The Adept Book 2 The Lodge Of The Lynx by Katherine Kurtz, Deborah Turner Harris Page A

overlaid in traceries of fine gold leaf. Several straight-backed chairs had been arranged in a semicircle in the space to the right of the harpsichord, each with its accompanying music stand. On the floor in the background, still shrouded by its green velvet cover, stood a Celtic harp.
    A shadow fell across Adam’s shoulder. He glanced aside to find Peregrine Lovat crouching down beside him. The young artist pulled a wry face and balanced himself with one hand against the back of Adam’s chair.
    “Lord, Adam, I haven’t played in public since I was at school,” he groaned, easing the silk bow-tie above his elegant wing-collar. “I don’t know why I let Julia talk me into this!”
    Adam smiled at Peregrine’s discomfiture, his gaze sweeping the room to light on a slender girlish figure in a white satin evening gown, with tartan’ bows at the shoulders and tartan ribbons wound through her piled tresses of rose-gold hair. Peregrine had met Julia Barrett little more than a month ago, and since then, their relationship had blossomed—yet another change from the stiff, repressed young man Adam remembered from their first encounter.
    “Just keep reminding yourself that this is a music appreciation society, not a convocation of critics,” he said bracingly. “Now, relax and remember you’re among friends.”
    Peregrine rolled his eyes, but he went up onto the stage and sat down at the harpsichord, settling the pleats of his kilt with an unconscious nonchalance that would not have been possible two months before. A moment later Julia joined him, accompanied by her uncle, Sir Alfred Barrett, a sturdy, distinguished figure in dinner clothes rather than a kilt, with twinkling blue eyes above a flourishing silver moustache.
    “Friends and colleagues,” Sir Alfred began, with mock formality, “as the senior member of our trio, I have been elected to inform you all that for our part of the program we will be performing selections from the musical notebooks of Anna Magdalena Bach. Before we begin, I would like to assure you that we will make every effort to conform to the notes on the pages before us.”
    This droll assurance elicited a chuckle from the room at large. With a humorous salute to his friends in the audience, Sir Alfred took his seat in a chair opposite the harpsichord and gathered up his own chosen instrument: an Italian-made cello from the studio of a pupil of Stradivarius. Julia, with an oblique smile at Peregrine, remained standing at the front of the improvised stage, with only a music stand before her on which she unfolded a black-bound book of sheet music. An expectant hush settled over the company as the members of the trio poised themselves to begin.
    The three songs they had chosen were among some of Adam’s favorites. The precise music-box chime of the harpsichord and the mellow notes of the cello supplied a delicate counterpoint to Julia’s lilting soprano, a voice as light and pure as a young boy’s. There was no faltering on the part of any member of the trio. When they had finished, their performance drew an enthusiastic round of applause.
    “Right, Janet,” said Sir Matthew Fraser, as the acclaim died down and the performers began to shift properties on stage. “Looks like it’s you and Caroline now.”
    He and Adam stood up as the ladies rose, music in hands, and prepared to make their way forward. Caroline cast a pretty frown toward the stage, where Peregrine was helping Julia shift the harp into position.
    “I do hope that child has some experience as an accompanist,” she remarked—as much out of envy as concern, the psychiatrist in Adam suspected. “If she fails to follow the voice lead properly, it will quite spoil the effect.”
    “Have no fear!” Janet laughed. “I’ve heard Julia play, and I assure you, I have every confidence in her ability.”
    From glancing at the music in Janet’s and Caroline’s laps, Adam knew that the two women had decided on a series of duets