Meg nodded, trying to ignore the tears prickling her eyes. “I think that is a wonderful sentiment.” Tessa would love it.
“There we go. It’s decided.” Susana was nothing if not all business. “Now, let’s go practice.”
“Aren’t the boys going to sing too?” Vicca asked, as Susana bundled them out so Meg could dress.
“No one thinks that’s a good idea,” Susan said starchily, and both Vicca and Lizzie chortled. Because everyone knew boys couldn’t sing.
JONATHAN SEARCHED for Meg all morning to no avail. He wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to say to her—surely it wasn’t to ask where her room was—but he knew he needed to see her. His desperation was stoked by the fact that Mattingly, St. Clare, and Hisdick were apparently searching for her as well.
They found him in the salon at breakfast and hounded him about how beautiful and charming she was, and how she would make a perfect society wife, until his hair wanted to stand on end.
She was beautiful and charming and would make a perfect society wife. All that was true. What irked him was that he hadn’t been able to stake his claim and his soul howled to think one of them might get to her first and convince her he was the man for her.
He wasn’t. He never would be.
She was his.
If only he could claim her.
To his utter and complete consternation, he didn’t see her again until he wandered into the salon after lunch for the musicale. She stood at the piano, going over music with Susana, but the room was so crowded by then, it would be impossible to have a private conversation.
To make matters worse, Cicely Peck found him and grasped his arm and insisted on sitting with him. Louisa Mountbatten took the seat at his other side.
He felt somewhat like a reluctant kitten being petted by two overzealous girls.
When Meg met his gaze and smiled, he sent her a help me look, but it only made her smile more. Clearly there was no help from that quarter.
Nor was his mother willing to help, when he sent her the same look. Nor his sister.
He was a duke, for Christ’s sake. How was he not in control of the situation?
But he was not. He was forced to sit there in a wholly uncomfortable chair and listen to the musicale. And there was no whisky to be found.
Whose idea had it been to serve lemonade? They should be shot.
Also—he determined moments later when Charlotte Everton sat at the piano—whomever had selected the performers should be shot.
Or perhaps he should be shot. It might save time and misery.
There was one sure thing that could be said about Miss Everton’s playing. She definitely hit the keys. Pity she hit more than Bach had intended. Often, at the same time.
It was an effort not to wince as she butchered one of his favorites.
He clapped when she was done.
Because she was done.
But he shouldn’t have been so happy to see her exit the stage, because Glorianna Pickering was up next with a curious rendition of “When Daisies Pied”. For a girl who was not inclined to speak, she could certainly screech. Her cuckoos were excruciating.
Fortunately, it was a shortish song and over soon.
Which led to Louisa Mountbatten’s harp solo, some obscure baroque piece that, apparently, required an introduction longer than the actual song. When she returned to her seat, she gifted him with a beaming smile. “Quite lovely,” he assured her when she asked.
It probably had been.
At least she’d hit the notes.
Cicely Peck was not to be outdone. After Miss Mountbatten’s apparent triumph—hitting all the notes and all—she sprang to her feet and pushed her way to the piano, where Susana was preparing to play. There was a hushed discussion between them—Jonathan only caught a few words—but the jist of it was Cicely wasn’t on the program, but she insisted on performing anyway. Naturally, Susana being the gentlewoman that she was, only snarled a little bit before giving over.
After which, Miss Peck played the piano and sang a song about the joys of motherhood that Jonathan suspected she’d written herself.
It was a relief when Susana took over when Miss Peck finished, playing a Beethoven sonata—and playing it flawlessly. Though everyone had clapped for everyone, the applause for his sister was infinitely more sincere.
Thank God, it said. Someone who can actually play.
The next act was also the finale. Or, as it was called in the halls of Whites, the Finally.
Jonathan was surprised to see his daughters appear, in lovely dresses—and tiaras. He didn’t know why he was surprised. He’d asked for them to perform. But that had been hours ago. Weeks, if one accounted for the torment of the last few sets.
The crowd oohed and awed and clapped as they took their places, and then Susana began to play. Ah. A Christmas song. How lovely. His girls sang the first verse of “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” in a charming soprano, which was delightful.
Granted, they were his daughters. He was supposed to find them delightful, but the audience seemed to agree.
What they didn’t expect—what no one expected—what that they would be joined for the second verse by Meg.
Jonathan had heard Meg sing before. She had a beautiful voice that was rich and full. She sang the second verse by herself and then, the three joined their voices for a three-part harmony that gave him chills.
When the last note faded away, he leaped to his feet and applauded madly, barely aware that everyone else did the same—of course, Cicely Peck waited to see what everyone was doing before she joined in.
“Encore! Encore” Someone shouted. Jonathan suspected it was Hisdick.
Vicca grinned as she and Lizzie bowed. “That’s the only song we practiced,” she said with a cheeky smile.
“But Meg knows more. Sing the Italian one, Meg,” she urged.
Naturally, Meg flushed and shook her head, but the crowd would not let her off the hook.
Silence settled in the crowd, save Cicely’s snort, as Meg prepared.
When she opened her mouth and began to sing—his favorite aria as it happened, “Voi che sapete” from Mozart’s Le Nozze di Figaro, each perfect note wafted through the room like a heavenly air. He sat, spellbound, with the others, as she created magic with her voice in a stunning soprano. As she finished, the room was hushed, then rocked with hurrahs and bravissimos. Everyone rushed her to congratulate her, which was annoying, because he couldn’t reach her.
But his daughters, worming their way through the crowd, found him and hopped on his lap. Together. “Did you like our song, Papa?” Vicca asked.
“It was exquisite,” he said, kissing them both on the forehead. They beamed and his heart warmed.
“Oh,” Cicely said in a syrupy voice at his side. “Are these your daughters?”
“Yes. This is Victoria, and this little darling is Elizabeth.”
“We’re named for queens,” they informed her.
“Isn’t that sweet. How long did you have to practice?”
Lizzie made a face. “All morning.”
Ah. That must be where Meg had been. He should have known.
“Well, your song was lovely,” Louisa put in. “How old are you?”
The girls held up five fingers each.
“That was quite impressive for five.” She was something of a chatterbox, but Jonathan had to admit, Louisa had a more natural way about her with the girls than Cicely, whose demeanor made him wonder if his daughters were sticky. “Shall we go celebrate with lemonade and cakes?” she asked.
The girls looked to him and when he nodded, shouted hurrah!
“Aren’t they darling?” Cicely asked as Louisa led the way to the refreshment table in the corner.
He shrugged, keeping his eye on the trio. “I’m partial. But isn’t Louisa wonderful with them?” He wasn’t sure why he said this, but was glad he had when Cicely gasped, leapt to her feet, and practically ran to catch up.