Minette’s brows drew together. “I never knew you could sing,” she said, beneath the clamorous ovation.
“Nearly everyone can sing. And how wonderfully you played.”
“Now that is a lie, Lord Augustine.” She tilted her head and gave him a look. It unsettled him, for it wasn’t the vapid, infatuated look of her childhood, but something aware and flirtatious, and altogether more mature. He looked away, right into the fawning regard of his soon-to-be-bride, Lady Priscilla.
“I must have a turn at the piano now,” she said. She was the same age as Minette, but where Minette was flighty, Priscilla was refined. Where Minette was impish, Priscilla was beautiful and confident and...cold. His china doll. “Will you stay and play with me, Lord Augustine?” she asked.
There was nothing else to say. “Of course.”
Priscilla leafed through the music and decided on one of the baroque pieces, a difficult work by François Couperin.
“I don’t know,” said August. “It’s a rather heavy piece for the current mood.”
“Can’t you play it?” she teased in an icily sweet voice.
He could play it in his sleep, but Minette would be mortified when Priscilla performed this showy work just following her shaky attempt at
Flowers of August
. “How about
Poggle and Woggle
?” he suggested.
Priscilla laughed. “You’re joking with me, my lord. I love your sense of humor. No, I think we’ve had enough of such foolishness. The children are all in the nursery for the night.”
As she said
children
, her gaze slid toward Minette. It confused him for a moment, this cruel and petty behavior on Priscilla’s part, and then he realized the foolish woman was jealous of the girl! Of Minette Bernard, the last woman on earth he’d ever consider courting. Warren’s sister pretended not to notice Priscilla’s cutting look, turning instead to speak with Aurelia.
“Are you ready to play?” he asked. Priscilla didn’t answer, only plunged into the treble part of the Couperin selection. August played the bass. He glanced at Minette as the notes grew in complexity, watching her normally pink cheeks flush a humiliated red. By the time he and Priscilla finished the first movement, his friend’s sister had disappeared.
*** *** ***
“I hate her!” Minette sobbed as her sister-in-law stroked her hair. “Lady Priscilla is the most despicable creature in the entire known world.”
“I know, dearest. I hate her too. We all hate her,” Josephine crooned. “You mustn’t fret so. Everyone enjoyed your playing with August.”
“Everyone laughed at me.”
“Everyone laughed
with
you, because it was delightful and fun. Now they’re doubtless covering yawns as Priscilla plods away in there, showing off as she always does. I’m sure they much preferred you and your good-natured antics. Even August smiled, and you know that almost never happens.”
Minette pressed her handkerchief against her lips. “He smiled? At me?”
“Several times, darling. You would have seen if you were not so intent on the keys. He smiled right down at you as you flubbed all those notes, and no, it wasn’t in mockery. I believe he was charmed.”
This made Minette cry even harder. In fact, she felt like her heart was going to bleed right out of her body through her tears. “I can’t bear this,” she wailed. “I can’t smile any longer. I can’t watch August court Lady Priscilla and pretend I don’t care.” She grasped Josephine’s hands. “You must talk to my brother. Tell Warren we have to leave. Tell him your pregnancy is making you feel tired, or ill, or...”
“I can’t lie to my husband. But if we tell him how you’re feeling, perhaps he’ll agree to leave early. I’m afraid...well...” She gave Minette a deeply sympathetic look. “I’m afraid August and Priscilla’s betrothal announcement could come any day. So perhaps it would be best to go, if we can manage it without causing a fuss.”
“I just… I can’t believe it.” Minette paused a moment to blow her nose. “I always knew this day would come, that he would marry somebody, but I can’t believe it’s finally here. It hurts so much worse than I ever believed. I don’t know how I shall stand at their wedding and smile and wish them well. I’ll have to manufacture some illness to excuse myself. I’ll have to tell them I have the plague.”
Josephine held her close and petted her hair. “You could tell them that, but I don’t know if they’d believe you.”
“I never thought it would really happen. I thought he would break with her. He doesn’t love her!”
“I know, my dear. Of course he doesn’t love her, but I didn’t love your brother either when I married him. And Aurelia and Townsend despised each other before they wed. Now they’re deeply in love.”
“You’re not making me feel better.”
“I’m sorry. But if it’s August you’re worried for, I think he’ll be all right.” Josephine twisted one of her wavy auburn locks. “I’m more worried about you. Perhaps it’s time to move on.”
“Move on to what?” Minette cried. “I have always loved August, as long as I can remember. I adore him with all my soul.”
Josephine took the handkerchief from her and wiped at her tears. “With
all your soul
? Minette, you’re so young. You’ve plenty of time to find another love, one who is within your reach. August was never meant for you. He thinks of you as a child. As Warren’s sister.”
“I know, I know. Everyone believes I’m ridiculous, even August, but I can’t help how I feel.” Minette doubled over, scrunching her hot eyes shut. They would be so swollen and red, she wouldn’t be able to show her face. This was so much harder than she’d imagined. She had thought she could be strong and accept Lord August’s engagement when it inevitably came. But she was finding it impossible to be strong. “I don’t know what I’m going to do. I can’t think. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. I can’t keep up this act anymore. I dream about him and Lady Priscilla. I woke up in Mrs. Everly’s room this morning, curled into a ball.”
“Mrs. Everly’s room?” Josephine blinked at her in concern. “How did you get there? Have you been walking from your bed again?”
“I can’t help it. It just happens. Oh, don’t tell Warren.” Minette clasped her hands together in a gesture of entreaty. “Please, Josephine. He worried so, before.”
“And he shall worry now, but your brother would want to know.”
“Please don’t tell him, Josie. Not yet. It’s only the idea of August marrying. It’s got me in such a state.”
“Dear love.” Josephine hugged her close with sisterly concern. “You mustn’t be so troubled. You must try to move on. There’s some dashing young gentleman out there waiting to sweep you off your feet. I promise, Minette. Your perfect husband is out there. You’ll look back at this time and wonder what you ever saw in August.”
Minette wished it was so, but she’d never pictured herself with any other man. She’d tried. She’d opened her heart to this one or that, but something was always missing, some connection she felt whenever Lord August was near. It wasn’t only his strong, powerful physique or his ebony dark hair. There was something in the depths of his eyes. They were an odd color, somewhat hazel, somewhat brown, and so brooding and mysterious. He was gruff, yet kind. Careless, yet intelligent. Sometimes he greatly surprised her. For instance, she’d never realized he could sing so beautifully. As much as she studied him at every opportunity, there was so much she didn’t know, that she felt she must know if she was to be fulfilled in life.
She had always believed Lord August was meant for her, before she even knew about courtship and love, and marriage. How could this be happening? How could he marry someone else?
With a soft knock, her brother entered and shut the door behind him. They shared an abiding affection, in addition to matching light-blond curls and blue eyes. “Minette, darling, are you all right?”
The concern in his voice brought another flood of tears. She would make herself sick if she didn’t stop. She had never been the weeping type, but this was an utter disaster.
“Don’t cry,” he said. He crossed to sit on the other side of her, and gave her shoulders a squeeze. “No one cares that Lady Priscilla can play better than you. She made herself look a right idiot choosing that wretched baroque music to play at a Hallowe’en fete.”
“It’s not that,” Minette bawled. “I’m not crying about that.”
She glanced up long enough to see her brother and Josephine exchange a look. Yes, silly Minette, and her childish infatuation with August. None of them understood the chaos in her heart. She wasn’t a child anymore, and what she felt wasn’t only infatuation.
“My dear,” he said gently. “We’ve talked about this so many times.”
“It doesn’t matter how many times we’ve talked about it. It doesn’t change my feelings. It doesn’t change my love for him.”
Warren took her chin and made her look up. “I don’t want August for you,” he said. “Those are
my
feelings. I know him better than you do. You wouldn’t make a good match. What of Lord Robert? He’s a steady chap with excellent prospects. He’s fun and cheerful, like you.”
“He’s a ginger,” Minette sobbed.
“So?”
“We’ll have carrot-topped children, and nothing looks good with that color. What on earth will my daughters wear to their coming out?”
Warren blinked at her. “I don’t…know.”
“Not only that, but when I talk to Lord Robert, there’s nothing to say. When I’m with him, he’s cheerful and fun, but he doesn’t make me love him.”
“And August does?”
“Yes! I’ve loved him for years, and I’ve always wanted to be his wife. I feel connected to him somehow. I can’t explain it.”
Her brother frowned. “I don’t think it can be explained. And I don’t think there’s anything to be done for it. Lord Colton’s growing impatient, and August’s father is in ill health. So you see, August’s under pressure both ways. Three ways, if you count Lady Prissy upstairs banging away on the pianoforte. Listen, mopsy.” He squeezed her hand and held it between his palms. “I love you very much. I want you to be happy. Even if August was head over heels for you, I wouldn’t let a match proceed. It wouldn’t suit either of you. You’d realize it soon enough.”
Minette loved her brother, but sometimes she hated him too, like when he was being a know-it-all, overprotective tyrant without any heart.
“You don’t understand,” she said, pulling her hand away. “You don’t feel my pain.”
“Warren,” said Josephine. “Perhaps we ought to think about leaving early. Very soon,” she added, raising a brow. “If it can be arranged.”
He sighed. “I suppose the Townsends would understand, but I think it awfully cowardly of you, sis. The party doesn’t end for another week.”
One more week. By the end of that week, August was sure to be engaged to Lady Priscilla. It was so unfair.
“Please, we must leave,” she said, worrying her handkerchief between her fingers. “I’ll pretend to be ill. Or you can say you have business to attend to in town.”
Warren shook his head. “I’ll tell Hunter and Aurelia the truth. They’d know anyway. But we must keep the rest of the guests from finding out the reason, for propriety’s sake.”
“For propriety’s sake?” Josephine rolled her eyes. She tended to scoff at propriety when it suited her. “You speak of propriety when your sister’s heart is breaking?”
“Yes, I do,” Warren said. “I won’t have drama and gossip overshadowing August’s proposal to Lady Priscilla. It’s going to be difficult enough for him as it is. As for you, my dear...” He looked back at Minette, concern clouding his blue eyes. “My heart breaks for you, too, but you must come to terms with this situation. You must look elsewhere for love. When we return to London for the season, after the baby’s born, we’ll search until we find a young man worthy of your affections. We’ll go on calls and plan dinners. We’ll have a ball at Park Street, a lively, grand affair.”
Josephine looked heavenward in exasperation. Minette wrung her hands.
“You can throw a thousand balls but it won’t make me stop loving Lord August,” she said to her brother.
“You may love him all you like,” he replied with regretful firmness. “But August shall marry Lady Priscilla before spring of next year.”
August retired late into the night, after drinking far more than he should. It was black outside with no moon, an ominous Hallowe’en night. He was another year older, and another day closer to offering for Priscilla. By the end of this week, surely, he must do it. Why not? Who else was there? He’d never courted anyone, or loved any lady with particular feeling. If not for familial pressure, he might have contented himself with several more years of Dirty Esmeralda’s talents, and his music, and the occasional bottle of port.
He groaned and drew the curtains of his bed, and fell into a restless sleep, thinking of Esme, and Priscilla, and poor Minette, whom she’d humiliated. Afterward, Minette had disappeared for the rest of the night, and of course people remarked upon it, because Minette was so social. It wasn’t well done of Priscilla. If she was his wife—and she would soon be his wife—he might have had sharp words for her afterward, in private. He might have even spanked the spiteful creature, knocked her down a step or two from her pillar of righteousness with a trip across his lap.
But fantasy-spanking Priscilla did nothing for him. His dreams veered in a more satisfying direction: spanking Esme, and then holding her down and showing her just what happened to naughty girls. In the midst of this erotic reverie, a faint sound awoke him. The curtains parted, revealing a white gown and blonde hair. Ah, breasts. The side of the bed dipped and the curtain closed, enveloping them in darkness, but he knew who she was. The alluring chambermaid.
It appeared he was to have some birthday fun after all.
How he’d groused to Townsend and Arlington earlier, that he must spend his birthday alone. His friends must have sent her upstairs to surprise him, or perhaps the lass had come on her own. Either way, he was happy for the company, and not at all too drunk to perform. His cock stirred at her scent, her warm acquiescence as she snuggled close beside him. He knew from her glances the past few days that she found him enticing, and he planned to give her a good show of it, out of gratitude as much as anything else.