The Baron Next Door (Prelude to a Kiss) (8 page)

Charity couldn’t help but think of the past Season, and how thoroughly unpleasant it had been to endure. Yes, the
ton
loved nothing more than finding a juicy piece of gossip to worry like dogs with a bone. She was determined not to let them get to her during the festival, however. This was a different sort of ambience, after all. They were all there for the common love of music.

Right?

Nodding with more confidence than she felt, she came to her feet. “There is nothing to worry about, my dear. You shall impress them all with your beauty and talent. Just smile and nod, and you’ll do fine.”

May wrinkled her perfect little nose. “I suppose time will tell.”

Footsteps in the hall heralded the arrival of May’s footman to transport her instrument home. Charity walked the few steps to her friend and linked arms with her. “You’ll have them eating out of your hand in no time.”

The slightest bit of jealousy tainted Charity’s tone, despite her effort to smile. She actually envied May’s ability to come into this festival with a clean slate. During Charity’s first Season, she had been a triumph; the next, a failure. Now she couldn’t help but wonder what tomorrow’s huge ball would bring.

S
tepping though the doors of the cavernous Ballroom, Charity paused to marvel at the transformation. The last time she had been at the Assembly Rooms, there had been a smattering of wooden chairs and potted plants, with no special touches to enliven the lovely but somewhat plain place.

Tonight, however, the entire space was bathed in glittering light from hundreds of candles adorning the five crystal chandeliers spanning the arched ceiling. Garlands made from what looked to be thousands of summer blooms, in all their colorful and fragrant glory, swooped along the walls. Close to a thousand people filled the space, all turned out in their finest dress in order to celebrate the official start of the festival. It looked like a scene from a fairy tale, complete with the most beautiful gowns anyone could imagine.

“My, my,” Grandmama breathed, lifting her lorgnette in order to better inspect the grand space. “Reminds me of the way things used to be here in Bath, back when I was a young debutante. You should have seen the splendor.” She shook her head, memories clouding her gaze as she lowered her eyepiece. “Back then, Bath had been the single most fashionable place to be in all of England—outside the Season, of course.”

Charity smiled. “This really is something to see. I simply cannot wait to hear the orchestra. One imagines the committee went out of its way to find the best of the best for such an event.” Instead of being tucked away in an alcove or an adjoining room, a small stage had been constructed at one end of the room, and the musicians were busily inspecting their instruments and sheet music. Excitement crowded out any apprehension she might have had about being in such a crush. There were too many people here, anyway, for her to be of any notice.

Speaking of too many people, she glanced around the room again, this time searching for her friends’ faces. They really should have devised a meeting place. The veritable sea of people flowed through the entire room and spilled out into the corridor and adjoining rooms. Even the balcony was packed, with some glancing out over the crowd while others were absorbed in conversation.

“There does seem to be an alarming lack of unoccupied chairs,” her grandmother said, diverting Charity’s attention. She was right. Seating was available around the perimeter of the room, but every one she could see was taken.

“Shall I fetch a footman and have one brought out?”

“No, let us take a turn about the room and see what comes up.”

Charity extended her elbow. “If you’re certain.” Her grandmother nodded and joined arms with her, and together they set off into the crush. It was something of a surprise to realize how many faces she didn’t recognize. After seeing the same people at each of her two Seasons, it was rather refreshing to be surrounded by so many that were unknown to her. To think she wouldn’t be judged for the failed courtship was enough to bring a smile to her lips.

They made slow progress, moving counterclockwise around the room. The first door they encountered revealed the Great Octagon, which was filled to the brim with revelers. Through the next doorway was the Card Room, where both players and observers crowed around any one of the dozens of round tables set up across the room.

Grandmama’s eyes lit up. “Cards! Oh, I wonder if anyone is in need of a piquet partner.”

Charity hid a grin. If there was, said partner was about to find out how ruthless of a player her grandmother could be. “Let me see if there is someone nearby who can help us.”

In a few minutes’ time, Grandmama was seated, cards in hand and an entirely too-innocent look on her face. Smiling, Charity slipped back into the ballroom, eager to find May and Sophie. The music would be starting any moment, and she wanted to be able to experience it with them.

“Miss Effington?”

Charity stopped and glanced to the young woman who had spoken to her.
Oh, what rotten luck.
She stretched her lips into a polite smile. “Miss Harmon, how lovely to see you.”

And by lovely, she meant dreadful. As the youngest daughter of Viscount Wexley, Marianne was of similar rank and station to Charity. Marianne also excelled at the pianoforte, though her style was drastically different from Charity’s. She meticulously played each note exactly as written, perfect from a technical standpoint, but sorely lacking from a creative one.

What made Marianne such a disagreeable companion was the fact that she seemed to always be in some sort of unspoken competition. She smiled now, allowing her gaze to sweep over Charity as though she had just begged for her opinion. Charity’s defenses immediately went up. She quite liked her gown tonight. The pale peach patent net wasn’t an obvious choice for a person with red hair, but Charity thought it was very flattering to her skin.

“My, don’t you look . . . colorful?” Marianne scrunched her nose in an oddly delicate way, making it abundantly clear that her meaning was not what her honeyed tone would suggest.

“Why, thank you,” Charity replied, her tone equally sweet. Because, honestly, she’d rather be colorful than disingenuous. “You’re looking well.” Unfortunately, it was the truth. Marianne’s hair shone dark gold in the candlelight, a near-perfect match for her diaphanous gold gown. Her brown eyes almost looked bronze against her pale skin.

“Yes,” she agreed, patting her perfectly coiffed curls. “The city does seem to agree with me. Which is a good thing, since we’ll be here for the entire two months. My father is on the selection committee, after all.”

That was
not
good news.

“How lovely for him to donate his time so generously.” The fact that Marianne had always considered Charity her greatest competitor did not bode well. Lord Wexley was the type who would do whatever possible to give himself and his family the advantage in any situation.

“It is, isn’t it? I must say, I am surprised to see you here this evening. I would have thought that if you were in town, you would have shown up for registration. A pity you decided not to participate in the recitals.” Her sly smile said exactly how much of a pity she thought it was.

She leaned forward, the mock sincerity on her face instantly putting Charity on guard. “Though I can certainly understand your desire to keep a low profile, what with the Season you had.”

Charity ground her teeth together. Would the woman ever get over her need to want to prove herself better than Charity? Lord knew she had positively delighted in the gossip surrounding the broken courtship. And now, pretending commiseration for the sole reason of bringing it up again . . .

No, Charity would not fall into her trap. Setting her lips in a determined smile, she said, “I was a tad late, but I did indeed register.”

Marianne’s brow wrinkled unbecomingly. “What? But I didn’t see your name on the list.”

Charity flipped open her fan in an effort to combat the increasingly warm temperatures. “It was there, I assure you. You may have overlooked it since it was attached to two other names as well.”

“I don’t understand. You’re performing with other people?” So much incredulity laced the woman’s words, one would think Charity had said she had joined a band of gypsies.

“Yes—a trio. I’m very excited about it.”

“You? A trio?” Marianne’s voice rose a notch or two, effectively conveying her opinion on the matter. “I suppose it makes sense if one is not capable of performing solo.”

Charity’s fan came to an abrupt halt even as heat rushed through her veins at the rudeness of the comment. The snide remark about her Season was one thing, but this was too much. She cast about for some sort of response, but nothing came to her. Who
says
such things to another?

“Oh, she’s plenty capable.”

Charity whipped around to find May standing cross-armed directly behind her, looking every bit as intimidating as a Viking maiden, with her hair in gorgeous braids encircling her crown and her back ramrod straight. With its simple cut, her icy blue silk gown was subtle but undeniably exquisite. “She’s simply secure enough in her abilities to take on new challenges.” Her glittering blue gaze flitted to Charity. “Something for which I should tell you, Charity, we are exceedingly grateful.”

Marianne’s nose scrunched up as though she smelled something rotten. “I beg your pardon? We have
not
been introduced, and I don’t believe either of us was talking to you.”

Snapped from her stupor, Charity linked arms with May. She may not have a ready retort in these situations, but she would not allow Marianne to intimidate her friend. With a determined smile in place, she said, “Miss Harmon, do please allow me to introduce you to Miss Bradford. She is new to Bath—new to England, in fact—and I am very pleased to have her not inconsiderable talents in our trio.”

“Charmed,” May said, her voice flat.

“Indeed,” Marianne replied, conveying dislike impressively well in the single word. She flicked her gaze back to Charity. “Good luck with your trio. I do
so
look forward to seeing you attempt to perform.”

Charity kept her lips pressed together in an expression that could have been mistaken for a smile to the casual observer, as Marianne disappeared into the crush like a snake into the reeds.

“Friend of yours?”

Letting out a pent-up breath on a slight chuckle, Charity shook her head. “Not the term I would use to describe her. Thank you, by the way. I never seem to be able to defend myself. I really must learn to think faster.”

“I don’t imagine it is thinking faster that you need to worry about. I think it’s a matter of not being bothered if you offend someone. Frankly, I’m not sure I’d wish for you to change.”

“You say that because you are always brilliant in these situations. I might as well be a statue.”

May grinned and patted her hand. “At least you are a very becoming statue. I quite love that color on you. In fact I have a bolt of embroidered silk in this color that would look divine against your peaches-and-cream skin.”

An opportunity to get her hands on some of May’s amazing fabrics? Charity wasn’t about to let such an opportunity go to waste. “Truly? I’d so love to see it. If for no other reason than to hear what other description Miss Harmon can come up with should she see me in it.”

They exchanged collusive smiles. After an entire Season of unpleasant encounters just like this one, it was rather thrilling to have someone so thoroughly in her corner.

“There you are!”

Charity glanced up just as Sophie waved and ducked between the pair of older gentlemen who stood talking nearby. Her cheeks were flushed bright pink, and her eyes danced beneath the proliferation of black curls piled atop her head. “My goodness, I think half of England is here tonight—and then some. I must have heard four different languages as I tried to find you. And just look how pretty you both are tonight.”

“Isn’t this ball amazing?” May asked, her gaze sweeping across the crush. “It only took moments to lose my aunt. She is probably cursing me as we speak.”

Charity laughed. “Well, we must make the most of our freedom, then. As this is your first event, May, what would you like to do?”

“It’s past time I learn a bit about the people I shall be seeing for the next two months. Let us take a turn about the room before the orchestra starts, and you can fill me in on all the gossip.”

“You know,” Sophie said as they started forward, “I don’t recognize nearly as many people as I would have thought. It’s like my first Season all over again! Oh, look. There’s Miss Paddington—she plays the violin quite well.”

Charity lifted a hand in greeting as Miss Paddington looked their way and smiled. She was nearly as tall as May, but was quite a bit stockier. Tonight she looked very pretty in her Grecian-inspired gown. Beside her, a dark-haired man nodded, and Charity smiled back. “That’s the Earl of Dennington. Surprising to see him here—he doesn’t usually attend events. His brother is married to a great friend of mine.” Evie would have been her sister-in-law, had Charity gone through with the marriage to Richard.

They continued on, pointing out some people from afar, speaking with others, and even offering a few introductions. The knot of anxiety that had surfaced after the encounter with Marianne had eased, and Charity was really enjoying herself.

A man with light brown hair and a ready smile a few yards away caught her eye. “Oh, let’s go speak with Lord Ev—”

Sophie cut her off with an emphatic “No!” In one smooth motion she forcefully guided them in a neat half circle, effectively turning their backs to the man.

Charity gaped at her friend. “What was
that
?”

Cheeks flaming red-hot, Sophie sheepishly shook her head. “No, please don’t ask. Not here, anyway.”

Biting back a smile, May said, “Well, well—I do believe somebody here may have a
tendre
.”

“I had no idea,” Charity replied, grinning broadly at poor blushing Sophie. “Very well, we’ll leave it for now. But be prepared to tell us everything at the next practice.”

The sound of the conductor rapping his baton against the music stand rang out over the low roar of the crowd, and Sophie visibly wilted with relief. “Yes, fine,” she agreed, and the topic was set aside as the musicians raised their instruments. The other attendees quickly ceased their conversations and turned toward the stage. Excitement seemed to radiate around the room as the man raised his arms, paused for one dramatic moment, then plunged into the opening piece. The first strains of Handel’s
Water Music
rose to the vaulted ceiling, magnificent in its perfect execution.

She was in heaven.

Hours later, Charity floated upstairs to her music room, still reveling in the delights of the evening. The orchestra had been spectacular, setting the perfect tone for the official start of the festival. Even the food had been delicious, with both sweets and savories to complement the wide range of beverages. She
may
have even had a few sips too many of the Madeira, but it had been worth it. Between being serenaded by such talented musicians and having the opportunity to meet people who had yet to form any opinion about her, it had been one of the best evenings she could remember.