The Last Eligible Bachelor - Ashtyn Newbold Page 0,23

voice.

I caught Miss Downsfield’s gaze, her eyes narrowed with accusation. Miss Coppins had told me that Miss Downsfield had seen me in the gardens with Mr. Hill. She must have known it was purely coincidental, but the spite in her gaze spoke otherwise.

“Let us save it for last,” Mr. Hill continued. “It shall be our grand finale.”

My quiet exhale came out in something of a growl, and I slid my gaze discreetly toward him. He still wore his victorious smile, sitting back as if he were about to enjoy my awkward stammering of excuses.

Well, he was mistaken. I sat up straighter. “Oh, yes, Mrs. Ollerton. It is actually the only admirable accomplishment I can own up to. I will ensure it is as grand a finale as you all are hoping for.”

Mr. Hill’s smile faltered, his head tipping as he regarded me with deep curiosity. Good. I had surprised him. If he thought I was predictable and entertaining, he was wrong. I would prove to him that he could never dare consider courting me if he hoped not to be laughed out of any party. I could burst into song at any moment, off-key and loud.

“Shall we start here with Miss Taplow?” Mrs. Ollerton asked. “She has informed me that she has a poem she would like to recite.”

Mr. Hill gave a nod; breathing felt much easier with his gaze focused on someone else. “Yes, of course.”

Miss Taplow stood and recited a poem from Shakespeare, her voice quick and soft. Mr. Hill applauded as she reclaimed her seat. Miss Benham volunteered next, then Miss Coppins, both of whom recited poems I had also memorized, and I was able to catch the words which they accidentally omitted. Miss Coppins had even missed an entire line. Mr. Hill’s gaze reflected deep thought as he listened, and I even caught a slight tip of his head at Miss Coppins’s omission. Did he have all these memorized too?

When it came time for Miss Downsfield’s poem, she shook her head softly. “Unfortunately I do not have a very strong memory when it comes to words on a page. I adore poetry though, likely just as much as you do, Mr. Hill.” She gave a sweet smile. “I have enjoyed listening to these poems very much, and it is my dearest wish that I had something to contribute…” Her eyes darted toward the pianoforte, and she turned her body slightly in that direction. Was she hoping Mr. Hill would invite her to sing as well?

“There is no need to lament,” Mr. Hill said. “There will be other opportunities for you to showcase the talents you do have.” He offered her a polite smile, and I couldn’t help but notice the difference between that smile and the others I had seen on his face. Why did he save the flirtatious, teasing grins for me? My lungs felt heavy, and I could hardly draw a breath. It was nearly my turn to sing. What had I been thinking? I had already made a spectacle of myself when I spilled the tea tray, and now here I was preparing to sing a horrendous song for all the guests. Sophia had specifically told me to be invisible. To remain unnoticed.

“Now, Mr. Hill, would you treat us with your favorite poem before we hear from Miss Sedgwick?” Mrs. Ollerton said. “Or perhaps your poem should be our finale instead?”

Panic clenched in my muscles. That would mean my performance was next. My palms began sweating profusely inside my gloves.

“No, no, I mustn’t follow a performance like Miss Sedgwick’s. Her song absolutely must be the finale.” Mr. Hill’s false humility was grating. Did he realize that all this praise directed at me would only embarrass him once everyone heard how dreadful my singing really was?

He stood, glancing down at me as he did, a mischievous smile on his lips. He cleared his throat. “I will recite my favorite from Wordsworth. It is brief, but I connect deeply with the words.”

All the ladies in the room watched him eagerly, as if ready to drink up this insight into his soul. My heart rapped against my chest, a brief moment of calm before I would be forced to ruin it all with my singing.

Mr. Hill’s voice was gentle and strong as he spoke, and it filled the room.

My heart leaps up when I behold

A rainbow in the sky

Those first lines sent my stomach fluttering. This was the poem Papa had loved the most. Every time