cackled. “Do not try to convince me that you do not dislike the man heartily.”
“I do not dislike him.”
“He certainly dislikes you. Perhaps because the two of you were often compared. In fact, my friends and I have argued over which of you were more proficient at the violin.”
“That was years ago, when I was playing in London with my friends.” Time and war had made him a different man. He hoped he would not feel the same way now about Mr. Kinnier, son of the Viscount Grimslow, as he had when he had been young and foolish.
Lady Whittlesby merely hoped to fire his sense of competition by dangling Mr. Kinnier as his rival. She couldn’t know that while Mr. Kinnier was fiercely competitive, Bayard was not. He wanted to play in her concert for the healing of his reputation and the success of his sister’s season.
They had finally reached the corner, and Lady Whittlesby gestured to two women who approached. “Ladies, may I present Lord Dommick? Mrs. Garen and Lady Alethea Sutherton.”
Bayard bowed to the elderly woman, about Lady Whittlesby’s age, and then he met eyes with the dark-haired young woman next to her. She was striking in her beauty. Eyebrows arched over large, almond-shaped dark eyes. She had high cheekbones and creamy skin with a hint of olive, perhaps from some long-ago Romanancestor, and full red lips that he imagined would spread into a wide smile. She looked familiar to him, but he couldn’t remember where he had met her before.
He also could not fathom why she looked at him as if he had just crawled out of the mud.
Alethea stared in horror at Lord Dommick. She hadn’t expected that he would remain in Bath. She had not seen him or his friends about the town in the past week, and the arrivals in the paper had not mentioned their names.
She was being ridiculous. She had to put aside one disastrous interaction from eleven years ago. Why should she devote any more space in her brain for him? After all, he wouldn’t have remembered her.
“Lady Alethea, have we been introduced before?” Lord Dommick had a politely puzzled expression, probably wondering why she looked as though she desired to run screaming from the ballroom.
For a brief, wild moment, she considered lying to him. Their previous interaction meant nothing to him, and he couldn’t have known the effect of his words upon her temper and the direction of her musical study.
But a few people in Bath would remember her horrific London season, and it would seem odd for her to pretend that she and Lord Dommick had never been introduced.
“We met briefly many years ago,” Alethea said.
He parted his lips as if about to say something more, but then changed his mind and simply bowed instead.
Lady Whittlesby hadn’t missed Alethea’s reaction to Dommick and had a curious gleam in her eye. “Lady Alethea is a fine musician. Perhaps you met at one of Dommick’s concerts?”
A spasm ran across Alethea’s throat before she answered. “Yes. When the Quartet played in London.”
“Did we meet perhaps more recently, Lady Alethea?”
She doubted the glimpse on the street, with her dressed like a servant, hardly counted as “meeting.”
“I am never in town, my lord.” Not by choice, but London had no appeal for her.
“You shall have opportunity to become more acquainted,” Lady Whittlesby said. “Lord Dommick has agreed to help you investigate the provenance of your violin.”
Why in the world would he agree to that? She cleared her throat rather that blurt out her surprise. “My lord is too kind.”
“I have given him incentive. If he is able to solve your little mystery, I will feature the Quartet in my concert this spring.”
Ah. Lady Whittlesby’s famous concerts featured only gently born musicians, and to be chosen was a high honour. No wonder he’d agreed to help her.
“You’re too good, Honora,” Aunt Ebena said to her friend.
“Nonsense, Ebena. I hadn’t yet decided on the musicians for my
“I do not dislike him.”
“He certainly dislikes you. Perhaps because the two of you were often compared. In fact, my friends and I have argued over which of you were more proficient at the violin.”
“That was years ago, when I was playing in London with my friends.” Time and war had made him a different man. He hoped he would not feel the same way now about Mr. Kinnier, son of the Viscount Grimslow, as he had when he had been young and foolish.
Lady Whittlesby merely hoped to fire his sense of competition by dangling Mr. Kinnier as his rival. She couldn’t know that while Mr. Kinnier was fiercely competitive, Bayard was not. He wanted to play in her concert for the healing of his reputation and the success of his sister’s season.
They had finally reached the corner, and Lady Whittlesby gestured to two women who approached. “Ladies, may I present Lord Dommick? Mrs. Garen and Lady Alethea Sutherton.”
Bayard bowed to the elderly woman, about Lady Whittlesby’s age, and then he met eyes with the dark-haired young woman next to her. She was striking in her beauty. Eyebrows arched over large, almond-shaped dark eyes. She had high cheekbones and creamy skin with a hint of olive, perhaps from some long-ago Romanancestor, and full red lips that he imagined would spread into a wide smile. She looked familiar to him, but he couldn’t remember where he had met her before.
He also could not fathom why she looked at him as if he had just crawled out of the mud.
Alethea stared in horror at Lord Dommick. She hadn’t expected that he would remain in Bath. She had not seen him or his friends about the town in the past week, and the arrivals in the paper had not mentioned their names.
She was being ridiculous. She had to put aside one disastrous interaction from eleven years ago. Why should she devote any more space in her brain for him? After all, he wouldn’t have remembered her.
“Lady Alethea, have we been introduced before?” Lord Dommick had a politely puzzled expression, probably wondering why she looked as though she desired to run screaming from the ballroom.
For a brief, wild moment, she considered lying to him. Their previous interaction meant nothing to him, and he couldn’t have known the effect of his words upon her temper and the direction of her musical study.
But a few people in Bath would remember her horrific London season, and it would seem odd for her to pretend that she and Lord Dommick had never been introduced.
“We met briefly many years ago,” Alethea said.
He parted his lips as if about to say something more, but then changed his mind and simply bowed instead.
Lady Whittlesby hadn’t missed Alethea’s reaction to Dommick and had a curious gleam in her eye. “Lady Alethea is a fine musician. Perhaps you met at one of Dommick’s concerts?”
A spasm ran across Alethea’s throat before she answered. “Yes. When the Quartet played in London.”
“Did we meet perhaps more recently, Lady Alethea?”
She doubted the glimpse on the street, with her dressed like a servant, hardly counted as “meeting.”
“I am never in town, my lord.” Not by choice, but London had no appeal for her.
“You shall have opportunity to become more acquainted,” Lady Whittlesby said. “Lord Dommick has agreed to help you investigate the provenance of your violin.”
Why in the world would he agree to that? She cleared her throat rather that blurt out her surprise. “My lord is too kind.”
“I have given him incentive. If he is able to solve your little mystery, I will feature the Quartet in my concert this spring.”
Ah. Lady Whittlesby’s famous concerts featured only gently born musicians, and to be chosen was a high honour. No wonder he’d agreed to help her.
“You’re too good, Honora,” Aunt Ebena said to her friend.
“Nonsense, Ebena. I hadn’t yet decided on the musicians for my
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