was a wonderful little musical retreat.
Exactly what Charity needed after the awfulness of the last Season.
Dropping her hands to the keys once more, she closed her eyes and purged all thoughts of that particular topic from her mind. It was never good for creativity to focus on stressful topics. Exhaling, she stretched her fingers over the cool ivory keys, finding her way by touch.
Free from her mother and her relentless matchmaking. Free from the gossip that seemed to follow her like a fog. Free from all the strict rules every young lady must abide by during the Season.
The notes rose higher as her right hand swept up the scale, tapping the keys with the quickness of a flitting hummingbird. Her left hand provided counterbalance with low, smooth notes that anchored the song.
A sudden noise from the doorway startled her from her trance, abruptly stopping the flow of music and engulfing the room in an echoing silence. Jeffers, Grandmama’s ancient butler, stood in the doorway, his stooped shoulders oddly rigid.
“I do beg your pardon, Miss Effington. Lady Effington requests your presence in the drawing room.”
She headed down the stairs, humming the beginning of her new creation. Her steps were in time with the music in her mind, which had her moving light and fast on her feet. The town house was medium sized, with more than enough room for the two of them and the four servants Grandmama had brought, so it only took her a minute to reach the spacious drawing room from the music room.
Breezing through the doorway with a ready smile on her face, Charity came up short when the person before her was most definitely
She only just managed to contain her squeak of surprise at the sight of the tall, lanky man standing in the middle of the room, his rumpled dark clothes in stark contrast to the cheery soft blues and golds of the immaculate drawing room. She swallowed, working to keep her expression passive as her mind raced to figure out who on earth the man was.
Charity had never seen him before—of that, she was absolutely sure. It would be impossible to forget the distinctive scars crisscrossing his left temple and disappearing into his dark blond hair. One of the puckered white lines cut through his eyebrow, dividing it neatly in half before ending perilously close to one of his vividly green— and terribly bloodshot—eyes.
He was watching her unflinchingly, accepting her inspection. Or perhaps he was simply indifferent to it. It was . . . disconcerting.
“There you are,” Grandmama said, snapping Charity’s attention away from the stranger. Sitting primly at her usual spot on the overstuffed sofa centered in the room, her grandmother offered Charity a soft smile. “Charity, Lord Cadgwith has kindly come over to introduce himself. He is to be our neighbor for the summer.”
Correctly interpreting Charity’s reaction, the older woman chuckled, clasping her hands over the black fabric of her skirts. “Yes, I realize we are not strictly adhering to the rules, but it is summer, is it not? Exceptions can be made, especially when the good baron overheard your playing and so wished to meet the musician.” Her gray eyes sparkled as she smiled at the man.
It was all Charity could do not to gape at the woman. Yes, no one was more proud of Charity’s playing than her grandmother, but this was beyond the pale. Good gracious, if Mama and Papa knew how much Grandmama’s formally strict nature had been changed by her extended illness, they never would have allowed Charity to accompany her to Bath without them.
The baron bowed, the movement crisp despite his slightly disheveled appearance. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Effington,” he said, his voice low and a little raspy like the low register of a flute.
Despite the perfectly proper greeting, something about him seemed a little untamed. Must be the scars, the origin of which she couldn’t help but wonder about. War wounds? A carriage accident? A duel? Setting aside her curiosity, she arranged her lips in a polite smile. “And you as well, Lord Cadgwith. Are you here for the festival?”
“Please don’t mumble, my dear,” Grandmama cut in, her whispered reprimand loud and clear. Charity cringed—the older woman insisted that her hearing was fine, and that any problem in understanding laid in the enunciation of those around her.
“Yes, ma’am,” she responded in elevated, carefully pronounced tones. “Lord Cadgwith, are you here for the festival?” Heat stole up her cheeks, despite her effort to keep the blush at bay. She had never liked standing out —when away from her pianoforte, of course—and practically shouting in the presence of their neighbor was beyond awkward. One would think she’d have come to terms with the easy blushes to which her pale, freckled skin lent itself—but knowing her cheeks were warming only made her blush that much more violently.
It certainly didn’t help that he was by far the most attractive man to ever stand in her drawing room, scars or no. She swallowed against the unexpected rush of butterflies that flitted through her.
For his part, Lord Cadgwith did not look amused. “No, actually. I had no knowledge of the event until my arrival.” He made the effort to speak in a way that Grandmama could hear, his dark, deep voice carrying easily through the room. A man used to being heard, she guessed. A military man, perhaps?
“Well, what a happy surprise it must have been when you arrived,” her grandmother said, smiling easily. “Charity is planning to audition for the Tuesday Evening Musicale series later this afternoon. There are a limited number of slots, but I have no doubt our Charity will earn a place.”
And . . . more blushing. Charity gritted her teeth as she smiled demurely at her grandmother. Music was the one thing for which Charity had no need for false modesty, but sharing her plans with the virtual stranger standing in their drawing room felt oddly invasive. “I’m sure Lord Cadgwith isn’t interested in my playing, Grandmama.”
“On the contrary,” he said, his voice rough but loud enough to carry. “It is, after all, your music that prompted me to visit in the first place.”
Her mouth fell open in a little “Oh” of surprise before she got her wits about her. Still, pleasure, warm and fizzy, poured through her. Her music had called this incredibly handsome man to her? Not her looks (such as they were), not her father’s station, not curiosity from the gossipmongers. No, he had sought her out because her playing touched him. Pride mingled with pleasure, bringing an irrepressible grin to her lips.
Grandmama beamed, her shrewd gaze flitting back and forth between them. “Well, I do hope you’ll stay for tea, my lord.”
His smile was oddly sharp. “Unfortunately, I must be off. I just wanted to introduce myself after being serenaded this morning. Lady Effington, thank you for your indulgence of my whim.”
Lady Effington nodded as regally as the queen, pleasure clear in the pink tinge of the normally papery white skin of her cheeks.
He turned to face Charity, his green eyes meeting hers levelly. “Miss Effington,” he said, lowering his voice to a much more intimate tone as he bent his head in acknowledgment, “do please have a care for your captive audience in the adjoining town houses, and keep the infernal racket to a minimum.”
Because she was lost in the vivid dark green of his eyes, it took a moment for his words to sink in. She blinked several times in quick succession, trying to make sense of his gentle tone and bitingly rude words. He couldn’t possibly have just said . . . “I beg your pardon?”
“Pardon granted. Good day, Miss Effington.”
And just like that, the baron turned on his heel and strode from the room. It was then that she caught the fleeting hint of spirits in his wake, faint but unmistakable. A few seconds later, the sound of the front door opening and closing reached her burning ears. Of all the insufferable, boorish, rude—
“My goodness, but he was a delightful young man.” Grandmama’s sweet voice broke through Charity’s fury, just before she was about to explode. The older woman looked so happy, so utterly pleased with the encounter,
