And the Miss Ran Away With the Rake - By Elizabeth Boyle Page 0,67
for sausages.
When eventually the notes grew louder, Daphne found herself filled with both the exhilaration of the music and the thrill of discovery as she approached an open doorway. Since she didn’t want the music to end, she stopped just short of entering and instead took a furtive peek inside. Immediately she reeled back.
She gaped down at Mr. Muggins, who had planted himself at her feet.
No! It couldn’t be.
Taking a deep breath and realizing she didn’t trust her eyes, she took another longer look, and there it was, Lord Henry sitting alongside his ancient relation, Lady Zillah, at a grand piano.
He stopped abruptly and turned to his great-aunt. “That is how it is played,” he said to her.
“You still have a knack, Henry,” Lady Zillah replied.
“I should,” he laughed. “It was you who taught me my first notes. So I don’t mind helping you with this piece.”
“I find it keeps my mind sharp,” the lady said, nudging him aside a bit and taking up the keys herself. “But this one has been bedeviling me for months.” As she played—with surprising skill—Lord Henry turned the pages for her.
Daphne knew she should leave them to their practice, but the music was so lovely, and the scene so curious and intimate. It was as if she was seeing not only Lord Henry but also the entire Seldon family for the first time.
The music didn’t stop Lady Zillah from nattering on. Loudly. “Henry, you could be out shooting or riding, whatever are you doing hanging about with an old lady like me?”
He smiled at her. “I was lured from my duties when I heard you playing. You don’t play all that often anymore, so it is a treat to hear you.”
Daphne thought the real treat was hearing Lord Henry play. Zillah was good, but Lord Henry played with such a hidden passion.
Rather like the way he kissed.
“My goodness, I never knew you’d inherited your father’s flair for flattery,” Lady Zillah teased back. “Always thought you more an Oscroft than a Seldon.”
“Thank you, Cousin Zillah,” he replied. “My mother despaired that neither of her children appeared to hold any of her family’s traits.”
“I hardly meant it as a compliment,” she shot back. “You are too nice by half. Respectable and kindhearted; look how you’ve managed Preston’s estates all these years, kept the entire family afloat—and nary a scandal to your name. I was starting to doubt you were truly a Seldon.” Lady Zillah’s pronouncement came out in a scolding voice, but there was a spark of pride to the lady’s eyes as she glanced at him.
“Nary a scandal to his name?” Daphne mouthed to Mr. Muggins.
Told you, Mr. Muggins’s large brown eyes seemed to say.
No, the lady must be wrong. As was this mangy terrier, whose opinion of Lord Henry had been formed in the breakfast room. Over a purloined sausage.
No, they were both wrong. Lord Henry was the most scandalous man Daphne had ever met.
And how many gentlemen have you met, Daphne Dale? Mr. Muggins seemed to be asking.
Well, if she was being honest, she’d really never met any until she’d come to London with Tabitha—for certainly her Dale relations didn’t count.
Inside the room, Lady Zillah wasn’t done with her assessment of Lord Henry’s character. “I had lost hope of you, my dear boy, at least until this house party.”
Daphne turned toward the door again. Oh, she knew she shouldn’t be eavesdropping, but she couldn’t help herself. What else had Lord Henry done?
Besides kiss her.
“Whatever were you doing last night?” Lady Zillah was saying, even as she nodded toward the music sheets.
Lord Henry leaned forward and flipped the page. “Not that again.”
“Yes, that again. And this time I will have a straight answer from you.”
He heaved a sigh. “Aunt Zillah, do I need to remind you this is a house party? Occasionally one loses one’s head. I do believe it is expected.”
“Oh, of course it is. But not with one of them.”
One of them. Oh, Daphne could well imagine who Lady Zillah meant. Because while she might call Lord Henry barely a Seldon, Lady Zillah was a Seldon through and through.
Then the old girl confirmed her suspicions. “If only I’d been consulted about the invitation list beforehand,” she complained. “Dales! Here in Owle Park! Why, it is unforgivable.”
“Yet you stay on,” he teased. “And it is only one Dale.”
“Mark my words, they are like squirrels. Feed one and you will be feeding the lot before a week is out.”