Page 21 of A Symphony for the Earl

“I know you would, dear. You can do that in your own time, after supper,” Valentina said. “Perhaps tomorrow you might show your sketches to Miss Fiona. Octavia is especially talented at portraying animals.”

“In the country, Richard has two Scottish deerhounds. Max and Elsie,” Octavia told Fiona. “They are my very favorite subjects, but I like doing horses, too.”

“I would love to see some of your sketches tomorrow. I couldn’t draw a stick.”

Octavia made a face. “And you didn’t have to do needlework. You are lucky, for needlework is as flat as old Tom’s conk!”

“Really, Octavia,” Lady Amelia protested. “Your language is outrageous. I shall have to speak to Richard.”

They were interrupted by the entrance of Miss Ernest. When introduced, she greeted Fiona quietly. Everything about Miss Ernest was neat as a pin, from her gray-brown hair, pulled back in a tight chignon, to her dark-blue dress and lace collar. She was slender and wore silver spectacles.

“Miss Ernest, we are practicing our dances tomorrow morning at ten o’clock. Perhaps you could accompany us on the piano?”

“I am rusty, my lady, but I could manage. A quadrille, a few country dances, and perhaps a waltz, if it’s slow.”

“That would be excellent, thank you. Miss Octavia is yours until supper at six.” Octavia pantomimed a hanged man as she left the room with her governess.

Lady Amelia covered a yawn. “Perhaps nothing too lively, Fiona, and I will lie down for a moment or two and rest.”

“I’m going to fetch my copy of the Westmoreland Gazette.” Valentina laid a coverlet over her mother, who had settled back on the settee. “We have a wonderful circulating library in Albemarle Square, Fiona. And you can find all the current publications and even shops with sheet music on Fleet Street. Richard’s library is also quite extensive. Do you enjoy reading? I love poetry and most romances, but only if they end happily.”

“I miss reading, but my spare time is usually spent practicing.”

“Richard’s still very fond of music, though he hasn’t played since he was young. You’ll find he attends many concerts and studies all the latest composers. Oh, Mother’s eyes are closing,” Valentina giggled. “Her late afternoon naps are legendary. My magazine is upstairs, but I shall return shortly.”

Fiona settled at the piano, lightly fingering the keys. She played a few chords. What a pleasure to practice on such a fine instrument. Fiona selected a Schubert lied from memory and softly began the lilting melody.

“How lovely,” murmured Lady Amelia, stirring briefly, then falling back with a gentle snore. Valentina returned with her gazette. Fiona thought she could easily become accustomed to life at Merrick House—if she could bring the overbearing earl to heel.

At six o’clock, the ladies and Miss Ernest met in the dining room for a light supper of soup, cold chicken, and potatoes. The talk centered around Lady Sefton’s much anticipated poetry reading. Octavia begged her mother to stay downstairs long enough to say good night, and Lady Amelia agreed.

“It is not a ball, though, dear…merely a soirée. I hope you won’t be disappointed in our attire. Who is on the program, Valentina?”

“Mr. Coleridge, as I remember. And he brings a friend…a newer poet, whose name escapes me at the moment.” She rose from the table. “I must dress. Fiona, I’ll send Betty to you as soon as I finish.”

“I hope I don’t embarrass you,” Fiona said to Lady Amelia. “Or myself. I always seem to blurt out the wrong thing.”

“Nonsense, my dear…we’ll concentrate on having a pleasant time. Meeting the ton might be intimidating, but you are safe with us. Why don’t you go upstairs and dress? Betty will help you.”

Fiona chose a newer gown of cornflower velvet with an edging of Irish lace at the neckline and matching ribbons that crossed under her breasts. Tonight was her official entrance into the London marriage mart. Unless her father miraculously appeared, her only other choice was to live under the yoke of the Earl of Seldon.

She wouldn’t count on the possibility of a love match. That was a childish fancy. But perhaps she could find an intelligent man who would not bore her to tears while she still had some choice in the matter.

Betty interrupted her thoughts, comb in hand.

“Will you sit now, Miss Fiona, and let me do your hair? I’m thinking à la Grecque. I’ll braid the sides and wrap them around a knot at your nape.”

When Betty finished securing the coiffure with hairpins, she handed her a mirror to view the back. “Would you like any jewelry?”

Fiona opened an ivory box from the dressing table. “The aquamarines, I think.” The pale stones matched the color of her eyes. They were a gift from her father on her sixteenth birthday, complete with matching earrings. He was always generous with jewelry. The box also held a fine string of pearls inherited from her mother and a set of garnets. She recalled the words he whispered against her cheek on the Dublin dock as he put a narrow box in her hands, five long years ago.

Remember, leannán, it’s how we face our challenges that shape our character. You can grow stronger and learn from adversity or shrink away.

Betty’s voice broke into her reverie. “You look ever so fine, miss.”

She took the blue-and-green silk shawl the maid handed her and lifted her chin. There was no turning back now.

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