Simply Love

“Yes,” she said. “Thank you.”

And suddenly she felt breathless, as if they had made some sort of secret assignation. She had agreed to go to church with him, that was all. But what would everyone think of her? And why should it matter what anyone thought? She wanted to go.

And he was looking at her, she thought, as if he wanted it too.

Lady Hallmere claimed his attention again at that moment and soon Mr. Jones turned back to A

More than half an hour passed before the gentlemen joined the ladies. A

Except that it was.

She felt stupidly like a girl again, being singled out for a gentleman’s attention. It was stupid. She was twenty-nine years old and this was nothing remotely co

She had offered to sit behind the tea tray, pouring tea, and the duchess had accepted her offer. But she was not so busy that she could not observe the way people gathered into conversational groups-the wealthier English landowners with the Bedwyns, Mrs. Llwyd with Mrs. Pritchard and Mrs. Thompson, the vicar and his wife with Baron Weston and Miss Thompson, Mr. Llwyd, Mr. Jones, Mr. Rhys-the Welsh minister-with Mr. Butler and the Duke of Bewcastle. The duchess moved from group to group, drawing smiles wherever she went.

Mr. Butler was deep in conversation and did not once glance A

“Shall we sit together, Miss Jewell?” he suggested. “Unless you have other plans, that is.”

“No.” She smiled at him. “Thank you.”

And so she had all the pleasure of observing and listening to the entertainment in company with a gentleman who was not also someone else’s husband. It felt absurdly exhilarating.

Joshua and Lady Hallmere sang a few English folk songs first, with Joshua accompanying them on the pianoforte. They were surprisingly good, though Lady Hallmere began with a disclaimer.

“I have absolutely insisted that we be the opening act,” she explained to the audience. “I have a strong suspicion that the others are going to be vastly superior-I know Judith will be-and I have no wish to be forced to follow them.”

Joshua, at the pianoforte, gri

One could not help liking Lady Hallmere, A

“Just sing, Free, and put us out of our misery,” Lord Alleyne called out.

Mrs. Llwyd-a small, dark-haired, very Celtic-looking lady-played next on her large, beautifully carved harp, and A

“It always seems to me,” Mr. Butler said softly, leaning toward A

“Yes,” she said. “Oh, yes, you must be right.”

And then Mr. Llwyd got to his feet and sang to his wife’s accompaniment in a light, pleasant tenor voice to which A

She felt rather sorry for Lady Ra

Lady Ra

“I hope,” Mr. Butler said, “she does Lady Macbeth. I have seen her do it before, and she is quite extraordinary.”

She played Desdemona first, her hair down, her elegant green evening gown somehow transforming itself into a nightgown purely through the power of suggestion as Desdemona waited in bewilderment and misplaced trust for Othello to come to her in her bedchamber and then pleaded her case with him and begged for her very life.

It truly was extraordinary, A

The return to reality when the scene was over was disorienting for a moment.

And then, at the special request of the Duke of Bewcastle, Lady Ra

She was, she realized as she applauded enthusiastically with everyone else, in the presence of greatness.

Mr. Butler was looking expectantly at her.

“Well?” he said.

“I have not been so well entertained for a long time,” she told him.

He laughed. “I thought perhaps you would admit that you have never been so well entertained,” he said.

“I have a friend,” she explained, “who has become all the rage throughout Europe. She has the most glorious soprano voice I have ever heard. She taught at Miss Martin’s school until just two years ago.”

“And she is?” he asked.

“The Countess of Edgecombe,” she said. “She was Frances Allard before she married Viscount Sinclair, now the earl.”

“Ah,” he said, “you mentioned her before, and I believe I had heard of her before that. But I have never had the pleasure of listening to her sing.”

“If you ever do have the chance,” she said, “you must not miss it.”

“I will not.” He smiled again while all about them family and guests were getting to their feet and conversing and laughing, the formal entertainment at an end.

“There is to be dancing,” he said. “It is my cue, I believe, to return home.”

“Oh,” she said before she could stop herself, “please do not leave yet.”

The carpet was being rolled up from the drawing room floor and the French windows at one end of it thrown back, since the room had grown stuffy. Mrs. Lofter was taking her place at the pianoforte, having offered earlier in the day to play. It had been the duchess’s idea that some informal country dancing would be a more pleasant way of ending the evening than playing cards would be, though a couple of tables were being set up for the older people.

A

“Must I sit and watch you dance, then?” he asked, smiling at her. “I would be envious of your partners, Miss Jewell.”

It was the first thing he had said to her that was remotely flirtatious.

“But I have no wish to dance,” she said, not quite truthfully. “We will sit and talk, if you wish. Unless, that is, you have your heart set upon returning home.”