Robert gave him one raised brow. “Assignations behind the harp strings?”
“Miss Sinclair’s mother will be present,” answered Randolph stiffly. Usually, he didn’t mind Robert’s teasing. But somehow, just now, it grated.
“How disappointing.”
“Really?” said Flora. “Is that the sort of tryst you used to arrange?”
“I can’t sing,” said Robert.
“And that is not what I asked you.”
“I studied Akkadian in secluded libraries,” he said with a smile.
“Our library is not secluded,” Flora replied. “That is an exaggeration.”
They could go on like this for hours. At the moment, Randolph had no patience for it. “We agreed on one o’clock,” he told his mother.
“I’ll be happy to welcome them,” said the duchess. “I have an appointment at the dressmaker’s at two, but I could change it.”
“No need. We have to choose pieces to perform and try them out. This isn’t a social visit.”
“Very well. But I wouldn’t want Mrs. Sinclair to feel slighted.”
“I’m sure she won’t.” He rose. “I should look over the music you have, to see if I need to add to it.” Not waiting for a reply, he walked out, conscious of eyes on his back.
The music room was a gracious space at the back of the house, overlooking the small walled garden. As he closed the door behind him, Randolph immediately felt better. He’d spent many happy hours here as a youth, and these surroundings soothed him. The walls hung with blue damask; the cello on a stand in the corner had occupied his youngest brother, Alan, for a while and then bored him; the antique instruments decorating the walls, none as old as his lute.
Randolph took the cover off the harp by the window and ran his fingers over the strings. The glissando lilted through the room. Miss Sinclair hadn’t mentioned playing, and they wouldn’t want to lug the instrument to Carleton House in any case. Or the prince would no doubt provide one. But no, they should keep to what they’d done before. Their royal host would expect that. Randolph replaced the cover and went to sit at the pianoforte. It was perfectly in tune, as he’d known it would be.
His fingers moved automatically into a favorite passage from a Mozart sonata. He gave himself up to it, falling into a heady harmony of body and senses as the movements of his hands and arms produced exquisite sound. This meshing had seemed a form of magic to him since he was five years old.
The music took over. It revitalized him. He rode the rhythms of the notes through the piece to the end. Then he sat back and let out a long breath. There was no solace like music, and he needed to remember that there were many pleasures in the world beyond the connubial.
Six
Looking around the front hall of Langford House, with its soaring stair and rich marble floor, Verity judged it the grandest house she’d ever entered. Light poured down from high windows, glittered in a huge crystal chandelier, and gleamed in the gold stripes of the wallpaper. A hint of potpourri scented the air, along with beeswax and lemon. The clatter of the London streets didn’t penetrate the gracious silence. “Goodness,” murmured her mother. Verity was determined not to be intimidated.
A liveried footman led them through two beautiful reception rooms to the back of the house. He opened a door and stood back. Verity and her mother stepped over the threshold into a perfectly splendid music room. For a moment Verity forgot everything else as she took in the fine instruments waiting to be played, the older ones adorning the walls, and the piles of expensive sheet music. She could spend hours in a place like this and be blissfully happy, she thought.
And then a tall, stately woman came forward to greet them, and Verity was making her curtsy to the duchess, as well as wondering where Lord Randolph could be.
He hurried in on the heels of that thought. “I beg your pardon,” he said. “I was just… Mama, this is Mrs. Sinclair and Miss Verity Sinclair. Ladies, my mother.”
“Your Grace,” they murmured.
The duchess said, “Welcome to Langford House.” And with the warmth in her blue eyes and the ease of her smile, Verity felt the atmosphere in the room change from grandiose to relaxed. Or perhaps it was simply her own mood that had shifted. As they sat down and exchanged remarks about the weather and the season, she found she could talk to Lord Randolph’s mother with surprising