Read Online The Diabolical Baron by Mary Jo Putney - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mary Jo Putney
Tags: Regency Romance
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the rooms for some time before sighting his intended. The girl was amazingly easy to overlook; for the first time he wondered if it was a deliberate effort on her part.
With this intriguing thought in mind, he headed toward the small figure he located in an alcove at the far end from the perform ers. She seemed absorbed in her reticule and started when he spoke to her.
“Are you enjoying the evening, Miss Hanscombe? I recall you said that you are very fond of music.”
Caroline gave a slight shudder and replied, “Not when the performances are as inferior as this. It is a blessing that Herr Mozart is not alive to hear what is done to his genius.”
Jason gave a broad smile; the girl was capable of a strong opinion. It was a very good sign. “I see we are in accord on the subject. I assume you prefer a different type of music?”
Caroline looked scandalized. “To dignify this drivel as music debases the meaning of the real thing. Music is the truest language of the heart. It can express feeling far beyond the power of words to move us. It can create harmony from anger, impose order on the chaotic, and carry us to realms beyond imagination. It...”
She stopped abruptly and colored in confusion. “I’m sorry. It was very rude to carry on like that.” With a glimmer of a smile she added, “Music is many things to many people. I trust even Miss Smythe-Foot finds pleasure in her endeavors.”
Jason watched her transformation with fascinated eyes. She had become a whole different person for a moment, with a flash of real beauty. He had little inter est in music, but he was delighted to see she was capable of passion. It gave him hope for the future.
“You are more tolerant than she deserves,” he said as he offered her his arm. “Would you care for some re freshments?”
Caroline smiled and took his arm, pleased that he felt as he ought when music was abused. For the first time, they were in charity with one another.
* * * *
Caroline was humming as she sat at her writing desk the next morning. She felt more relaxed than at any time since she had met Lord Radford. She still had no idea why he sought her out, but she thought it possible they might become friends.
She was writing an overdue letter to Signore Ferrante, her music teacher in Wiltshire. She had not written for weeks to avoid distressing him; he could always sense her moods, and she cared far too much for the old gen tleman to wish him unhappy on her behalf. Caroline gnawed on the end of the pen and thought back to their first meeting.
She had been eight years old and a new student at the day school in Chippenham, where the signore was music master. For weeks she had heard fascinating sounds coming from the music room; it was the only thing in the school she enjoyed. Shy and tongue- tied, she was a butt for the older girls’ jokes.
On this particular day the music-room door was open and she slipped in when she saw the room was empty. First she had looked around in wonder; there was a golden harp in one corner and an elaborate pianoforte in the center of the room. Lying on top of the instrument were sheaves of music; she had never seen written music before, and felt frustrated at not understanding it. She felt she ought to be able to read it; the meaning seemed to lie just beyond the edge of her memory.
After gently striking the center keys, she started to pick out the tune of “Greensleeves,” her favorite of the old country songs her nurse sang when she was a child.
Signore Ferrante was unnoticed when he came in several minutes later. Wordlessly he had watched the small fig ure faultlessly playing the song by ear, singing the words in a clear true voice. He had crossed to the instrument and said softly so as not to frighten her, “So, little miss, would you like to learn music?”
She had lifted her deep blue eyes to his and said gravely, “I want to learn more than anything on earth.”
The signore let the headmistress know of the
With this intriguing thought in mind, he headed toward the small figure he located in an alcove at the far end from the perform ers. She seemed absorbed in her reticule and started when he spoke to her.
“Are you enjoying the evening, Miss Hanscombe? I recall you said that you are very fond of music.”
Caroline gave a slight shudder and replied, “Not when the performances are as inferior as this. It is a blessing that Herr Mozart is not alive to hear what is done to his genius.”
Jason gave a broad smile; the girl was capable of a strong opinion. It was a very good sign. “I see we are in accord on the subject. I assume you prefer a different type of music?”
Caroline looked scandalized. “To dignify this drivel as music debases the meaning of the real thing. Music is the truest language of the heart. It can express feeling far beyond the power of words to move us. It can create harmony from anger, impose order on the chaotic, and carry us to realms beyond imagination. It...”
She stopped abruptly and colored in confusion. “I’m sorry. It was very rude to carry on like that.” With a glimmer of a smile she added, “Music is many things to many people. I trust even Miss Smythe-Foot finds pleasure in her endeavors.”
Jason watched her transformation with fascinated eyes. She had become a whole different person for a moment, with a flash of real beauty. He had little inter est in music, but he was delighted to see she was capable of passion. It gave him hope for the future.
“You are more tolerant than she deserves,” he said as he offered her his arm. “Would you care for some re freshments?”
Caroline smiled and took his arm, pleased that he felt as he ought when music was abused. For the first time, they were in charity with one another.
* * * *
Caroline was humming as she sat at her writing desk the next morning. She felt more relaxed than at any time since she had met Lord Radford. She still had no idea why he sought her out, but she thought it possible they might become friends.
She was writing an overdue letter to Signore Ferrante, her music teacher in Wiltshire. She had not written for weeks to avoid distressing him; he could always sense her moods, and she cared far too much for the old gen tleman to wish him unhappy on her behalf. Caroline gnawed on the end of the pen and thought back to their first meeting.
She had been eight years old and a new student at the day school in Chippenham, where the signore was music master. For weeks she had heard fascinating sounds coming from the music room; it was the only thing in the school she enjoyed. Shy and tongue- tied, she was a butt for the older girls’ jokes.
On this particular day the music-room door was open and she slipped in when she saw the room was empty. First she had looked around in wonder; there was a golden harp in one corner and an elaborate pianoforte in the center of the room. Lying on top of the instrument were sheaves of music; she had never seen written music before, and felt frustrated at not understanding it. She felt she ought to be able to read it; the meaning seemed to lie just beyond the edge of her memory.
After gently striking the center keys, she started to pick out the tune of “Greensleeves,” her favorite of the old country songs her nurse sang when she was a child.
Signore Ferrante was unnoticed when he came in several minutes later. Wordlessly he had watched the small fig ure faultlessly playing the song by ear, singing the words in a clear true voice. He had crossed to the instrument and said softly so as not to frighten her, “So, little miss, would you like to learn music?”
She had lifted her deep blue eyes to his and said gravely, “I want to learn more than anything on earth.”
The signore let the headmistress know of the
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