They were met at the riverbank by other guests, who were either waiting for a boat to be free or watching those who were already out or simply enjoying the scenery and the sunshine. Viscountess Dirkson and Mrs. Westcott, the Earl of Riverdale’s mother, engaged them in conversation. The former looked thoughtfully from Gabriel to Lady Estelle as they talked, while the latter beamed at them rather complacently as though she were solely responsible for their being together. A Mr. and Miss Keithley, also brother and sister, came to talk with Lamarr and Lady Estelle and were introduced to Gabriel.
“Ah, the American,” Keithley said as he shook hands. “I have been hearing a lot about you. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Thorne.”
His sister blushed.
Over to one side, under the broad shade of a giant oak, Lady Vickers sat with four other ladies. She smiled and waved to Gabriel, and he raised a hand in return.
“Mr. Thorne,” the viscountess said, drawing him a little apart. “Charles and I are planning a soiree of our own this year, as we did last year. It gave us so much pleasure. It was a bit of a concert too, though nothing very formal. We had a tenor soloist, one of Charles’s friends, who always insists quite wrongly that he has no particular talent, and a harpist who played and sang some traditional Welsh tunes and reduced me to tears though she sang in Welsh and I did not understand a word. There was also a chamber group—pianoforte, violin, and cello. Charles and I spoke about you after Elizabeth and Colin’s party, and we were both agreed. Mr. Thorne, will you come this year, and will you play for us? The Bach piece you played the other evening and maybe two or three more?”
Oh good God.
“Ma’am,” he said, “I am honored. But I do not normally play in public, you know. And I have no formal training. I do not even read music.”
“Oh, I know,” she said, beaming at him. “That is part of your appeal. You have a . . . How did Charles phrase it? Ah yes. You have a raw and rare talent. Do please share it at our soiree. You will make me very happy.”
She was a Westcott, Lady Jessica Archer’s aunt, if he remembered correctly, her mother’s sister. She lacked the inherent haughtiness of demeanor of the rest of the family. There seemed even an anxious sort of humility about her. She also had a smile that went deeper than mere sociability. He instinctively liked Lady Dirkson. But at the present moment he wished like the devil he did not.
Play at a soiree? As a featured artist in an impromptu concert that would not be impromptu at all? He would not get a wink of sleep between now and then. And how would he practice? Was there a pianoforte at the hotel? If there was, he had not seen it. But when had he ever practiced? Would not practice invite disaster, since he would be preparing with his head? His music did not come from his head.
The viscountess was looking at him with what he could describe to himself only as naked hope.
“It would be my honor, ma’am,” he said. “But do not expect great things. I might ruin your whole evening. You must have heard how my duet with Lady Jessica Archer ended. You were there.”
“Oh, thank you,” she said, clasping her hands to her bosom. “You have no idea . . . I composed four separate letters to you this morning, and I tore all four to shreds. Charles laughed at me, but he would not try writing one himself. I shall find him immediately and tell him of my triumph. I shall even gloat. But he will be as delighted as I.” She turned to summon Mrs. Westcott but spoke to Gabriel again before she moved away. “And you and Jessica were doing very well with your duet until you decided to challenge each other by playing faster and faster. You had me laughing, the two of you.”
A couple of the boats had come in. One of them had already been taken, and Lamarr was persuading Miss Keithley to go out in the other with him. The viscountess and Mrs. Westcott were moving off in the direction of the house, presumably to find Charles, who Gabriel assumed was Viscount Dirkson. Lady Estelle, in conversation with Keithley, broke off what