Chastity's red dress immediately amid a lively, chattering group of elegantly dressed young people going into the Hall ahead of him, and followed at a distance to take up his humble standing position at the rear of the final tier of seats.
The orchestra struck up the opening chords and he leaned back against the wall, arms folded, and settled into the music.
Chastity, in a prime seat, nibbled the sugared almonds supplied by her host. She was feeling much more relaxed, warmed by a bowl of rich onion soup and cheered by the bubbles of a vintage champagne. The music was sublime and she had completely recovered from her strange mood of earlier by the time the violinist drew his bow across his instrument in finale and the musical chords faded into the grand expanse of the Hall. The applause was, as always, conventionally discreet but nonetheless heartfelt. The musicians took their bows and left the stage.
“That was wonderful,” Chastity said. “Thank you so much, Roddie.”
“My pleasure, my pleasure,” he said, beaming. “Not really my thing, though, this concert business. Prefer a good old singsong m'self, but a bit of culture never did any harm, did it?”
“Oh, Roddie, you're a lost cause,” she said, laughing. “You're not nearly the Philistine you pretend to be.” They slid out of the row, exchanging comments with the rest of the party. In the lobby, the women made their way to the cloakroom to refresh themselves and retrieve their cloaks. When they returned, Chastity gazed dumbstruck at the sight of Douglas Farrell chatting casually with Roddie and the men of his party.
“Wonderful musician, Toselli, don't you think, Miss Duncan?” Douglas commented as she came up. “A real privilege to have heard him.”
“Yes,” she said faintly.
Was he stalking her?
It was an absurd idea and she dismissed it on the instant. “What a coincidence,” she said. “You being at the Albert Hall tonight. Perhaps you thought to find your missing card case here?”
His eyes sharpened. There was no mistaking the sardonic edge to her voice, or the challenge in the hazel eyes. Mind you, he could hardly blame her, there
was
something more than a little suspicious about his repeated appearances this evening. He didn't fully understand it himself. He managed a bland smile. “I hardly think so, Miss Duncan. And I hardly think it's that much of a coincidence. Toselli is only playing for this one night. What lover of his playing would miss the opportunity to hear him?”
“And you are a music lover, of course.”
“A passionate one.”
“Ah.” She turned aside as if to dismiss him and said to one of her companions, a young lady sporting a diamond tiara, “Did you notice the gown Elizabeth Armitage was wearing, Elinor? Definitely Worth, don't you think?”
“Oh, definitely.”
“Say, Farrell, why don't you join us? We're just going on to the Piazza for supper. Plenty of room for another.” Roddie issued the invitation with customary good nature, and Chastity ground her teeth. It was not an invitation for her to rescind. She kept her shoulder resolutely turned to Douglas and heard him accept the invitation.
“Why, that's very kind of you. I should be delighted.”
“New to London, are you?” Roddie asked as they moved towards the open doors to the street. “Haven't seen you around.”
Douglas lowered his head to be more on a level with his companion as he answered him. Chastity heard strands of their conversation as it drifted back.
Edinburgh . . . doctor . . . Harley Street . . .
“He's a welcome addition to the scene,” Polly confided in an undertone as they stepped into Roddie's barouche. “Oh, Roddie, there's no room for you in here,” she cried as he attempted to follow them in. “Elinor is coming with us, aren't you, dear?”
“I suppose you want to gossip.” Roddie stepped back with a resigned bow and handed the third lady into his carriage. “We'll follow in a hackney.”
“So, tell us about
The orchestra struck up the opening chords and he leaned back against the wall, arms folded, and settled into the music.
Chastity, in a prime seat, nibbled the sugared almonds supplied by her host. She was feeling much more relaxed, warmed by a bowl of rich onion soup and cheered by the bubbles of a vintage champagne. The music was sublime and she had completely recovered from her strange mood of earlier by the time the violinist drew his bow across his instrument in finale and the musical chords faded into the grand expanse of the Hall. The applause was, as always, conventionally discreet but nonetheless heartfelt. The musicians took their bows and left the stage.
“That was wonderful,” Chastity said. “Thank you so much, Roddie.”
“My pleasure, my pleasure,” he said, beaming. “Not really my thing, though, this concert business. Prefer a good old singsong m'self, but a bit of culture never did any harm, did it?”
“Oh, Roddie, you're a lost cause,” she said, laughing. “You're not nearly the Philistine you pretend to be.” They slid out of the row, exchanging comments with the rest of the party. In the lobby, the women made their way to the cloakroom to refresh themselves and retrieve their cloaks. When they returned, Chastity gazed dumbstruck at the sight of Douglas Farrell chatting casually with Roddie and the men of his party.
“Wonderful musician, Toselli, don't you think, Miss Duncan?” Douglas commented as she came up. “A real privilege to have heard him.”
“Yes,” she said faintly.
Was he stalking her?
It was an absurd idea and she dismissed it on the instant. “What a coincidence,” she said. “You being at the Albert Hall tonight. Perhaps you thought to find your missing card case here?”
His eyes sharpened. There was no mistaking the sardonic edge to her voice, or the challenge in the hazel eyes. Mind you, he could hardly blame her, there
was
something more than a little suspicious about his repeated appearances this evening. He didn't fully understand it himself. He managed a bland smile. “I hardly think so, Miss Duncan. And I hardly think it's that much of a coincidence. Toselli is only playing for this one night. What lover of his playing would miss the opportunity to hear him?”
“And you are a music lover, of course.”
“A passionate one.”
“Ah.” She turned aside as if to dismiss him and said to one of her companions, a young lady sporting a diamond tiara, “Did you notice the gown Elizabeth Armitage was wearing, Elinor? Definitely Worth, don't you think?”
“Oh, definitely.”
“Say, Farrell, why don't you join us? We're just going on to the Piazza for supper. Plenty of room for another.” Roddie issued the invitation with customary good nature, and Chastity ground her teeth. It was not an invitation for her to rescind. She kept her shoulder resolutely turned to Douglas and heard him accept the invitation.
“Why, that's very kind of you. I should be delighted.”
“New to London, are you?” Roddie asked as they moved towards the open doors to the street. “Haven't seen you around.”
Douglas lowered his head to be more on a level with his companion as he answered him. Chastity heard strands of their conversation as it drifted back.
Edinburgh . . . doctor . . . Harley Street . . .
“He's a welcome addition to the scene,” Polly confided in an undertone as they stepped into Roddie's barouche. “Oh, Roddie, there's no room for you in here,” she cried as he attempted to follow them in. “Elinor is coming with us, aren't you, dear?”
“I suppose you want to gossip.” Roddie stepped back with a resigned bow and handed the third lady into his carriage. “We'll follow in a hackney.”
“So, tell us about
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