“Then why not stay home with us?” Lilith said, surprising him. She nestled into the cushion, her blue floral robe flowing about her. With the fire behind her, her hair gleamed like reddish copper and dots of light shone in her cocoa eyes. “We shall have our own musical evening. Penelope, you play and sing so beautifully. What do you say?”
Penelope answered something, but George didn’t hear because he continued to study Lilith. Something was missing from the lovely picture she made. The composition wasn’t correct. There needed to be an object on the side table, maybe a lamp with copper fixtures, casting an orange glow to balance the left side of the would-be painting.
“George? George?” Lilith was saying, her voice seeming to be miles away. “Stop staring at me in that faraway manner and answer.”
He bolted up in his seat, embarrassed to be caught gawking.
“We are asking you a question,” Lilith continued. “Will you stay home and join us for our own domestic musical murder? Penelope says you’ve been looking tired lately and should rest. And I say you won’t do Parliament any good if you show up bosky. No one likes to be romanced by a drunk, politically or otherwise. It’s against all proper etiquette. And as you know, I am the all-knowing goddess of the subject.”
“Then why don’t you apply it?” he barked out of his own frustration and then instantly regretted it when Lilith’s mouth fell open.
“George!” Penelope cried. The drowsy, lulling magic of the moment was seeping away again.
Damn Lilith serving him brandy and being so lovely, laughing, and taunting. And damn him for getting lost in her beauty again.
He rushed to salvage the old feeling. “Please forgive me, Miss Dahlgren. I am too bosky if I’m being rude to my sister and cousin. It wouldn’t do to appear in public.” What was he saying? He had made promises to converse with a certain MP tonight. He had confirmed his presence with hostesses. He had a responsibility to appear. He wouldn’t say anything at the moment, but in half an hour or so, he would quietly steal away after sobering up.
Lilith linked her arm through his and smiled. Beneath the thin silk of her robe, he could feel the soft mound of her breast. Was she not wearing a corset again? He decided not to make a point of it but instead enjoy the pleasing sensation of her body brushing against his as they walked arm-in-arm to the music room.
Nine
The coffee and sandwiches were redirected to the music room. George sat with his legs stretched out, enjoying warm bread, beef, and tangy mustard. Penelope played and sang in a gentle soprano, her voice blending with the low roar of the fire and the rain beating on the window. Lilith turned the music pages, yet often George would lower his coffee after taking a sip to find her watching him and not the music. She would quickly avert her gaze, but not before sparking him with the magic in those mysterious eyes. The mountains of work that had piled up over the last days and the parties he was missing seemed miles away as he relaxed in the hazy lull of brandy, the music, and Lilith’s beauty.
Then Penelope told Lilith that it was her turn to sing.
“But my voice has been compared to a tone-deaf barn owl,” Lilith protested. “And I don’t think that is being fair to tone-deaf barn owls.”
“Come, it’s not as bad as that,” Penelope assured her.
“It could potentially be worse.”
“You are being modest,” Penelope said. “Sing.”
Unfortunately, Lilith wasn’t being modest. Tone-deaf barn owls, unoiled hinges, and amorous bullfrogs were more melodious. George struggled to contain his laughter. He could see that his sister labored under the same problem but gamely continued playing until Lilith smashed into a high C, and then warbled down to a B flat. Penelope’s eyes drifted to George and they broke down.
“This isn’t fair,” Lilith cried, hurt, but with a twinkle in her eyes. “You asked me to sing. I can only assume you wanted to hear.” She continued singing with great zest, exaggerating her horrific, wobbly voice.
“Lilith, Lilith, you are beautiful,” George said. “You speak the poetry of angels and you are the all-knowing goddess of etiquette, but dear God, you can’t sing.”
She stuck out her tongue. “Let us hear you, Lord Severe Critic. How nice to sit in a comfy chair, sipping coffee, eating sandwiches, and smugly judging others.”
“George has a fine voice,” Penelope said unhelpfully, “but he never lets anyone hear it.”
“Does he, now?” Lilith cast him a glance from under her long lashes. “George is a man of many hidden talents, and we must bring them all to light. Sing for us. It’s your turn.”
“I’m afraid I can’t be removed from this chair. Some viciously polite ladies plied me with too much brandy and trapped me in their musical lair.”
“No?” Lilith said. “Well then, Penelope, what is a song with many sharps and flats that will best suit my voice? I shall endeavor to torture it for many measures. After all, we promised Lord Marylewick an evening of domestic musical murder and you didn’t harm a thing with your beautiful voice.”
“You are always going to have your way, aren’t you, Lilith?” George rose from his chair.
“I especially adore having my way with you,” she retorted. Penelope dissolved into giggles.
“Scoot over, my wicked-minded ladies.” He slid onto the edge of the piano bench. “Pray, let me get my turn over with because I fear I won’t get any peace until I do.”
Penelope flipped through her hand-scribed book of songs. “Ah, ‘Caro Mio Ben’ would suit you. Have you heard it?”
“Once or twice or a thousand times these few years,” he dryly quipped.
He gamely sang along as Penelope played. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Lilith watching with unguarded admiration on her face. Her approval split his emotions. Part of him wanted to spread his vocal feathers like a peacock, and another part figured if Lilith approved of something, it must be dangerously wrong.
To hell with it all. He closed Penelope’s music book.
“George!” his sister cried.
“Enough of this boring music. Don’t we have something more lively? Something even Lilith can sing.” She made a face. He winked at her. “What about ‘Nut-Brown Ale’ or ‘A Health to All Good Fellowes’?”
“Good heavens, drinking games and now tavern songs,” Lilith marveled. “What low place have you brought me to, Lord Marylewick?”
“It’s all part of the education of Miss Lilith Dahlgren,” he replied, bland-faced. “You missed the last item on my list: tavern songs. I believe in a well-rounded education.” He nudged his sister. “Come now, Penelope, spice it up.”
Penelope’s eyeballs rolled upward as she thought for a moment, then she broke into a raucous version of “Song of a Fallen Angel Over a Bowl of Rum-Punch.”
Lilith clapped. “I didn’t realize you had this in you.”
“Just sing,” Penelope ordered.
And they did. Lilith’s voice was so wretched it was comical, but what she lacked in musical talent she made up for in fearless gusto. Competition and perfection characterized George and his world. Aside from Penelope, all the other ladies of his acquaintance vied for the prize of being the most accomplished, the most beautiful, the most charming. For now, he enjoyed basking in the shockingly terrible. (However, he would ask Lilith not to sing to a potential suitor until after the marriage, when it was too late.) Penelope continued playing, never putting a break between songs, and Lilith kept glancing at him. Being around her lightened his mind and pushed back the heavy mantle of his daily concerns and worries.
But then Lilith took her magic away. She rose, interrupting Penelope as she played the beginning notes to a new song.
“I’m sorry,” Lilith said. “I’m rather tired. I should go to bed.”
George didn’t want to admit to himself the cold disappointment in his chest. What could he do to grow immune to this woman? Everything she did lit him up. He bit back the words but you stay up until the wee hours every night at those wild bohemian parties you attend. Instead he said, “That is wise, Miss Dahlgren. Sleep calms the excitable nature.”
“But I rather enjoy being exciting.” She rallied and then said to Penelope, “Thank you for cheering me up today. I’m so happy…” She paused, as if searching for correct words. “I’m so happy I’ve gotten to know you better.”
“And I’m so glad you are coming to the house party,” Penelope replied. “Dear cousin.” Some of the mysterious, unspoken female communication, the kind that always confused and terrified men, passed between the ladies. Then Lilith smiled and left.
He and Penelope were back to their own company. She tried to start playing again, but the spirit was gone.
“I wish she wasn’t tired.” Penelope’s features had returned to the usual distressed lines. “The evening was perfectly lovely.”
“You must be careful around Lilith,” he cautioned his sister, but the warning was for him, as well. “Behind that dazzling facade are sharp fangs.”
Penelope played a quiet G. The note reverberated and slowly died away. “I think there is only hurt behind the facade.” She stared where her finger remained on the key.