Destined to Last (17 page)

Remembering now that she hadn’t spoken to him since that encounter in the ballroom, she felt her cheeks heat and her heart begin to pound. Her gaze darted to his mouth. She’d thought of that as well—his firm, warm, wickedly seductive mouth. She dragged her eyes away.

“Did…” She had to clear her throat. “Did you learn anything of interest in town?”

“Not a thing,” he replied, and she was delighted to see his gaze flick to her mouth. “Didn’t expect to, really. The townsfolk are loyal to Lord Brentworth, and to his son by extension.”

“Oh, well.” She twisted her fingers behind her back. “Did you at least enjoy your visit?”

“Have you not been to Iberston?”

“Oh, yes.” She laughed lightly and felt herself relax. “There’s a tavern, a handful of shops, and very little else. Lord Brentworth is quite fond of it.”

Hunter stepped back to lean against the wall. “He has been known to boast of its charms.”

“It is rather charming, in its sleepy way. And in comparison to Pallton House, it is a marvel of entertainment. Particularly for the ladies.”

“And how did you spend your day here?” he asked, folding his arms across his chest in a relaxed manner.

“Composing, mostly, and then tea with Lizzy and Mirabelle—a rather late tea due to an ugly spot of business with Miss Willory.” And a brief and sadly fruitless attempt at eavesdropping. “And after tea, I ran into Lord Brentworth and Lord Martin. Lord Brentworth asked if I would play for the guests after dinner, and Lord Martin invited me to take a walk on the beach.”

“Did he?” Hunter asked in a tone that somehow managed to be both casual and cool.

“Yes, and I had an excuse at the ready, you’ll be pleased to know. But I never got the chance to use it, because Whit appeared,
quite out of nowhere it seemed to me, and convinced Lord Martin to take up cards in the billiards room instead. Poor man looked fairly pained by the idea.”

“Lord Martin?”

“Whit,” she explained. “Lord Martin was delighted. He’s even more easily distracted than I.”

“Is that why you lost interest in him? His flightiness?”

“I…” The question startled her. Hunter hadn’t broached that topic before, and she’d thought—hoped really—that he never would. She wasn’t proud of the
tendre
she’d had for Lord Martin, nor happy with the way that
tendre
had ended, nor particularly eager to discuss either. But there was no getting out of answering a direct question.

“That would be rather hypocritical of me, wouldn’t it?” she hedged, of the opinion that a direct question didn’t necessarily require a direct answer. Hypocritical or not, Lord Martin’s flightiness
had
irritated her a little.

“The two of you have different sorts of flightiness.”

“There’s more than one sort?”

“Aggravating and not aggravating. Yours falls into the second category,” he said with smile. “If it wasn’t his aggravating sort that cooled your ardor, what was it?”

She shrugged, unwilling to answer.

“Is it because your affection was returned?” he guessed.

She was willing to answer
that.
“I would
never
be so fickle.”

She’d been thrilled when Lord Martin began to court her in her first season. She’d been infatuated with him from afar for years, and his immediate interest in her after her come out had felt like a dream come true. He was, she’d been certain, her prince come to life.

“Then what was it?” Hunter prompted.

“I…” She opened her mouth, closed it again.

She’d jested to Evie once that her
tendre
for Lord Martin had expired after she’d discovered he kissed like a fish struggling
to breathe on land. But that hadn’t been true. The one kiss she’d shared with Lord Martin had been rather nice. Not at all like the exhilarating kisses she’d shared with Hunter, but perfectly adequate for her at the time.

Her disillusionment had come the next day when, emboldened by that kiss, she’d shared with him her dream of one day writing a symphony, having it published, and hearing it performed in front of an audience, a
real
audience in a theater, not just a room full of house guests.

He’d laughed at her. Not with intentional cruelty, but with a distinctly patronizing air that told her he found her, and her dream, quite adorably silly.

She’d been crushed.

“Kate?”

Kate gave off twisting her fingers behind her back, for twisting them in her skirts. She wanted to tell Hunter. She did, but the words bottled up, just as they had when she’d wanted to tell him of the music in her head. “Martin…Lord Martin didn’t care for my…for something I want.”

“Would you care to try that again?” he asked in a gentle, but faintly amused tone. “With a bit more clarification, this time?”

She took a quick breath and blurted out, “I’m writing a symphony. I want to publish it and hear it played in a theater.”

To keep from babbling incoherently as she had the last time she’d blurted out one of her secrets, she snapped her mouth shut, hard, and waited for his reaction. She braced for a laugh, or a sympathetic smile, or a patronizing pat on the head. She feared she’d receive all three. But what she got was a slight lift of his brows and the comment, “A challenging goal, but you’ve certainly the talent to obtain it. Is it coming along well?”

Acceptance of her dream, confidence in her abilities, and interest in her progress. All at once. If they hadn’t been
standing in the hall where anyone might come along and see them, she would have thrown her arms around him and kissed him soundly. She contented herself with just beaming at him.

“You mean that. All of it.”

“Said it all, didn’t I?” He tilted his head at her. “May I assume Lord Martin had a different reaction?”

Her smile faltered, then fell. “He thought it was silly. He laughed.”

“The man is a fool.”

“Yes, I know.” But he’d been the fool she’d fancied a prince, and the disillusionment had been difficult to accept. She pushed the memory of it away. It had been a long time ago, and it no longer mattered to her what Lord Martin thought.

“I’m very near to being finished,” she told Hunter, and how wonderful that she
could
tell him. “I’ve only a little left, a small section I’m working on now.”

“It must be exciting, to be so close.”

“And frustrating. It’s not coming along as well as I’d like. It
will
,” she was quick to inform him. No matter how frustrating the missing piece became, she’d not give up on it. “It’s simply a trifle irksome at present. And it’s a great deal of work for something I may never hear played as I’d like once it’s complete.”

“I imagine Whit would shoulder the expense of an orchestra for you.”

“He would,” she agreed. Whit had paid for orchestras to play at their mother’s balls in the past. “But it wouldn’t be the same, not really. It wouldn’t be published. And it would feel as if…”

“As if what?” he prompted.

“As if I’d given up. As if I’d been bested.”

“I hadn’t realized it was a competition.”

“It’s more a duel of wills,” she decided. “London publishers have been reluctant to recognize my other works for some time, and I’ve become rather persistent in my attempt to change their minds. They’re forced to write out their regrets at least once a month.”

“One word from Whit, or—”

“No.” She shook her head resolutely. “That wouldn’t be the same either. I’ll succeed on the merit of my work.”

He was quiet a moment before speaking. “If you were a man, you would have obtained that success by now.”

“And if I were the daughter of a commoner, my requests for publication would likely be ignored entirely.”

“It’s a balance of injustices then?” he asked with a small laugh and pushed off the wall.

“I’m afraid so.” She fell into step beside him as they began a leisurely walk down the hall. “Are you headed to the library? That’s where the other gentlemen have gathered.”

He shook his head. “I’m for my room. You?”

“I thought perhaps I’d practice the piece I’m to play tonight.”

He glanced at her. “Is it necessary for you to practice?”

“In a general sense you mean?” she guessed, then continued when he nodded. “Of course. How could I improve otherwise?”

“I hadn’t thought it possible for you to improve.”

She felt her cheeks warm. “I thank you for the compliment, but one can always improve. And one should always strive to, in my opinion. I’d hate to think I was no more skilled today than I was five years ago. I’d hate to think I was the same
person
I was five years ago.” She thought about that. “How disheartening it would be to know the person I am now is exactly the same as the person I was then, and exactly the same person I’ll be twenty years from now.”

“You want to be someone else?” Hunter asked.

“No, I just want to be better. I certainly want to be acknowledged as a skilled composer.” She glanced at him. “Do you wish to be the same as you are now, twenty years hence?”

“No. I should like to be richer.”

She laughed at that. “Is it
possible
for you to be richer?”

“I plan on spending the next twenty years finding out.”

“And I suspect fifty years from now, you’ll be willing to give up all your riches to be twenty years younger. So, who you are, and not just what you have, will have changed. In the end, it’s only who we are that matters, isn’t it?” They stopped outside the music room. “That’s why I practice at the piano and, whenever possible, at being the person I want to be in twenty years.”

There was a slight pause before he spoke. “Absolutely fascinating.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“Nothing,” he chuckled. “Enjoy your time in the music room.”

Hunter walked away as Kate pushed through the door of the music room, but he didn’t go far—just a few feet down the hall before he stopped, leaned against the wall, and listened as she began to play. As she began to
practice
, he corrected.

He folded his arms over his chest and scowled absently at the floor. Did he practice at anything? Was he a better man than he’d been five years ago? Certainly, in the eyes of the law he was
much
improved from the man he’d been seven years ago, but the law had never been the ruler by which he’d measured himself.

The accumulation of wealth was, and always had been, how he determined improvement. He was wealthier now than he had been five years ago, and he fully intended to be wealthier yet five years hence. It stood to reason then, that he
had
improved, and would continue to do so.

Fifty years from now, you’ll be willing to give up all your riches to be twenty years younger.

He thought about that and came to the conclusion that it was absolute nonsense. If he gave up all his riches, he might very well starve to death within a fortnight. What bloody difference would it make if he was twenty years younger at the time? It was better to die old and rich than young and poor, wasn’t it? In his estimation, it was also better to die young and rich than old and poor.

It was, he decided and pushed off from the wall, just all around better to practice at being rich.

Mirabelle accepted a biscuit from the dowager Lady Thurston. Having already partaken of tea and biscuits with Kate and Lizzy, Mirabelle couldn’t claim hunger. She
could
have claimed an inability to refuse anything sweet, but she found it more appealing to simply claim manners. She was sitting in Lady Thurston’s chambers, after all. It was only polite to accept what was offered.

She bit into the treat, and considered how best to bring their conversation around to a problem she’d been mulling over since before tea. She’d come with the excuse of wishing to discuss whatever had been said between Miss Willory and Lady Thurston—Kate and Mirabelle hadn’t been able to make out but every third word—but Lady Thurston’s response to that had been more or less what Mirabelle had expected. Miss Willory’s plea to the dowager countess to overturn Mirabelle’s decision had been denied. There was nothing else that needed to be said on the matter. In truth, what interested Mirabelle most at the moment was the subject of matchmaking. She swallowed her food and decided that a direct approach would suit best.

“I think perhaps we have been mistaken in regards to Mr. Laury.”

Lady Thurston set down her plate of biscuits without taking one for herself. “What has led you to that conclusion?”

“I invited him to tea today.” Mirabelle grimaced. “The offer produced some sort of nervous fit. I rather feared he might swallow his tongue.”

“Yes. It was the same on our walk about the grounds. He is ill at ease in Kate’s company.” Lady Thurston pressed her lips together in annoyance. “I had not expected that.”

“It is
most
odd. I don’t recall him behaving oddly in the past.”

“Nor I. Quite the opposite, in fact. I have always found him to be a charming young man.”

Mirabelle blew out a short breath. “What do you suggest?”

“I suggest we not give up our efforts prematurely.”

Mrs. Summers’s voice sounded from the connecting door to Lady Thurston’s room. “It would not be premature to cease in an effort you should never have begun. Mr. Laury is clearly not the gentleman for Kate.”

“I should think I would be the best judge of that,” Lady Thurston replied with a sniff.

Mrs. Summers crossed the room to take a seat. “I should think Kate the best judge of all, and she appears to prefer Mr. Hunter’s company.”

“Kate is simply as yet unaware of Mr. Laury’s attributes,” Lady Thurston insisted.

Mrs. Summers carefully selected a biscuit for herself. “And those attributes would be?”

“He
is
handsome,” Mirabelle ventured. “In a soft, romantic sort of way. Rather like a poet. And he has a great fondness for all things musical.”

“He has a quick mind, a kind heart, and a gentle disposition,” Lady Thurston added.

Mrs. Summers raised her brows at that last in mild amusement. “You make him sound like a horse.”

“One with an unfortunate propensity for shying, I’m afraid,” Mirabelle admitted with a wince.

Lady Thurston waved that away. “He needs a firm hand, is all.”