Page 91 of The Music of Love

Miss Jennings blushed. “Yes, I knew I shouldn’t have, but Jonathan dared me.”

Rowena laughed and it almost sounded genuine. “You should never let a brother lead you into imprudence, my dear.”

Miss Jenkins’s rather plain features twisted with mortification. “I know, but he is so dreadfully teasing.” She stopped, her expression becoming more serious. “I say, just after we saw you, we ran across a rather frightening man in the woods. Did you see him, too?”

“Frightening?”

“Yes, a stout, lurching sort of man. He was headed in your direction.”

“No doubt it was just another trespasser who’d gotten lost in the woods looking for the path to the old flint mine.”

“Oh yes, we are always discovering them crawling about our land. Father believes the old mines should not be mentioned in guidebooks. He says it attracts the wrong sort.”

Portia found it difficult to keep from laughing at the notion that guidebook-toting tourists were “the wrong sort.”

The men entered the drawing room and Lady Elizabeth as well as two other females were prevailed upon to play. Stacy, naturally, declined to play when his sister-in-law approached him. Portia knew it was not worry that his father would sneer that stopped him, but that her husband played only for those he liked.

The footmen opened the doors to the music room and the guests arranged themselves on the various settees and chairs. Portia found herself seated beside her brother-in-law on the small sofa she’d chosen at the back of the room. Stacy was seated between Miss Jennings and a woman who could only be her mother. Both women wore nervous, pleased grins, their bums barely resting on the settee, as if they were too excited to sit. Stacy turned in her direction but his expression didn’t alter. Even so, Portia could practically hear his thoughts.

“Stacy looks resigned,” Lord Pendleton said.

“You have learned to read him quickly, my lord. Most people have difficulty seeing past his façade.”

“Yes, he does look rather like a marble statue, doesn’t he?”

Portia was tempted to tell him that he sometimes behaved like one.

Instead she said, “It is deceptive, my lord. He has an exceptionally warm and generous heart, although, like most men, he would shudder to hear himself described thus.”

The viscount laughed. “You have us poor males properly sorted, I see.”

Portia did not answer as the playing had begun. They listened in silence for a few moments before Pendleton leaned toward her and whispered. “Is this painful for you, Mrs. Harrington?”

It was, but Portia was not rude enough to say so. “Are you worried I might rush across the room and smack her knuckles with a ruler, my lord?”

He snickered. “I was more concerned you might suffer some sort of aural hemorrhage.”

“You are very cruel, my lord. Besides, my eardrums are as hardened as a rake’s conscience.”

His body shook with suppressed laughter and it was a few moments before he spoke. “Won’t you please call me Robert? I feel like I know you after listening to Stacy talk of you.”

Portia’s eyes moved to her husband. Although she could not see them, she felt his eyes on her.

“I would be honored, Robert. You must call me Portia.”

“Your name suits you down to the ground, Portia.”

Portia again wondered why a man as pleasant and affectionate as Robert had sought the hand of such a frosty woman. And then she dismissed the foolish thought. Naturally he’d married at his father’s direction. It was clear the earl thought Rowena the perfect broodmare, although one could not help wondering what he felt about his son’s childless state. Was that because they could not stand to bed one another? Portia could not recall a single instance when she’d seen the two speaking to each other. It did not look like a happy marriage but, then again, neither was hers just now.

They listened to the remainder of Lady Elizabeth’s competent but uninspired performance in respectful silence. The two women who followed her were much the same. Neither would lead an audience to tears—either from joy or agony.

Rowena stood up. “We will have a brief intermission before Mrs. Harrington entertains us.”

“What will you play, Portia?” Robert asked, leaning close to her on the small settee.

“What would you like me to play, Robert?” She echoed his teasing, flirtatious tone.

“What do you have music for? Will that not decide the matter?”