Charis sat back with a speculative look on her face, then excused herself for a few moments, returning with a smug expression that made Penelope wonder a little. She might have been more curious, but her mind was still on Lord Harford and his multifaceted personality.
The music was utterly delightful. All the players were of professional caliber, although of the peerage and gentry. Penelope sighed with pleasure as the music of Haydn and Bach floated about her in rhythms that ranged from delicate to profound.
When the pause came for refreshments, she made her way to Lady Sefton’s side. “In truth, I nearly dreaded a musicale,” she confided with a smile, “having heard dire tales of them. This is positively delightful, ma’am. I am so pleased to join you this evening.”
“I understand you are musical, my dear.” The agreeable lady beamed at her. “Promise me that you will play for us.
“Oh, no, I am not as accomplished as those we have listened to this evening.” Penelope shrank from the thought of performing before such a select group, particularly Lord Harford.
Nothing would do but that Lady Sefton had her way. Any musician who ventured to her house on the evening of a musicale was persuaded to perform. The pianist yielded his place with quiet insistence, eager to hear another play.
Penelope gathered every bit of her poise, glancing first at Miss Nilsson, at Lady Harford, and at the traitorous Lady Charis, before she went to the pianoforte. She avoided meeting Lord Harford’s gaze.
“I suggest we try this piece, if it suits your abilities.” Jonathan gestured to the music, shifting the candles so she might see better. She looked like a dream he had conjured up in that frosted lavender and silver gown, with the once-demure neckline now dipping so low it would take his mind off the notes if he stood too close.
She nodded, thanking the heavens for a simple piece that she knew well. In moments the charm of Bach’s Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring, floated out over the room, his flute taking the choral melody. Never had she played so well; it was as though the duet was inspired. She decided it must be the atmosphere, when they brought the piece to its conclusion to the enthusiastic appreciation of the group.
Penelope began to leave, and was restrained by one of the other musicians. “I feel sure you can join us for the Vivaldi. You play uncommonly well.” He set the music before her, nodding to the others to gather around, and before she had a chance to protest, they began the concerto, The Four Seasons: Spring. It was quick and sprightly in the opening, and Penelope had to concentrate, part of her wishing she was in her seat, the other part taking great delight that she could play with so fine a group. It was exhilarating, to say the very least. If she was a bit cautious in her approach to the music, the others led her on, making allowances for her.
During the second, slower, movement, she appreciated the musicality of the others. The violinist led each of the performers along with him in little duets, drawing each out. When they reached the animated conclusion, she was almost sorry the performance was at an end. She felt breathless, as though she had faced a challenge and emerged triumphant.
During the confusion following their performance, the gentleman who originally was to play the pianoforte came up to her. She blushed with embarrassment at his kind words.
“You ought to have performed, sir. I am indeed sorry to have intruded.” She gave him one of her direct looks, with a contrite smile.
His words were cut short when Jonathan made a slight gesture with his hand, and the gentleman, whose name Penelope never did catch, melted away.
Must you captivate everyone in London? I had no idea you played so well.” He bent over her hand, bringing it to his lips with a languid grace, then glanced up, an impish look in his eyes. “You can cook too. So unanticipated.”
“I could say the same about you.” She tried to overlook the way he held her hand. “You are full of surprises.” She hoped no one had heard what he said. Why did he bring up the subject of cooking now, for pity’s sake?”
What else he might have said was lost, for Charis came up, bubbling with her enthusiasm for the fine pair they made, her brown curls bouncing with her animation.
Penelope grimaced at her choice of words, then scolded her cousin. “And just what made you think I might play well enough to join that group? It would have served you right had I been terrible.”
Charis giggled sweetly, retorting, “I heard you at our pianoforte one day after you came. I thought you’d do well enough.”
“And you planned this?” Suspicions rose in the back of her mind, and she spun about to challenge Lord Harford with her eyes. He looked faintly guilty about something.
“It is getting late,” reminded Miss Nilsson in her quiet way. “You have a full day tomorrow. We had best leave.”
Jonathan walked at her side, then stood with her while waiting for the family coach. Tonight there would be no private conversation. “What do you have tomorrow that requires extra sleep?” he inquired, amused at her blush.
a philanthropic meeting of a sort, sir—the Benevolent Society for Refugees.” She exchanged an oblique glance with Miss Nilsson.’’
“Your chef is involved in this?”
“Oh, assuredly,” she agreed, thinking that that certainty was the truth. The conversation turned to music all the way home, for which Penelope gave sincere thanks.
The next morning she quietly dressed once Miss Nilsson shook her awake, then ate the shaved ham on buns and drank her hot chocolate with appreciation.
“We must do something about Letty. I dare not think of anyone dining here, not that it is my privilege to invite such, but even to encourage her is folly. Perhaps if I speak with Mr. Oglethorpe, he will think of something.”
“Ja,” agreed Miss
