lord Dommick. “You will thank me for introducing the two of you, ah, again.” She tittered. “Lady Alethea is quite accomplished on the violin. You two have much in common.”
Alethea almost burst out laughing. She could predict his response to that.
Lord Dommick’s dark brows drew together ever so slightly. “You play the violin, Lady Alethea?”
His incredulous tone was exactly the same as when he’d said the same words to her eleven years ago. Whether because of past pain or current pride, she drew herself up and responded with the same words as she had eleven years ago. “Yes, I enjoy it very well.” This time, however, her tone was confident and challenging, not meek and eager to impress him. “Tell me, my lord, do you still consider it unfeminine for women to play violin?”
Her question took him aback. Lady Whittlesby was barely holding in her glee at their juicy interchange.
“Alethea!” Aunt Ebena hissed.
Lord Dommick recovered from his surprise and said in an even voice, “Perhaps you would take a turn about the room with me, Lady Alethea?”
She assented grudgingly. She wouldn’t embarrass her aunt no matter the low opinion she had of Lord Dommick. Or give Lady Whittlesby more to gossip about.
“I’m sure you have many musical things to discuss,” Lady Whittlesby said.
Alethea took Lord Dommick’s arm, and he led her toward the ballroom doors. To her great surprise, they approached his mother and his friend, Lord Ian Wynnman.
“Lady Alethea, may I present my mother, Lady Morrish, and Lord Ian Wynnman. Mama, Ian, this is Lady Alethea Sutherton.”
Alethea gave him a suspicious glance before she curtseyed. What could be his purpose in introducing her to his mother?
“Lady Alethea, I was acquainted with your aunt when she used to attend the season with her husband,” Lady Morrish said.
“She would be pleased to make your acquaintance again, Lady Mor—”
Alethea hadn’t quite finished her sentence when Lord Dommick addressed his mother. “Mama, where is Clare? I thought she would be back by now.”
Lady Morrish blinked in surprise. “Oh. She hasn’t yet returned from the ladies’ withdrawing room. She was with Mr. Morrish . . .”
Lord Dommick gave Lord Ian a hard look, and the young man gave a slight nod, his golden-brown hair glinting in the light from the crystal chandelier overhead.
“Lady Morrish, I’ll find her. Pleasure to meet you, Lady Alethea.” Lord Ian bowed and left the ballroom.
Alethea noticed that it was as though Lord Dommick’s insides had been twisted like a knot that suddenly unloosened. His shoulders relaxed their rigid stance, and even his jaw softened. “Mama, if you would excuse us? Lady Whittlesby asked me to help Lady Alethea with her . . . musical problem. I’ll return in a few minutes.”
“Don’t hurry on my account,” Lady Morrish said. “I’m sure Ian will bring Clare back soon.”
She again sensed that something uncoiled in Lord Dommick at his mother’s words. Why was he so concerned about his sister?
She didn’t have time to wonder because he led her away toward a quieter corner of the ballroom where several elderly chaperones sat snoozing. “I remember meeting you in London, my lady,” he said.
“I hardly expected you to. I’m sure I was one of dozens of women at your concert.”
“You were the only one who looked fierce enough to run me through with a sword, had you one at hand, when I mentioned that women should not play the violin.”
She gaped at him for a moment. His handsome face was impassive, and she didn’t know if he was offended or amused by her. Possibly both. “Rest assured I did not take your words to heart. To be sure, the violin became my favourite instrument.”
Especially after he had practically goaded her with his words. I would never allow a woman to play a violin in one of my concerts, for it would be most unseemly. You would do better to attempt to master the harp or pianoforte.
“I am not surprised by that information.” He cleared his throat. “I would be most interested in hearing more about your violin.”
She belatedly remembered that antagonizing him was hardly the way to solicit his help. “It was a gift from a good friend, Lady Arkright, who died three years ago.” What a paltry description for their relationship—Calandra had been the mother she’d never known.
“It belonged to her husband?”
The question irritated her. “No, it was hers. She was trained to play many instruments at the orphanage in Venice where she grew up, the Ospedale della Pietà.”
Lord Dommick’s brows rose. “I have heard of that place.”
“It is most famous for training female musicians. Calandra—Lady Arkright—trained under Vivaldi himself.”
She had his attention now. “Lady Arkright taught you to play?” he asked.
“Violin, pianoforte, and harp, although she was most gifted in violin. She always lamented that it was socially acceptable for women to play the violin on the continent but not in England.”
“How did she acquire the violin?”
“Calandra met her husband, Sir William, in Italy. On their wedding journey, he bought the violin from a peddler in Milan.”
“A peddler?” Lord Dommick looked pained.
“This is why I need help. If it were a simple matter, I could have made inquiries myself.”
“Lady Whittlesby mentioned you thought someone tried to take your violin?”
“A man stopped me on the street and asked if I would sell my violin. I refused, but I was concerned because there is no reason for anyone to know the particular violin I own. I have never played it in public, not even for my relatives, and I practice in private. A few days later my room was torn apart by someone searching for something.”
“Was anyone injured? Anything taken?”
“No one was injured, although we were shaken since it occurred while my aunt’s niece, the cook, and the housekeeper were all in the kitchen. Nothing was taken.” Alethea again thanked the shade of Sir William for crafting such a clever hiding place for it.
“You are certain it was the violin they were looking for?”
“What else could it be? None of my jewels were taken.” She did not have many, since Wilfred’s wife, Mona, had claimed most of Alethea’s mother’s jewelry and Alethea’s father had never given her gifts, but she did have a fine pearl necklace that Calandra had given to her for her season, which had been at the top of her jewelry case.
“Perhaps the thief was interrupted?”
Alethea stopped and turned to face him. She pitched her voice low, but she said firmly, “Lord Dommick, let us speak plainly. It appears you do not believe me when I say someone wants to steal my violin. And if you doubt me, how can you help me?”
Irritation flashed across his face, quickly masked by politeness. “I apologize if I have made you feel that I am not taking your fears seriously, my lady.”
She supposed she could not completely fault him for being irritated—she had verbally challenged him twice now. She should know by now that men did not take kindly to women with opinions, especially if they were different from their own. She absently rubbed the last two knuckles of her left hand.
And the truth was that she needed his help, despite his archaic thoughts about women playing violins and his tendency like others of his sex to be dismissive of women, specifically her. “We should agree upon a time when you will call to see the violin.”
“I doubt my aunt’s temper would survive another intruder in her home. Are you available tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow?” He stared at her for a long moment before sighing. “Yes, I can call in the afternoon.”
“Excellent. We are at number six, Queen Square.”
He nodded and was silent as he walked her back to her aunt, but the stiff set of his head seemed to indicate he was annoyed at the disruption to his schedule. Lady Whittlesby had thankfully left her aunt. Lord Dommick bowed before marching away.
Alethea sat next to her aunt. The ballroom was hot, for there seemed to be more people than usual attending tonight. Or perhaps she was still upset from her encounter with Lord Dommick.
“What did he say to you when you first met him?” Aunt Ebena asked with a stern look in her eye. “And do not attempt to deceive me. I know something happened momentous on your part, although probably not on his.”
Aunt Ebena had a way of aiming for the truth in such a way that it robbed Alethea of any of her dignity. “He treated me as I was then, a silly girl in her first season.”
“Lord Dommick does not have a reputation for cruel wit. I cannot believe he would slice you to ribbons simply because you were being silly.”
“I was silly. It was the end of his concert, the largest that the Quartet had given that season. They were wildly popular, and I was not the first nor the last to speak to him after it ended. I was enthusiastic in my praise of the violin concerto he had composed, and then I mentioned that I played the violin. He expressed the opinion that it was unfeminine for a woman to play the instrument.”
“It is unfeminine. The use of your arms is quite excessive.”
Alethea remained silent. She had already borne the brunt of Lord Dommick’s disapproval and did not intend to also allow her aunt the pleasure of it.
“I would wager,” Aunt Ebena said, “that after that encounter, you returned home from London and worked even harder to master your violin over your other instruments.”
Alethea managed to reply in a conversational tone. “I enjoy the violin very much. And Lady Arkright favoured it as an instrument as well.”
“But you would perhaps have worked harder at the more socially acceptable instruments had it not been for Lord Dommick. Am I correct?”
“Your friends do not complain when they ask me to play the pianoforte or the harp at their evening gatherings.”
“I am not denying your talent. You are better than some of the professional musicians I have heard, which forces me to conclude that you are somewhat gifted.”
It seemed Aunt Ebena could never deliver a compliment without trying to spoil it at the same time. But her faint praise made Alethea smile to herself, although she didn’t look at her aunt.
Aunt Ebena nodded. “But now I understand your reaction to Lord Dommick.”
And his reaction to her had been supremely uninterested, which may have been why she’d spoken so bluntly. She did not care to be the centre of attention, but she also did not appreciate being overlooked.
She had not truly challenged herself on her violin since Calandra died, but perhaps now was the time to push herself to her limits, especially with her newly healed left hand. She did not know how she would accomplish it, but she would find a way to acquire a copy of Lord Dommick’s latest composition and learn to play it herself, as well as he did.
He would not overlook her then.