eyebrow.
‘Discussing the treaty, Anthony?’
Ribblestone’s mouth twisted.
‘This peace with France won’t last the year.’
‘Oh, I hope you are wrong there, my lord.’ Dominique blushed at her impetuous words.
‘My wife’s father is French,’ explained Gideon.
Lord Ribblestone’s brows shot up.
‘Is he, by Gad? But I thought—’
‘Goodness, Anthony, if you took more notice of me and less of your dusty political papers, you would remember!’ Gwendoline broke in hastily. ‘I explained everything, so there is no need to go over it all again. Now, my lord, we still have any number of guests wishing to play for us tonight so you must help me get everyone back to the salon.’ Gwendoline bore him away, giving Dominique a warm smile as she passed. ‘I promise you the best players have yet to perform. I do not think you will be disappointed, my dear.’
Dominique tried to respond, but all she could think of was Lord Ribblestone’s astonishment that Gideon should marry a Frenchwoman.
‘My brother-in-law has many attributes, but tact is not one of them,’ remarked Gideon. ‘No wonder the government is in such disarray, if he is an example of their abilities.’ He said gently, ‘Your French connections are no secret in town, my dear, but I doubt anyone else will remark upon it.’ He rose and held out his hand to her. ‘Now, shall we gird our loins for more execrable music?’
She accompanied him back to the salon, but her new brother-in-law’s shock had undermined her confidence. Everyone was watching her, wondering what could have persuaded Gideon to marry a penniless Frenchwoman without even beauty to recommend her. However, his continued presence at her side was reassuring, and since the musical offerings were indeed much improved she tried very hard to put her anxieties aside and enjoy herself. A particularly good duet between piano and harp had her clapping enthusiastically, as did a very funny ditty by Sir Desmond Arndale.
‘Bravo,’ cried Gwendoline, moving forwards to congratulate him. ‘A splendid ending to our evening, sir. Now that everyone has performed—’
‘Not quite everyone.’ Sir Desmond interrupted her. ‘Mrs Albury has yet to play.’
Dominique had been too busy applauding to take in his words until she found everyone looking at her.
‘What? Oh, no—that is—’
‘Come along, ma’am, I am sure everyone wants to hear you.’ Sir Desmond was beaming and beckoning her forwards.
Gideon turned to her.
‘I would like to hear you, very much, but if you wish I will tell them you would rather not.’
The kindly understanding in his eyes boosted her spirits. She squared her shoulders.
‘No,’ she said, smiling a little, ‘I have been happy enough to listen to the others, it is only fair I take my turn.’
A smattering of applause went round the room as she rose and made her way to the pianoforte. Sir Desmond hovered around her, adjusting the candles and asking if he should search out any music for her from the pile of sheets on the table.
‘Perhaps Mrs Albury will play us a French air,’ sniggered someone from the audience.
Dominique affected not to hear, but she was heartened when Gideon responded with a laugh, ‘Perhaps she will—whatever her choice I know it will be delightful. What is it to be, my dear?’
‘A piece by Mr Mozart, I think,’ she declared.
The ‘Fantasia’ was not long and not even particularly difficult. She had performed it many times for her mother and knew she could play it well, but her confidence wavered when she looked around the room and realised how many people were watching her. Then her gaze fell upon Gideon. He was smiling at her. Everyone else was forgotten. She would play for him and him alone.
* * *
As she struck the last confident chords she smiled, knowing she had done well. The applause was instant and the first ‘brava’ she heard was from Gideon. There were calls for an encore, but she shook her head,
‘Discussing the treaty, Anthony?’
Ribblestone’s mouth twisted.
‘This peace with France won’t last the year.’
‘Oh, I hope you are wrong there, my lord.’ Dominique blushed at her impetuous words.
‘My wife’s father is French,’ explained Gideon.
Lord Ribblestone’s brows shot up.
‘Is he, by Gad? But I thought—’
‘Goodness, Anthony, if you took more notice of me and less of your dusty political papers, you would remember!’ Gwendoline broke in hastily. ‘I explained everything, so there is no need to go over it all again. Now, my lord, we still have any number of guests wishing to play for us tonight so you must help me get everyone back to the salon.’ Gwendoline bore him away, giving Dominique a warm smile as she passed. ‘I promise you the best players have yet to perform. I do not think you will be disappointed, my dear.’
Dominique tried to respond, but all she could think of was Lord Ribblestone’s astonishment that Gideon should marry a Frenchwoman.
‘My brother-in-law has many attributes, but tact is not one of them,’ remarked Gideon. ‘No wonder the government is in such disarray, if he is an example of their abilities.’ He said gently, ‘Your French connections are no secret in town, my dear, but I doubt anyone else will remark upon it.’ He rose and held out his hand to her. ‘Now, shall we gird our loins for more execrable music?’
She accompanied him back to the salon, but her new brother-in-law’s shock had undermined her confidence. Everyone was watching her, wondering what could have persuaded Gideon to marry a penniless Frenchwoman without even beauty to recommend her. However, his continued presence at her side was reassuring, and since the musical offerings were indeed much improved she tried very hard to put her anxieties aside and enjoy herself. A particularly good duet between piano and harp had her clapping enthusiastically, as did a very funny ditty by Sir Desmond Arndale.
‘Bravo,’ cried Gwendoline, moving forwards to congratulate him. ‘A splendid ending to our evening, sir. Now that everyone has performed—’
‘Not quite everyone.’ Sir Desmond interrupted her. ‘Mrs Albury has yet to play.’
Dominique had been too busy applauding to take in his words until she found everyone looking at her.
‘What? Oh, no—that is—’
‘Come along, ma’am, I am sure everyone wants to hear you.’ Sir Desmond was beaming and beckoning her forwards.
Gideon turned to her.
‘I would like to hear you, very much, but if you wish I will tell them you would rather not.’
The kindly understanding in his eyes boosted her spirits. She squared her shoulders.
‘No,’ she said, smiling a little, ‘I have been happy enough to listen to the others, it is only fair I take my turn.’
A smattering of applause went round the room as she rose and made her way to the pianoforte. Sir Desmond hovered around her, adjusting the candles and asking if he should search out any music for her from the pile of sheets on the table.
‘Perhaps Mrs Albury will play us a French air,’ sniggered someone from the audience.
Dominique affected not to hear, but she was heartened when Gideon responded with a laugh, ‘Perhaps she will—whatever her choice I know it will be delightful. What is it to be, my dear?’
‘A piece by Mr Mozart, I think,’ she declared.
The ‘Fantasia’ was not long and not even particularly difficult. She had performed it many times for her mother and knew she could play it well, but her confidence wavered when she looked around the room and realised how many people were watching her. Then her gaze fell upon Gideon. He was smiling at her. Everyone else was forgotten. She would play for him and him alone.
* * *
As she struck the last confident chords she smiled, knowing she had done well. The applause was instant and the first ‘brava’ she heard was from Gideon. There were calls for an encore, but she shook her head,
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