Capturing the Earl Page 6

  Raising his glass in thanks, Wesley sipped. “Lady Radcliff and I had a moment at the symphony with Lady Mattock. It was a very pleasant evening.”

  A deep frown creased Jemima’s brow. “We are charitable with regard to that family because Lady Mattock’s deceased husband was knighted and Aurora went to school with the niece, but that is all.”

  Poppy’s eyes narrowed and she stepped forward.

  Rhys took his wife by the arm and held her in place. “Mother, you know that is not entirely true. You call it charity, while for Poppy and me it is a deep and binding friendship with Mercy and her aunt.”

  While Poppy physically relaxed, her eyes still burned with fury.

  “I found the evening with all three ladies filled with entertainment.” Wesley hoped to diffuse what was obviously an ongoing family dispute.

  Luckily whatever the lady of the house was about to say was interrupted by the arrival of a large crowd. The Duke and Duchess of Breckenridge were followed by Aurora and finally Mercy and her aunt.

  The overdecorated parlor wasn’t large and the influx of guests made the excess of expensive furniture more obvious. Two footmen came and removed a large settee with rolled arms and a thick gold cushion to give the party more room.

  Wesley watched Mercy as she greeted Poppy and Rhys and made a polite if cool curtsy to their hostess. He longed to go to her and make sure his behavior at the symphony hadn’t irreparably damaged their ability to remain cordial, but she kept her distance, making her way to a corner where all four ladies of the Wallflowers gathered with their heads close together.

  They were like four flowers, each different yet all perfectly suited to the bouquet.

  Aurora’s mother called in a tone one might use to address the servants. “Miss Heath, it will be some minutes before dinner is served. Time enough for you to play for us.”

  It was a struggle to keep his place. Wesley’s jaw tightened until his teeth ground together and he had to make an effort to unclench his fists. How dare that woman treat her guest with so little respect.

  “Mother, you really should wait until after dinner to show off Mercy’s talents. She’s not a musician for hire.” Aurora kept her voice even, but there was no mistaking her censure.

  Mercy’s smile was warm and a touch of amusement lit her eyes. “I really don’t mind at all.”

  Rounding to the corner where a pianoforte had been placed with barely enough room for the bench between the instrument and the wall, Mercy sat and opened the cover from the keys.

  From the first note, Wesley’s world crashed down around him. She did more than play or even play well. Emotions poured from Mercy into the keys in a way he had never heard before. It was no wonder Colby and Baker were in love with her. The vibrancy of one note melded with the subtlety of the next until everyone in the room was drawn nearer to her. It was incredible there weren’t more love-starved men crammed into the theater box to pay her homage.

  “What do you think now, my lord?” Aurora had stepped beside him as he flocked to stand on the worn brown rug placed in a sitting area near the pianoforte.

  “Magnificent,” he said before he had time to modify his reaction.

  “I first heard her play at school and she was a wonder, but she’s so much better now. And pianoforte is not even the instrument she loves best.” Aurora sighed, closed her eyes, and listened. Her face filled with contentment.

  It took an effort not to ask what Mercy’s preference was. He longed to hear more and as he glanced around the room, every expression eased with a sense of the peace rolling from her music.

  Even her ladyship smiled as she listened.

  It was a magnificent gift to convey music in such a way that everyone in hearing was transported to their own personal bliss. What other emotions could Mercy produce with her skill?

  A tall butler cleared his throat from the doorway.

  Mercy’s fingers stilled.

  Everyone turned as if in a dream.

  “Dinner is served,” intoned the butler.

  The ornate dining room was like the parlor in that it had also been overdecorated, with too many candles, gilded mirrors, stern paintings of old men, and extra chairs filling every corner.

  For the small dinner party, the long table had been set for ten despite there being only nine of them.

  “Mother,” Rhys began, “it seems we have an extra place.”

  She laughed and pulled open her fan, waving it like a flag and causing two candles on the table to snuff out.

  The footman rushed over to rekindle them.

  “Not at all,” Jemima Draper said as they all took their seats. “Mr. Garrott said he might be a few minutes late.”

  Poppy gasped. “Decklan Garrott is coming to dinner?”

  Jemima frowned. “Don’t look so shocked. He has just secured a very nice parsonage in Sussex and just because you didn’t prefer him doesn’t mean another lady wouldn’t be charmed by his light manner and secure profession.”

  Smiling behind her napkin, Aurora looked as if she might burst into a fit of giggles.

  Wesley leaned in to whisper, “Have I missed something relevant about Mr. Garrott?”

  Eyes sparkling with mirth, Aurora kept her voice soft so that only he would hear as Poppy and Rhys had a rather animated discussion with Jemima. “Mr. Garrott was rather set on wooing Poppy before she was married. He followed her like a lost puppy at balls. I think this is going to be a very entertaining evening, my lord.”

  “I feel honored to have landed myself with such a lively group, my lady.” All thoughts that courting Aurora would be a tedious task with boring evenings and inane conversation had fled him from the moment he saw Mercy. Being in her company breathed life into him in a way no one ever had before. Even more surprising was the intrigue over each member of this Wallflower family, driven both by blood and by choice; they all made contentious but interesting company.

  “Has your mother invited this Mr. Garrott as a match for Miss Heath?” It shouldn’t bother him. Mercy was not his, nor would she ever be. Yet his appetite left him instantly and he gripped the linen napkin he’d just placed in his lap.

  Aurora gave the slightest shrug while her gaze locked with his. “Perhaps. It could be she just wanted an even number of guests and Mr. Garrott is a good choice if one wishes to annoy Poppy.”

  A harried-looking man with brown hair and eyes stumbled into the dining room in a black suit and badly tied white cravat. “Sorry to be late.”

  The butler narrowed his eyes beside the man. “Mr. Garrott,” he intoned.

  “Yes, Wick. We can see that.” Jemima scolded the butler for doing his job.

  Mr. Garrott bowed several times before he took the empty seat beside Mercy at the far end of the table.

  With Aurora as his dining partner, Wesley should have been thrilled. He could spend the night charming her, and he could already tell that he liked her. Beautiful, smart, titled, and with the land he needed, she was everything he wanted in a wife.

  As the squab was served with a warm brown sauce, Mercy laughed and Wesley’s attention was drawn instantly away from his quarry. He didn’t know Garrott, but the man had entered the room with no grace, bowed too much, and seemed ridiculously out of place next to the stunning Mercy, who did everything exactly right. She sat straight with her back away from the chair, cut dainty pieces of bird, and took little bites, never eating all of any course. Never once did she speak too loudly or become animated in any way. Throughout the meal her expression remained serene while seeming to show interest in whatever Garrott said.

  She was the perfect picture of what a lady without means should be, but Wesley knew passion stirred inside her soul and he hated to see it bottled up so tightly. Reminding himself that Mercy was none of his business and he should be paying more attention to his own dinner partner didn’t stop him from attempting t
o hear what was said at the end of the table.

  Aurora whispered, “Did you not like the pork, my lord?”

  A footman took his untouched plate away. “I became distracted, I’m afraid. Forgive me, I have been a terrible dinner partner.”

  “Not terrible, just quiet. Is anything amiss?” Aurora asked, as if she might already know the answer.

  Surely, Mercy wouldn’t have told her friend about the incident at the theater. Good lord, had she done that, all was lost. No. If she had informed Aurora of his bad behavior, this conversation or any would not be happening, or at the very least it would be less polite.

  Forcing a smile he hoped was full of irresistible charm, he said, “It is nothing, my lady. Forgive me.”

  At the end of the table, Mr. Garrott’s voice boomed. “Miss Heath, you are a delight.”

  It took all of Wesley’s will to keep focused on Aurora and not turn to find out if Mercy liked being complimented in such a public way. He guessed not but couldn’t look. His jaw tightened, but he kept his attention with the correct woman.

  Aurora’s eyes flitted over his shoulder, down the table, where Mercy sat, then back to him. She raised a brow and her lips turned up in a sweet smile. “You are forgiven.”

  “Thank you.” It was more difficult than he would have believed to speak politely to one woman while wishing, without any sense of right or wrong, to be in the company of another. This madness had to stop.

  Chapter 5

  It did no good to refuse when someone asked her to play. She knew it bothered her friends when their parents asked, but Mercy loved to play. If she refused, Aurora’s mother would call her too proud or arrogant. For a girl without fortune and only an aging aunt to protect her, it was best to remain liked among the ton.

  The look on Wesley’s face when she risked a glance at him before dinner had nearly made her lose her place in the music. His eyes locked on her and there was a serenity within him that she hadn’t seen before.

  Why did he pay her so much attention and why did she care? He knew she would never be his mistress. In fact, she would never be disposable to any man. She had seen it many times; a man took a mistress who was young and lovely—actresses, opera singers, or ladies of a lower station and little means. Then after a few years, the men tired of their lovers and if the girl was lucky she was given a small pension to live off.

  Of course, she lost any friends she might have had before and after the affair. That was no life for Mercy. However, her job was either to rid Aurora of his attentions or at least determine his character. Perhaps his interest in her might be a good way to do just that. A knot formed in her chest and rose to her throat before she swallowed it down.

  “Miss Heath,” Aurora’s mother clapped as if stating of her name would not be enough to gain her attention.

  It was demeaning, but Mercy drew in a breath, turned and smiled. “Yes, my lady?”

  “I recently acquired a very special violin.” She brightened as if she were very proud of her acquisition. “It belonged to an Italian master, perhaps you’ve heard of him. Stradivarius?”

  Mercy’s heart stopped.

  Stepping in, Rhys said, “I think the violin is made by the Stradivarius family. Mother purchased it from a woman in Paris to add to her collection of instruments she cannot play.”

  It took several gulps of air before Mercy was able to form words. The idea that she was in the same house as an instrument of that class had her near to fainting. “May I see it, my lady?”

  A wide smile pulled at Jemima’s lips. “I’m so happy you asked. I have been told you can play and these old string instruments must be played from time to time or they will ruin. I thought to ask you to come by from time to time and play this one.” She turned to the group. “Come into the music room, everyone. This should be something quite extraordinary.”

  Mercy followed close behind despite the fact that Aurora’s and Rhys’s mother had never admired her for more than her musical talent. It didn’t matter. To have the opportunity to touch a Stradivarius was worth swallowing a year of pride. She gripped her skirt with both hands, crushing the light green fabric.

  The music room held a great many fine instruments. From time to time, Mercy had been asked to play the harp and a beautiful cello that each stood in opposite corners. In the center of the room under a glass case was the violin. Its red wood and sensual arch called out to her, but she forced her hands to remain at her sides as she stared down into the case. “It’s perfect.”

  Aurora touched her arm. “You don’t have to play if you don’t want to, Mercy. Mother may need someone to use this, but it need not be tonight.”

  “I would very much like to play it.” Her voice hardly sounded like her own with its rough edge.

  Rhys lifted the glass, but Mercy just stared down at the masterpiece.

  In the kindest voice Mercy had ever heard from the lady, Jemima said, “It’s all right, Miss Heath. You may pick it up. I know you will not let any harm come to it.”

  “Never.” Mercy would almost give her own life before she would let anything happen to a violin of that quality. She touched the strings, wrapped a hand around the neck, and lifted it from its wooden cradle. Taking up the bow with her right hand, she ran it lightly across the strings while the violin was still close to her chest.

  It took a moment to tune the keys with care for the perfect tone. Mercy’s heart soared when she found it. A flash of the kiss at the theater and the lips that had set her soul aflame burst into her mind. She closed her eyes to avoid looking at Wesley.

  With a shuddering breath, she tucked the finest instrument she had ever held beneath her chin and let Vivaldi’s “Summer” from the Four Seasons pour out of her. The subtle sounds drew a sigh from several in the room.

  Venturing a glance for Wesley, she found him leaning against the door jam. His eyes locked with hers, but his expression was stoic even as fire lit his eyes.

  The music lifted and rose from the perfectly made violin, filling the room. She closed her eyes and allowed the masterpiece to sing out.

  Lost in the music, Mercy floated in the world of sorrow and hope, where possibilities were endless and limitations didn’t exist. It was a world made by an artist and a composer who lived long before she was born, but had gifted it to her in that moment. A perfect moment.

  As she drew the bow across for the final strains, her heart sank and she opened her eyes.

  Her closest friends smiled back at her.

  Jemima held her hands together under her chin.

  Aunt Phyllis beamed with pride.

  The only change in Wesley’s expression was the sorrow she detected in his eyes. Otherwise, he remained unmoving.

  Despite her bright smile, Faith wiped a tear from her cheek and began the applause. Everyone joined in and rushed forward to congratulate her. Wesley remained near the door.

  “Rhys, will you lift the glass, please?” Mercy didn’t want to risk anything happening to the violin.

  Complying, Rhys helped her secure the instrument. “You were wonderful,” he said.

  “I can take little credit for what comes from such a work of art.” Mercy’s cheeks heated and her heart slowed to a normal beat for the first time since learning the Stradivarius was in the house.

  Everyone ignored her comment and preceded to tell her how wonderful she was.

  “Miss Heath, you have made me very happy,” Jemima exclaimed with more respect than she’d ever shown Mercy before.

  “I am honored to have played such a violin, my lady. Thank you.”

  Beaming, Jemima said, “Cake and other treats will be served in the parlor.”

  The guests all followed their hostess out of the music room.

  Aurora squeezed Mercy’s arm. “Are you coming?”

  It was all too much. “I’m going to step into the garden for a moment, if
you don’t mind. I’m just a bit overwhelmed.”

  “Are you all right?” Aurora’s blue eyes narrowed as she studied Mercy.

  Giving Aurora a quick hug, she said, “Of course, I’m fine. You know how I am when faced with such an emotional experience. I’ll just get some air and be in the parlor in a few minutes.”

  Aurora nodded and left her.

  In the garden, a cool breeze had swept away the heat of the day. Roses bloomed along a wall and scented the air.

  “What is it about you, Miss Heath, that keeps me following you into the dark?” Wesley asked from the shadows.

  Any sense of calm she sought in the garden evaporated with his nearness. “I cannot tell you that, my lord.”

  He stepped into the moonlight. His honeyed hair glowed angelic while his dark eyes bore into her with intentions that felt anything but saintly. “I have things I must do and people who depend on me.”

  With no idea what he was talking about, she stared a long time. “That could be said of all of us.”

  Stepping closer, he crowded her against the bricked edge of the veranda. “You don’t understand.”

  The knot she’d swallowed rocketed to her throat again and a swarm of bees bumbled in her chest. “No, I don’t believe I do. What do you want from me, my lord?”

  With a touch so light she might have imagined it, he caressed the side of her face. “There is nothing I want that I am entitled to, Mercedes.”

  The words and his lover’s tone did not match and the sound of her name on his lips stirred something inside her as volatile as playing “Summer” had. How could she survive such a night? “Then perhaps you had better go back in the house, my lord.”

  He closed his eyes and leaned in enough that only a breath of space separated them. “Is there any way you might call me Wesley?”

  Blood rushed to her head and filled her ears. He was too close and she should push him away, but she was caught in his trap. “Why would I do that?”

  Opening his eyes, he looked younger and more vulnerable. “Because it is my name and I long to hear it from your lips.”