Miss Darcy Falls in Love (19 page)

“Compositions?”

Sebastian’s brows lifted in surprise at the baron’s inflection. “Indeed. Miss Darcy is an astute, talented composer, along with possessing an exquisite voice and mastery on the pianoforte.”

“I am aware of her beautiful soprano and have heard her play a few times, but I did not know she dabbled in composing. How extraordinary.”

“She is extraordinary,” Sebastian stressed, not hiding his irritation at Caxton’s tone of displeasure. “She is extremely talented, in fact, and her writing capabilities are well beyond ‘dabbling,’ I daresay.”

“Well, just what the world needs, a female Beethoven. Next we shall have women running businesses and in Parliament.”

“There are many women in the artistic world, my lord,” Yvette said, for once her voice serious. “Novelists, poets, ballerinas, singers. Women have been queens. Why not a famous composer?”

“I have no desire to be famous, thank you very much,” Georgiana said with a breathy laugh. “Thank you for the compliment, Mr. Butler. I am of the opinion you are exaggerating flagrantly; nevertheless, I do appreciate the gesture.”

“I am not exaggerating! Would I have trusted my psalms with anyone else? I am aflutter with anticipation to hear how you have improved what I know are dismal renditions desperately in need of a fresh perspective.” He turned to Lord Caxton. “Miss Darcy has an inspired vision that is to be greatly admired.”

“I see I have been properly chastised,” Caxton said with an incline of his head, turning toward Georgiana with tender regard. “Perhaps you can share some of your compositions with me, Miss Darcy? I am sure they are as amazing as you.”

“I would be delighted.” She looked at the baron with mild surprise, her mien gradually infusing with pleasure.

“Now I fear I must say adieu. We have our final practice tonight. May I call upon you tomorrow, Miss Darcy? I have the morning free before I must prepare for the performance. There is an exhibit of Spanish paintings at the Ferrand Museum and I would be honored to have you, Monsieur de Valday, and the Mademoiselles de Valday accompany me?”

The twins looked less than wildly enthusiastic, museums more in the “frightfully dull” category of entertainments. Georgiana agreed to the outing, Sebastian barely managing to hide his disappointment, since he had planned to invite her to tour the show with him.

Lord Caxton said his farewells and began walking toward the foyer with Georgiana alongside when he halted suddenly and turned to Sebastian. “By the way Butler, a group of gents are meeting at La Palu’s Club tonight for cards, if you are interested. I know how good you are at poker, so it would add to the challenge. Some of the finest wine in the country to boot. How can you pass that up? Allison and Lignac will be there.”

Sebastian smiled, intrigued despite his glum mood. “It does sound like fun. Count me in.”

“Excellent! I’ll drive you there, as your house is on the way. Eight o’clock sharp!”

Georgiana was not gone for long, but the interval before she crossed the threshold felt an eternity. What words of love or affection were being said? The thought soured his stomach.

Despite his depression, the following hours were surprisingly pleasant. Georgiana was gay and the de Valdays far too blithesome for gloominess to reign in the room. Conversation was neutral and their infectious effervescence combined with Georgiana’s warmth lightened his heart. Thoughts of intruding barons faded in the happiness of friendly companionship, until, that is, the de Valdays excused themselves to prepare for a family dinner engagement.

“You are not invited to their family dinner?”

“No. Well, in truth I was invited but I declined. Lord and Lady Matlock are engaged elsewhere tonight, a whist tournament at the Comte d’Apchier’s. A night alone sounded far more appealing. Early to bed for once and perhaps I will actually rise before noon!”

“Yes, it can be exhausting. I slept for nearly eighteen hours night before last, another reason why the delay in my visit. I am sorry for causing you anxiety, Miss Darcy.”

“I knew if anything truly horrid had occurred Lady Warrow would alert us, but it is a relief to know you are well.” She paused, averting her eyes from his and reddening. “You were missed, Mr. Butler,” she murmured.

Emotion choked his throat, words lodging in a jumble and leaving him unsure of what to say. The vacillating sway of hope and despondency in the past hour had left him weak. Whatever vague plans of how to declare his feelings that had formulated in the recesses of his mind were shattered by the appearance of Lord Caxton. Miss Darcy’s indecipherable expressions and comments gave him no clue as to how, or if, he should proceed.

“Are these your notes?” She jumped up from her chair and retrieved the bulging pouch long ago forgotten on a table by the door. He trailed her movements with his eyes, absorbed the delicate movements of her hands as she pulled out the top papers and began to scan the sentences, was mesmerized by her beauty and the elegant balance of every feature as she read the first paragraphs aloud. Then she looked at him with a mischievous glint in her crystalline eyes. “These are scrupulously written, Mr. Butler. I know your penmanship to be excellent but this exceeds my expectations for hastily scribbling during a lecture. My, your tutors must have sung praises to heaven for such a precise student.”

Her tease broke the spell. Sebastian chuckled. “If only that were the case. Note taking has never been my strong suit. These were recopied, with my own embellishments added from what I gleaned during the talk.”

“How very thoughtful of you! A simple thank you is insufficient. I will enjoy reading all of them, I assure you. And now that I have unencumbered hours stretching ahead of me, it is an accomplishable feat.”

“Hours of well-deserved solitude that I am disrupting.” He rose to his feet and bowed her direction. “I shall depart and leave you to your leisure, Miss Darcy.”

“No, please stay, Mr. Butler!” She stepped toward him, her wide eyes pleading. “I have been anxious to discuss your psalms, or rather, to play a few of my favorites with you.” She pivoted and walked to the piano, Sebastian trailing behind. “In truth it is difficult to pick a favorite, or two or three for that matter, since they are all so lovely.”

“You are far too magnanimous,” he said and laughed, inclining his head but his gaze not leaving the shimmering blue of her eyes.

“Well,” she stammered, a flush spreading across her cheeks, “I did accept your challenge on a couple of them to tinker with some modification. Always jotted on separate sheets, of course!” She hastened to add when he began rifling through the stack.

“Some modifications? I see three pages of altered refrains, chords, and sequences with an added rondo on Psalm thirty-five alone.” He held the sheet up, his brow arched and smile crooked. Georgiana’s blush deepened, but she met his gaze with a lift of her brows.

“That one was especially pathetic and juvenile. I deserve a medal for suffering through playing it as is.”

“Heartless! But I shall not argue. Very well then, do you have one you wish to start with? One you have improved upon, as I have no doubt you are capable of, or one not so pathetically written in the first place?”

“This one here is particularly wonderful with not one note requiring improvement. Psalm sixty-three. I played it until nearly memorized.” She withdrew five pages from the scattered papers, handed them to Sebastian, and brushed past him to sit onto the bench.

Sebastian froze. In that second of her body passing his, one muslin-covered shoulder contacting his arm and the swish of her skirt gliding over his leg was enough to unbalance him. He inhaled and shook his head before bravely leaning over to place the music sheets on the piano rest in proper order. He prayed she was unaware of how his hands trembled, only to moments later lose his grip on one sheet when he was assaulted by the fragrance of rose water. He recaptured the slipping paper and quickly set it in place, reading the title as he did.

“Psalm sixty-three,” he whispered. Georgiana turned her head when he spoke, her face so close he could feel her warm breath and a loose strand of soft hair feathering over his cheek. “I wrote the music during this past month, after arriving in Paris. The scripture struck me in a unique way and I was—”

“Inspired,” she completed his sentence. Sebastian nodded, unable to speak or think coherently with her brilliantly blue eyes fixed on his. She seemed to be searching his very soul, begging for an answer to a question he did not understand, yet before he could interpret or ask the question heavy upon his heart, she turned her gaze away.

Sebastian straightened. Closing his eyes and swallowing, he pressed the back of one hand hard against his mouth, fighting to stop the sighing moan from escaping. His other hand hovered a mere inch away from the creamy skin at the nape of her neck.

Lord, help me!

Hastily he backed up, desire surging so strongly that he feared his control spiraling beyond the point of reason.
Distance, I need distance
. Woodenly, he moved to the edge of the instrument. It felt as if a bass drum was lodged in his chest and cymbals were being rung next to his ears. Looking at her was out of the question, Sebastian knowing his shredded regulation would fail, but after what felt like interminable hours of thundering silence he risked a sidelong glance.

Georgiana sat with her eyes downcast, on the keys where her immobile hands were spread. She was flushed and breathing deeply, the rounded flesh of her bosom rising with each inhalation to further upset Sebastian’s control. He searched her face for some clue as to her sentiments, but she was unreadable, especially with her head averted.

He no longer denied how alive and happy she made him. He delighted in their conversations and collaboration, was consumed with desire for her, and sensed that there was a hole within that only she could fill.
Is
she
as
affected
by
me
as
I
so
ardently
am
by
her?

She began to play the psalm. Her delicate fingers pressed the keys skillfully, the music arising from the belly of the piano heart-wrenching and vital. He studied her movements and had a sudden, vivid vision of those fingers touching his face in such a way. The sensation was so powerful that his knees weakened and his hands gripped the firm edge of the piano for support.

The ivory and ebony responded to her hands, bringing the music to life. Then she added the lyrics, wavering at first and then growing stronger. She sang of the longing for God, the thirst in one’s soul while searching through a dry land, the glory in finding that satisfying love that is richest of all, and the comfort attained in the watches of the night in knowing God is holding you fast. It was a spiritual psalm written by King David to worship his God.

Yet Sebastian heard a lover’s prayer in the phrases, just as he had when reading the verses and placing them to music, even if not recognizing why he was inspired to do so. He heard a desire for fulfillment, commitment, and communion that spoke to the thirst in his soul for her. His heart was open, bare, and ready to embrace what he had too long denied.

I
love
you, Georgiana Darcy, and I need you to be forever by my side.

The words tingled on the surface of his tongue. His lips hummed with the consuming epiphany. He was spellbound by emotion and the glory of her face, not immediately becoming aware that the song had finished.

Georgiana sat with misty eyes staring sightlessly at the keys. Her thoughts were similar to Sebastian’s yet with a twist. Emotions coursed through her veins—wild and glorious and frightening. Love indeed, yes. She may have been young and innocent, bemused and dazzled by Lord Caxton, and wrestling with a momentous decision offered by a worthy gentleman that she was attracted to, nevertheless she comprehended how intense her feelings toward Mr. Butler.

I
love
him.

It was surprisingly easy to admit. It was also agonizing. From a very young age, Georgiana’s interest and aptitude for the art of music had been recognized and endorsed. Books and compositions were purchased, Mr. Darcy housed the latest and best instruments at Pemberley, skilled musicians were hired as tutors, and dozens of performances were attended for her inspiration. She refused to consider herself a great proficient, but she knew gifted talent when encountering it. Weeks of immersing herself in Mr. Butler’s compositions, this one especially, revealed a genius, a masterful brilliance Georgiana believed in whether he discounted it or not.

Knowing that a remarkable talent was loosed upon the world made her heart soar and plummet into the abyss simultaneously.
His
passion
is
elsewhere, as it should be, not with me. My future is different.

“I take my earlier statement back,” she murmured, breaking the weighty quiet. “That is my favorite psalm. The composition was perfection, Mr. Butler. Your brilliance is astounding.”