Read Online A Duke For All Seasons by Mia Marlowe - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mia Marlowe
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reserved toward another unattached lady.
After a splendid supper, they retired to the music room. Though singing was her forte, Bella acquitted herself well at the keyboard. She sat at the pianoforte, deftly playing snippets of pieces she judged appropriate for the ceremony and wedding breakfast for the bride and her mother to approve.
“The trick is choosing music that is romantic without being overly sentimental,” Arabella explained as she launched into a lush bit of Schubert and then segued into a sprightly Purcell tune.
Sebastian contributed little to the discussion of wedding music, but Arabella caught him watching her from the far side of the room when he was supposed to be playing chess with Lord Granger. Occasionally, she heard the harsh sibilance of a whispered conversation between the two men, a rasping counterpoint to the mellow tones of the grand instrument.
If she didn’t know they were great friends, she’d suspect they were arguing. And over more than the chess match. Arabella wasn’t surprised when they announced their intention to remove to Sebastian’s smoking room. The other women took it as a cue that it was time to retire to their chambers for the evening, with the exception of Lady Moorcroft.
“Play that Bach prelude once more, if you please, Miss St. George,” Sebastian’s aunt said. “I should like to hear it again before I pronounce it suitable.”
As the rest of the party said their goodnights and filed out, Arabella was happy to comply. The mathematical precision of Bach was always soothing and she sensed an undercurrent growing in the party that was anything but. Sebastian had been withdrawn and sullen since his other guests arrived and nothing she’d tried could cajole him out of it.
It was as if their time spent in the hunting lodge was a world apart. The afternoon of loving was unrelated to their present circumstance.In tedious reality, she’d been found in possession of a treasonous letter and he’d been forcefully reminded of his hateful ducal obligation to wed, bed and produce an heir.
The lyrical Bach counterpoint spooled off Arabella’s fingertips, light as a faery’s wing. Music always lifted her out of herself, transported her to a world filled with beauty and passion. Like the delicate tapestry of sound she created, Bella existed only in the eternal now, as removed from the stolid march of time as heaven itself.
Bella wondered if Sebastian could hear the dulcet tones from his smoking room. She wished she could transport him back to the hunting lodge with her as easily as she could play the prelude.
“Well, what do you think?” she asked Lady Moorcroft as the last chord dangled in space for several heartbeats before she removed her fingers from the ivories.
“I think you’re far better suited for each other than my nephew realizes.” Lady Moorcroft leaned one elbow on the piano lid. “Please tell me Winterhaven hasn’t tried to convince you to sign one of those ridiculous contracts of his.”
Arabella coughed to hide her surprise.
“Come, there’s no need to be coy. We both care about him. I can see it in your face when you look at him. Well, has he or not?”
“Yes, he has, but I refused to sign it.”
Lady Moorcroft clapped her dainty hands in delight. “Brava! Finally, he’s met a woman who says no to him.”
Arabella hadn’t exactly said no that afternoon. She kept her face carefully neutral and hoped she was a good enough actress not to blush. If Lady Moorcroft was observant enough to mark how Arabella felt about Sebastian, she astute enough not to miss that sort of involuntary admission of guilt.
“For the record,” Lady Moorcroft went on, “I’m not opposed to your friendship with my nephew. In fact, I hope it might blossom into something more.”
“Your
After a splendid supper, they retired to the music room. Though singing was her forte, Bella acquitted herself well at the keyboard. She sat at the pianoforte, deftly playing snippets of pieces she judged appropriate for the ceremony and wedding breakfast for the bride and her mother to approve.
“The trick is choosing music that is romantic without being overly sentimental,” Arabella explained as she launched into a lush bit of Schubert and then segued into a sprightly Purcell tune.
Sebastian contributed little to the discussion of wedding music, but Arabella caught him watching her from the far side of the room when he was supposed to be playing chess with Lord Granger. Occasionally, she heard the harsh sibilance of a whispered conversation between the two men, a rasping counterpoint to the mellow tones of the grand instrument.
If she didn’t know they were great friends, she’d suspect they were arguing. And over more than the chess match. Arabella wasn’t surprised when they announced their intention to remove to Sebastian’s smoking room. The other women took it as a cue that it was time to retire to their chambers for the evening, with the exception of Lady Moorcroft.
“Play that Bach prelude once more, if you please, Miss St. George,” Sebastian’s aunt said. “I should like to hear it again before I pronounce it suitable.”
As the rest of the party said their goodnights and filed out, Arabella was happy to comply. The mathematical precision of Bach was always soothing and she sensed an undercurrent growing in the party that was anything but. Sebastian had been withdrawn and sullen since his other guests arrived and nothing she’d tried could cajole him out of it.
It was as if their time spent in the hunting lodge was a world apart. The afternoon of loving was unrelated to their present circumstance.In tedious reality, she’d been found in possession of a treasonous letter and he’d been forcefully reminded of his hateful ducal obligation to wed, bed and produce an heir.
The lyrical Bach counterpoint spooled off Arabella’s fingertips, light as a faery’s wing. Music always lifted her out of herself, transported her to a world filled with beauty and passion. Like the delicate tapestry of sound she created, Bella existed only in the eternal now, as removed from the stolid march of time as heaven itself.
Bella wondered if Sebastian could hear the dulcet tones from his smoking room. She wished she could transport him back to the hunting lodge with her as easily as she could play the prelude.
“Well, what do you think?” she asked Lady Moorcroft as the last chord dangled in space for several heartbeats before she removed her fingers from the ivories.
“I think you’re far better suited for each other than my nephew realizes.” Lady Moorcroft leaned one elbow on the piano lid. “Please tell me Winterhaven hasn’t tried to convince you to sign one of those ridiculous contracts of his.”
Arabella coughed to hide her surprise.
“Come, there’s no need to be coy. We both care about him. I can see it in your face when you look at him. Well, has he or not?”
“Yes, he has, but I refused to sign it.”
Lady Moorcroft clapped her dainty hands in delight. “Brava! Finally, he’s met a woman who says no to him.”
Arabella hadn’t exactly said no that afternoon. She kept her face carefully neutral and hoped she was a good enough actress not to blush. If Lady Moorcroft was observant enough to mark how Arabella felt about Sebastian, she astute enough not to miss that sort of involuntary admission of guilt.
“For the record,” Lady Moorcroft went on, “I’m not opposed to your friendship with my nephew. In fact, I hope it might blossom into something more.”
“Your
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