Amy Lake Read Online Free PDF Page A

pleased surprise and gave a short cry of approval, despite the countess’ admonition that young ladies should never show too much enthusiasm.  The quartet was a personal favorite.  “I cannot understand why they are not more popular,” I said—they were not, in London, at least recently—“as the works by Haydn are wonderful beyond anything.”
    He smiled.  “I quite agree.  I felt their lack in Cornwall.”
    Lord Davies has a lovely voice, deep and rich, and I found myself tempted to shut my eyes and let it wash over me as we began a discussion of the Sun Quartets, which were Haydn’s twentieth opus.  We were still talking when the first singer stepped forward to begin.  She may have performed ill, or been superb for all I remember.  My thoughts were entirely taken up by the man sitting at my left side.  
    * * * *
     
     
    A week later Cassandra and Lady Helen suggested that we all attend a fete in honor of the new Duchess of Avon.  Fetes in those days were an odd combination; town extravagance pretending to be a country fair.  The Prince Regent’s fete for the French royal family was the exception, of course, but on less exalted occasions guests were expected to wear the haut ton ’s idea of simple clothing.  Muslin instead of satins and silk, for example, with perhaps a ribbon in one’s hair.  The gentlemen dressed much as usual, although it was considered particularly fine to wear a cravat tied simply, with none of the elaborate folding so much in fashion. 
    One sees the occasional straw basket or shepherd’s crook.  Lady Milliforte brought a lamb to the Tindale’s fete a year earlier, but the rather messy result was only to make animals proscribed, by common assent, at even the most rustic occasion.
    For once I had a becoming dress in my own wardrobe, as the countess had never expressed objection to my choice of daygowns for informal wear.  Cassie, Lady Helen and I made, in fact, a rather charming group, as we all thought, in outfits of white lawn edged with lace or picot.
    “Good heavens,” commented Miss Barre as we entered the ballroom—not the duke’s grand ballroom to be sure, but a smaller space which could accommodate, I suppose, a mere one or two hundred couples.  An arch of roses outlined the entrance, and flowers were everywhere; the fragrance of massed cape jasmine, in particular, was overpowering. 
    “Are we supposed to be in a meadow?”
    “I should like to see the English meadow stuffed with cape jasmine.”
    “They are a tropical plant, are they not?  The duke must own an acre of hothouses.”
    “Look at Lord Pettigrew.  What do you suppose he is doing?”
    “I believe,” said Cassandra, “he is attempting to frolic.”
    “I beg your pardon,” said Lady Helen.  “I’m going to sneeze.”
    * * * *
     
    I saw him shortly after we arrived, a tall figure dressed severely in black and talking easily to his grace and the duchess.  I wondered if he knew them well, not that ’twas unusual for a viscount to be on familiar terms with such as the Duke of Avon; that depended entirely on family connections and—it must be admitted—the relative degree of wealth.  The latter might favor Lord Davies, although not, as best I knew, to any great degree in this case.  The duke was more than adequately rich.
    “Ah,” said Lady Helen.  “The Viscount Cardingham.”
    “He looks quite smart,” said Cassandra.  “Reggie, do you not agree?”
    “He does that,” I said, without thinking.  The severe black combined with the deep gold of his hair made Lord Davies the most handsome gentleman in the room.
    In my opinion.
    We did not approach the group—a duke is a duke, after all—and the dancing soon began.  Cassandra’s hand was immediately taken by Lord Jeremy, and Lady Helen’s soon after, by her longtime admirer, the Baronet of Asherton.  And I stood alone for only a few seconds.
    “Lady Regina.”
    The familiar, deep voice was nearly in my ear, but I was