“I didn’t know you play,” Geoffrey said, leaning on his mother’s pianoforte.
Alessandra smiled up at him, still playing, her fingers moving in the correct patterns even as she spoke. “I enjoy playing the pianoforte.”
“Geoffrey sings well,” Lady Chenmarth announced from her seat next to Alessandra on the two-person bench. “But this deep voice of mine can only croak. I tell people I am singing the alto part, and most of them believe me. Shall we?”
Alessandra played and they all sang “The Rose That Blooms in Winter” and “Ye Brave Young Men” and several songs from Sunday Services.
“You do have a nice voice,” Alessandra said to Geoffrey, looking up at him as her fingers idly tinkled across the keys. He looked up from the sheet music he had been thumbing through and smiled at her.
“Thank you.”
Her heart skipped a beat, making her stare for a moment. Then she focused her eyes downward, on her fingers against the keys as she began to play again, something, she could not have said what later.
She had never had a smile affect her in such a way. Their interchange had been a simple enough thing, but perhaps it was the...the what?...the affection she had seen in his eyes. He had been genuinely pleased to be complimented by her.
There was something about this suddenly realized ability to please another that made her feel...powerful?...fortunate?...clever?...something. She had no word for it. But it had been momentarily heady.
Of a sudden, loud screeching sounds came from the kitchen below stairs. Completely composed, Lady Chenmarth rose at once and left the room.
“The cook. His usual afternoon tirade. Pay no attention. I assure you, I do not,” Geoffrey explained to Alessandra, moving to take the seat next to her that his mother had just vacated. “You play very well. Shall we play together?” he suggested.
She moved over a little, that their legs would not touch, not even the fabric. “You play also?” she asked even as she mentally scolded herself. What was she doing, behaving so missishly? Even if this man was not in truth a husband to her, he was a cousin. She need not blush and stammer and act a fool just because she found herself unexpectedly alone with him, just because he gave her a smile. She need not let her mind wander over and over the very real fact that they were ever so much more dangerously alone in their bedchamber, in their nightclothes, in their bed.
Their touchless, loveless bed, she quickly amended, her spine stiffening, her fingers forgetting to play for a moment.
“I play a little. I am very poor at it. Mama made me take lessons, but for some reason the music masters always kept quitting,” he answered, grinning at her. This was a laughing smile, a public smile. It did not affect her the way the other had, except to make her put aside her tumbling thoughts and ask laughingly, “Were you very terrible to them, poor fellows?”
“Awful. Here, let us play this,” he said. He reached to place the sheets before them. “I, the harmony; you, the melody. One. Two. Three. Four,” he counted them down, and they began to play the simple piece together.
At the end, they were not quite together, but he said, “That was not too poor a thing, considering we’ve never tried to play together before. Shall we...?” he indicated the music still before them.
Lady Chenmarth returned, choosing a chair by the fire as she listened to the music and watched them play. Geoffrey was being nonsensical, putting in extra flourishes that did nothing for the piece but which made them all laugh.
When they finished, Lady Chenmarth cried, “Play it properly, Geoffrey! And none of those namby-pamby music lessons tunes, either. I want to hear Mozart.”
Geoffrey groaned. He and Alessandra sifted through more music sheets, discarding many choices, until he finally agreed to a not-too-complicated staccato passage.
“Hmph! Too military!” his mother sniffed when they had finished.
“Yes, but it required only a minimum amount of skill on my part, which—you must agree with me on this—’twas as well.”
“I thought you played well enough,” Alessandra said.
“Oh, Mother! See how she wounds me!” Geoffrey cried, clutching a hand to his heart. “’Well enough,’ she says. I might as well break all my fingers, for I shall never play again.” So saying, he laid his head on his fingers atop the keys, striking a strident chord.
“Some wounds are well deserved,” Lady Chenmarth said dryly, but she was smiling and shaking her head at his playfulness.
Geoffrey sat up and moved from the bench to survey the tea cart his mother had had sent in when her guests arrived. “Cook is well?” he asked as he selected an olive and popped it in his mouth.
“Oh, he’s fine. It seems someone moved the scallions from their normal place in the pantry.”
“Bad business, that. I’m surprised he didn’t quit.”
Lady Chenmarth came as near to a snort as a lady could. “He even agreed to move with me to my new rooms, as I am fortunate enough to have a kitchen available in the mews behind. I’ll be removed from this house by Tuesday next,” she informed them.
Geoffrey nodded approval. “Again, thank you for the use of this house.”
“My pleasure.”
He turned to Alessandra. “Do you care for anything further?” He made a sweeping motion over the tea cart.
“No, thank you.”
“Then let us return to New Garden House. I am sure your mama is suffering from the vapors because it has been,” he pulled his watch from his pocket and consulted it, “three hours since she conferred with you about this dinner party of hers. If we stay one minute longer, I suspect she will have the Bow Runners looking for us.”
Alessandra rose and crossed to her hostess and mother-in-law. “Mama seems to feel I need to be consulted on every detail,” she explained, bending to place a farewell kiss on Aunt Jane’s cheek.
“Since ’tis in your honor, well she might,” Lady Chenmarth said, kissing the girl on the cheek in return. Alessandra noticed a quick little moue of Geoffrey’s lips; it seemed his mother’s little display of familial affection surprised him.
They made their farewells, riding away in one of Alessandra’s father’s gigs, which they’d chosen as the day was pleasant. Lady Chenmarth stood in the frame of her open doorway, chewing absently on a fingernail, a brooding almost-frown creasing her forehead until Jimms, her butler, cleared his throat and recalled her to herself that he might close the door.
***
“Geoffrey, my boy. Delightful to see you. Come in and see what I’ve purchased,” his father greeted him heartily, showing him the direction of “in” by throwing an arm to point toward his conservatory, completely ignoring Geoffrey’s comment of, “I really just came by to chat a bit.”
Lord Chenmarth followed his son down the hall, and announced happily as they passed through the door, “You see?”
“A billiard table. One of your very own? What was the matter with the two at your club?” Geoffrey asked, shaking his head in amused disbelief.
“Why, the very fact they are at my club, of course.” Lord Chenmarth walked over to his table, giving the mahogany wood a loving stroke. “Just think, this way, whenever I can’t sleep, I can come down here and sharpen my skill. I’ll soon be as proficient as any captain sharp, just you wait and see.”
“A desirable skill, I’m sure,” Geoffrey said dryly.
“Care to play?”
“Well, I was hoping to talk…”
“You cannot talk and play?”
“Of course,” Geoffrey assented, just a little exasperated. He removed his coat, and drew several cue sticks, assessing their lines carefully. How did one go about finding out if one’s father cared at all for one’s mother? He delayed figuring that out by saying, “Do you think this one is bowed?” He handed a stick to his father.
“Never say it is! It’s new.” Lord Chenmarth scowled down the stick, growling in a fashion not too difficult to interpret and which would have sent the manufacturer into throes of despair.
He selected a different cue stick for himself, setting the one in a corner for later testing and evaluation, and they began to play.
“I took Alessandra to see Mama this morning,” Geoffrey said by way of opening the conversation.
“Did you? Alessandra was always a sweet little thing, as I recall. A beauty now,” Roderick said, grimacing when his shot failed to make the carom.
Geoffrey hadn’t come here to discuss Alessandra, but still he hedged a bit more. “Mother maligned my abilities on the pianoforte.”
“Can’t fault her for that. You play the pianoforte worse than you play billiards,” Lord Chenmarth said, and barked out a laugh.
Geoffrey smiled a little. “She asked how you were,” he lied, and cocked a triumphant eyebrow at his father as he took his shot and his cue ball successfully completed the carom for the first point.
“Did she?” Lord Chenmarth paused to chalk his stick, some of his bonhomie attitude slipping away as he gave his son a level look.
“I told her you were well.”
“As I am.”
“Now I’ll be able to tell her that you play billiards at night, in secret.”
“Now why would you want to do that?” Lord Chenmarth leaned on his stick, gazing evenly at Geoffrey.
“I don’t know. Why would I want to do that?” Geoffrey said, just as evenly.
Lord Chenmarth sighed and laid his cue stick along the edge of the table. “What are you trying to do here?” he said, leaning his hands against the table’s edge.
“I’m not trying to do anything. But I will tell you what I’ve been wondering about.”
“Which is...?”
“Alessandra and I married only to save her reputation.”
His father had not been informed, and had missed the wedding from being at his country estate. Now his eyebrows lifted, and he parted his lips to exclaim, but didn’t get a word out.
“Now,” Geoffrey went on, interrupting him, “before you say anything, let me assure you I have already been talked to, scolded over, and even been given some approval for this decision. There is nothing you can tell me that I have not already been told. So my point is this. If we had to, she and I could live together for the rest of our lives, with a few simple rules and a little common courtesy to guide us.”
“If you had to?” Lord Chenmarth’s pleasant expression gave way to a scowl.
“So. While Alessandra and I are seeking a way to go on, I find myself wondering how it is my parents have not been able to maintain this same semblance of peace between them.”
He saw his father’s scowl deepen into anger, and felt the indignation that he could only expect come across the table at him.
“You, boy? Married a few days, and you wonder how such a thing can be?” Lord Chenmarth said in a cold voice. “Why should I answer any question of yours?”
Geoffrey drew himself to his full height, on a par with his father. The conversation had turned all wrong, yet still he felt at long last he had to know, to understand. “Mama said you were forced to marry. As was I. What I want to know is, did you not know that you didn’t like her?” His tone had softened, still a demand but without the angry edge. “You knew each other a long time before you wed.”
They stared at each other, the one very like the other in appearance and in their nearly identical looks of caution and doubt.
Lord Chenmarth was the first to lower his eyes, shaking his head slightly, sadly. “I am going to tell you something you may not care to know.”
“Tell me.”
The older man took a deep breath, then said, “As you say, we had to get married. Your mother was already expecting you.”
Geoffrey felt the blood leave his face, even though he’d known it was the most logical explanation. “I am…grateful you chose to make me legitimate.” He meant it, but that didn’t make the words easy to say.
For a moment he thought his father might strike him, but the man’s clenched fist relaxed after a moment. “Yes, you should be. It has made your life easier, believe me. And it would not have been honorable to turn away from your mother at such a time.”
He paused and sighed, a heavy silence falling between them. He shook his head, then chose to speak in a lighter tone. “But, Geoffrey, lad, do not misunderstand that just because you were started before the vows were made that I am any less proud of you. You are my legitimate son, my heir. I am gratified to see the kind of man you have become.”
Geoffrey knew he was frowning, but he gave a nod of acknowledgement.
His father sighed again, and looked down to roll the cue stick a few inches from side to side. “So now you know why I married her. But you still do not know why I do not live with her.”
Her. She has a name. And she left you, I know that much.
“Why is that?” Geoffrey asked, not entirely sure, now he’d started this conversation, that he wanted more information.
“You saw how we fought. I think the roots of the fighting started the day of our hurried wedding. I should have been more bold, less tentative in how I greeted the marriage. I should have never let a rift begin, much less grow. I should have seen how your mother was...unsure. Frightened. She is not one to be rushed.”
“I would have to say that is not necessarily true, given the facts of my conception.”