Stunned but far too experienced to show it, Lenore turned to Eversleigh. He met her wide eyes with a charming smile and a graceful gesture to the piano. “Are you game, Miss Lester?”
There was no escape, Lenore saw that instantly. Not sure whose neck she wished to wring, Eversleigh’s or Jack’s, she allowed Eversleigh to draw her to her feet and escort her to the instrument. A sotto voce conference decided the piece, a gentle ballad she felt confident she could manage. Fingers nimble on the keys, Lenore commenced the introduction, distractedly aware of the odd beat of her heart and of Eversleigh standing close behind her.
Afterwards, she could remember little of their performance, but she knew she sang well, her voice lifting easily over Eversleigh’s bass. Her contralto was not as well tutored as Amelia’s sweet soprano, but, against Eversleigh’s powerful voice, it struck the right chord. The final note resonated through the room, their voices in perfect harmony. Clapping burst forth. Eversleigh’s fingers closed about her hand. He raised her to stand beside him, his eyes, clear grey, smiling into hers.
“A most memorable moment, my dear. Thank you.”
For one long instant, Lenore stared up into his eyes, sure he was going to kiss her fingertips, as he had once before. Instead, his gaze shifted to the watching crowd. Still smiling, he placed her hand on his sleeve.
Deflated, then troubled by the sudden sinking of her spirits, Lenore sighted Smithers with the tea-trolley. She excused herself to Eversleigh, murmuring her thanks for her relief, then forged a determined path through her guests to the relative safety of the teacups. She was grateful to Eversleigh for his assistance, but, in the interests of her own peace of mind, she would be wise to spend much less time in his company.
* * *
THE NEXT DAY, Wednesday, dawned bright and clear, with just a touch of mist about the lake. To Lenore’s surprise the mild entertainment of the previous evening had engendered a milder attitude among the guests. Everyone seemed more relaxed, ready to trade easy smiles and light conversation in place of the artfully pointed banter and arch looks of the preceding days.
The majority of the ladies had made a pact to attend breakfast in the sunny downstairs parlour. While their appearance initially raised a good many male brows, surprise rapidly faded as the company settled into informal groups about the long board, the ladies, sipping tea and nibbling thin slices of toast, interspersed with the gentlemen, most of whom had made extensive forays among the covered dishes on the sideboard. The talk revolved around possible excursions to fill the afternoon. The gentlemen had already decided on an inspection of the Hall’s closer coverts while the morning air was still crisp.
Hovering by the laden side-table, Lenore kept a watchful eye on her charges, ensuring that the younger, less confident ladies encountered no difficulties. Thus far, no contretemps had marred the pleasantry; her hopes were rising that, despite her brothers’ inventiveness, the week would pass off more smoothly than she had thought. Assured that all was well, she picked up a plate and helped herself to an assortment of delicacies from beneath the silver domes.
As she was turning away, Amelia came to the sideboard, Frederick Marshall by her side. Her cousin was a picture in a peach-coloured morning gown, her cheeks aglow, her manner slightly flustered. Lenore hesitated, then, with a gracious smile, she nodded her good mornings and left them.
She turned to find a place at the table and was immediately conscious of Eversleigh’s grey gaze. He was seated on the opposite side of the table, one long-fingered hand draped over the back of the vacant chair beside him. He was talking to Lord Holyoake but his eyes were on her.
The compulsion to round the table and take the seat she knew would be instantly offered her was strong. With determined calm, Lenore opted to fill the empty place at the foot of the table, smiling at Mrs. Whitticombe and Lady Henslaw on her left, smoothly joining in their conversation. She studiously avoided looking Eversleigh’s way but she could feel his gaze, amused, she was sure, rambling openly over the plain brown pinafore she had donned over a long-sleeved white shirt and green cambric skirt.
She told herself she was relieved when he made no move to speak with her. He did, however, catch her eye when she looked up as the gentlemen rose. To her chagrin, she could not wrench her eyes from his smile as he approached and paused by her chair.
“Good morning, Miss Lester.” Jason’s gaze lifted to include her companions. “Ladies.”
With a graceful nod, he acknowledged their ladyships’ bright good mornings and Lenore’s more subdued greeting before joining the male exodus to the gun-room. Behind him, Lenore frowned at her toast, annoyed that a mere “good morning” should leave her feeling as flustered as Amelia had looked. His Grace of Eversleigh was only being polite.
As the ladies were content to spend the morning ambling about the extensive gardens, gathering their energies for a visit to a nearby folly, the chosen distraction for the afternoon, Lenore took refuge in the library.
The Assyrians, unfortunately, had lost their appeal. She was worrying over her sudden lack of interest in a topic that a week ago had held her enthralled when Amelia came through the door. Her cousin’s expression was pensive; with an abstracted smile she came forward to settle with a rustle of skirts on the windowseat close to Lenore’s desk. Lenore watched her in silence, swivelling her chair to face her.
Amelia heaved a heavy sigh. “I’m in a fix, Lenore.” Frowning, she slanted Lenore a worried glance. “Do you know how to at
tract a gentleman?”
Lenore’s brows flew. “Attract a gentleman? I thought your problem was to repel them.”
“Precisely,” Amelia agreed. “I’ve experience aplenty in that. Which is probably why I find I haven’t the first idea of how to accomplish the other.”
“But…why?”
Amelia looked slightly sheepish but, at the same time, quite determined. “It’s Mr. Marshall,” she confessed. “I’ve discovered he has no…no predatory instincts whatsoever. Oh, Lenore!” Amelia rounded on her cousin, brown eyes alight, her hands clasped before her. “It’s so pleasant to be treated as if my wishes were all that mattered. I feel so safe, so comfortable with Frederick.”
Lenore’s eyes widened. “Frederick?”
Amelia waved her hands dismissively. “There’s no sense in beating about the bush, Lenore. I want to encourage Frederick to think of me in a more personal way. But how does one accomplish such a delicate task without…” Amelia’s pert nose wrinkled in distaste. “Well, without giving an impression no true lady would wish to give.”
When her cousin looked at her, clearly expecting an answer, Lenore spread her hands helplessly. “I’m the last person to ask such a question, Amelia. I’ve not the slightest idea how to advise you.”
But Amelia was adamant. “Nonsense. You’re considered by all to be a most intelligent woman, Lenore. If you would only put your mind to it, I’m sure you’d be able to give me at least a hint of how to proceed.”
Lenore frowned but dutifully turned her mind to the task. “I suppose,” she eventually said, “if you were to encourage him to be with you, by your side as much as possible, he might at least understand that you enjoyed and specifically wished for his company.”
“That would certainly be a start.” Amelia’s gentle features were overlaid by an air of determination. “And the more time I spend talking with him, the more opportunity I’ll have to…to nudge his mind in the right direction. But I must make a start immediately or I’ll run out of time.”