The Princess and the Peer(20)
“Seeing that I am the only gentleman present,” Nick said when his aunt finally slowed down long enough for a brief silence to fall, “shall we repair to the drawing room and take our after-dinner libations there? Perhaps you ladies would enjoy a dish of tea while I indulge in something of a more robust nature?”
“Nothing for me,” his aunt declared with a wave of her hand. “I am utterly done in for one day and must seek my bed. But you two young people stay and entertain yourselves. The hour is early yet for anyone who has fewer than three score of years upon them.”
Nick rose and walked around the table to assist his aunt to her feet. Reaching up from where she stood next to him, the dowager viscountess patted his cheek and sent him a beatific smile. “You always were a good boy no matter your penchant for wildness. I am glad you have come home at last.”
A shadow darkened his gaze. “I would have wished for better circumstances for my return, but yes, it is good to be with you again.”
Not home, however, Emma noted, unable to help but notice the careful wording of his reply. A moment later his smile returned as if nothing important had been said.
“Sleep well, Aunt,” he said.
“Oh, I generally slumber like the dead—not that I’m planning to find myself among them any time soon, mind you.” Shifting her gaze, she looked at Emma. “And a good evening to you as well, young miss. Do not stay up too late.”
“No, your ladyship,” Emma answered, also rising to her feet. “I shall make an early night of it as well.”
“Not too early,” the dowager viscountess said, waggling a finger. “Young people have far too much energy and need a good wearing out each day.” She looked toward her nephew again. “Why do you not show Miss Emma the music room or the portrait gallery should she not care to hear a tune tonight?”
“What an excellent idea,” Nick agreed.
Clutching her many hued shawls in her veined hands, the dowager viscountess nodded again, then walked from the room, calling for her lady’s maid in a voice loud enough to be heard from the hall.
Once she had gone, Nick turned to Emma. “Well then, what shall it be? Tea? Music? Or looking at paintings of my moldering old relations?”
“Hmm…” Emma mused with studied consideration. “They all have their merits. Since we have only just concluded dinner, however, I suspect I could do without the tea. As for music—” She paused to cast him an inquiring look. “Do you play, my lord?”
“A little violin, but not well enough to elicit a solo effort. From the reaction of the officers with whom I used to serve, my performances were generally deemed adequate. I always felt my efforts were vastly improved, however, when I was accompanied by someone of far greater talent.”
“I am sure you are simply being modest.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “Believe me, I am not. I haven’t a modest bone in my body. As for taking second fiddle—no pun intended—when it comes to my musical abilities, I am always happy to perform in a group. That way my wealth of mistakes may be concealed by the others.”
Catching the twinkle in his gaze, she thought he must be teasing, although she did not know him well enough to be sure.
“And what of you, Miss White? Are you musical?”
She considered the question, not entirely sure how to respond. At age six, she’d been led into the music room in her father’s palace, seated in front of a harpsichord and told to play. As the years and teachers passed by, she had mastered a satisfactory repertoire of pieces, enough to entertain when the occasion required. As for any genuine talent or true love, she couldn’t in all conscience make such a claim.
Now Mercedes… she played like an angel, the music seeming to radiate from her very soul. Hearing her play was like being in the presence of God himself.
Realizing that Lord Lyndhurst still awaited an answer, she turned her attention back to him. “I am versed in several instruments, chief among them the pianoforte and the harp,” she said. “But like you, my efforts are vastly improved when I may blame my errors on someone else.”
Nick grinned, his stormy gray eyes turned silver with accord. “In that case, perhaps we should brave the dour glares of my ancestors. Then again, mayhap once you see them, you’ll wish you’d chosen the tea.”
“I should much enjoy seeing your forebears, moldering and otherwise.”
“Never say you were not warned,” he advised.
Reaching across the dining table, he picked up one of the large silver candelabras that sat there, its nine beeswax candles blazing with light. The orange-tipped flames wavered madly at being so abruptly disturbed, but soon calmed enough to burn brightly again.