Simply Unforgettable

in the audience moved a muscle.

There was a brief silence.

And then enthusiastic applause.

“Dear God,” the earl murmured, joining in.

But Lucius could only gaze as if transfixed.

My God! My God!

Frances Allard.

She opened her eyes, smiled, and inclined her head in acknowledgment of the applause, her cheeks flushed, her eyes glowing, her smooth, dark hair gleaming in the light cast down upon it from the chandelier overhead. Her eyes moved over the audience until they reached the doorway and . . .

And locked upon Lucius standing there gazing back.

Her smile did not falter. Rather, it froze in place.

In that fraction of a moment it seemed that the whole world must have stopped spinning.

And then her eyes moved onward until her smiling face had thanked the whole audience. She then made her way toward an empty chair on the far side of the room, close to where Amy sat with her hands clasped to her bosom. A gentleman rose as Frances approached, bowed to her, and repositioned the chair before she sat down on it. He bent his head close to hers to make some remark to her.

“That was quite, quite splendid, Miss Allard,” Mrs. Reynolds was saying with hearty joviality. “I was well advised to position you last on the program. My dear Betsy was quite right when she said you sing superbly. But I am sure that after sitting for a whole hour everyone must be ready for supper. It will be served immediately in the dining room.”

“Lucius,” his grandfather said, setting a hand on his shoulder as everyone stirred and the room filled with the buzz of conversation, “I have rarely if ever heard a voice that so moved me. Whoever is she? If she is someone famous, I do not recognize the name. Miss Allen, is it?”

“Allard,” Lucius said.

“Let us go and pay our compliments to Miss Allard,” the earl said. “We must invite her to sit with us for supper.”

She was on her feet again. Several of the other guests were crowding about her to speak with her. She had a bright, fixed smile on her face. She was determinedly not looking their way, Lucius saw. Mrs. Reynolds, smiling graciously, had made her way to her side and saw them coming.

“Ah, Lord Edgecombe,” she said in the sort of voice that made everyone else stand back to give them room, “may I have the pleasure of presenting Miss Allard to you? Does she not sing divinely? She teaches music at Miss Martin’s school. It is a very superior academy. We send Betsy there.”

Frances fixed her eyes on the earl and curtsied.

“My lord,” she murmured.

“I have the honor, Miss Allard,” Mrs. Reynolds continued, clearly puffed up with the pride of having such illustrious guests in her own home, “of making known to you the Earl of Edgecombe and his grandson, Viscount Sinclair. And his granddaughter, Miss Amy Marshall.”

Amy had stepped up beside him, Lucius realized, and taken his arm.

Frances turned to him then and her eyes met his once more.

“My lord,” she said.

“Miss Allard.” He bowed to her.

Her eyes moved on to Amy. “Miss Marshall?”

“You brought tears to my eyes, Miss Allard,” Amy said. “I wish I could sing like that.”

Lucius felt as if someone had dealt him a blow to the lower abdomen.

But one thing was perfectly clear. Whatever her feelings toward him might be, she certainly had not forgotten him.

“Miss Martin’s may be a superior school,” his grandfather was saying, “but what on earth are you doing teaching there, Miss Allard, when you should be enthralling the world with your singing voice?”

The color deepened in her cheeks as she turned back to him.

“It is very kind of you to say so, my lord,” she said, “but teaching is my chosen profession. It gives me great satisfaction.”

“It would give me great satisfaction,” the earl said, smiling kindly at her, “if you would take supper with Amy and Sinclair and me, Miss Allard.”

She hesitated for just a moment.

“Thank you,” she said. “That is very obliging of you, but I have already agreed to sit with Mr. Blake and a few of his acquaintances.”

“But, Miss Allard,” Mrs. Reynolds protested, sounding horrified, “I am quite sure Mr. Blake would be more than willing to relinquish your company to the Earl of Edgecombe for half an hour. Would you not, sir?”

The gentleman she addressed frowned but inclined his head to his hostess in an obvious preliminary to agreeing with her demand. However, Frances spoke first.