“Matthew’s, of course,” she said. “He claims to have a slight acquaintance with her. I believe it is considerably more than slight, but only time will prove me right or wrong on that. Anyway, she is to play. Do tell me you will waltz every waltz with me, Adam. You do it so divinely.”
“I will be honored to dance the first with you,” he said. “Pardon me, ma’am, I must change out of these wet clothes.”
Did Fleur know how her evening had been organized? he wondered. Had she been consulted? Had she been told or asked? And did she think him responsible again for making use of her talents? He winced at the possibility. She was employed as Pamela’s governess, not as entertainer for his guests.
He wondered if anyone had thought of such details as having the furniture moved back in the drawing room and the carpet rolled up and music brought from the music room. He would wager no one had.
FLEUR HAD BEEN LOOKING FORWARD to a quiet evening with her embroidery in Mrs. Laycock’s sitting room. But just after lessons had finished in the afternoon she had been handed a hastily scrawled note from her grace, summoning her to play the pianoforte for a dance in the evening.
She was not unduly upset. She had been half-expecting some summons from Matthew, and while this might well be it, at least she would be in the drawing room in company with all the guests. She would not be alone with him.
A line of footmen was still busy rolling the carpet when she arrived in the drawing room. She walked back to the hall to wait until the room was ready for her. And she looked about her at the magnificence of it all.
She looked up to the dome, shadowed in the gathering dusk, and at some of the gilded carvings on the walls between the columns. Winged cherubs blew into slender pipes, their cheeks puffed. Violins were crossed with flutes.
“It was designed to be a place for music,” the duke said at her shoulder. “The gallery was made to be used by an orchestra. Unfortunately we have not had a grand concert or ball here for more than a year.”
Fleur turned toward him. His face was caught by the shadows of the hall, his eyes blacker, his nose more aquiline, his scar more noticeable than in the light. He was standing close to her, his hands clasped behind him. And she felt breathless and very aware that a solid Corinthian column was at her back.
“You have consented to play for us this evening?” he said.
“Yes, your grace.”
“Tell me,” he said, “were you asked?”
“Her grace sent me a note,” she said.
He grimaced. “I promised this would not happen again, did I not?” he said. “I was from home this afternoon. Miss Hamilton, will you do us the honor of playing? You are quite at liberty to refuse. This is not part of your duties as governess.”
“I will be pleased to, your grace,” she said.
He treats his employees more like family than servants, Mr. Chamberlain had said of the duke the night before. Her grace had summoned. He had asked.
“You may wish to dance when you are not playing,” he said. “I am sure there will be several gentlemen who will be pleased if you do.”
“No,” she said. “Thank you, but no, your grace.”
“And yet,” he said, “you appeared to enjoy dancing during the ball a few evenings ago.”
“That was quite different,” she said.
“Allow me to escort you to the drawing room,” he said. He did not offer her his arm.
The drawing room looked somehow larger and more magnificent with the carpet rolled up and the white-and-gold chairs, upholstered in painted silk, moved back against the walls. The pianoforte too had been moved into one corner.
It was one of the most beautiful rooms in the house, Fleur thought, looking about her, unself-conscious because none of the guests were yet present. The walls were a pale blue, the coved ceiling blue, white, and gold. Great sheets of mirror made the room seem larger than it was and multiplied the effect of the crystal chandelier.
“The paintings are from Europe,” his grace said, seeing her interest, “though I have tried to gather works of our own artists in some of the other rooms. These are by Philipp Hackert and Angelica Kauffmann. Would you like to look through the music?”
She settled herself at the pianoforte and looked through the pile that someone must have been assigned to bring from the music room. All of it was music suitable for dancing. Many of the pieces were waltz tunes.
During the next two hours she grew increasingly more relaxed in the task she had taken on. Except for Sir Philip Shaw, who came up to the pianoforte and kissed her hand on his arrival in the drawing room, everyone else took remarkably little notice of her, calling to her only when they wanted a particular tune or type of dance. The waltz was an overwhelming favorite. Miss Dobbin appeared to have forgotten that she was to play for part of the evening, and Fleur willed her to continue to forget.