The Diabolical Baron Read Online Free PDF Page B

repre sented safety. She tossed her cloak across the shield- back chair, then walked slowly to the window and leaned her aching forehead against the cool glass.
    Log ically, it made no sense to read so much into a single dance. Even a wallflower such as herself had stood up with a number of men during the Season.
    But she had never been singled out in quite this way. She felt in her bones that the encounter with Radford was significant. She had a mental image of herself as a twig that had been slowly drifting down a lazy creek. Now abruptly she had been seized by a current that could sweep her away from the life of music and peace she longed for.
    Caroline suddenly chuckled. Such a to-do over nothing! Jessica always said she had too much imagination. Time to put her worries in perspective. Taking a worn instrument case from the wardrobe, she perched on the bed and carefully removed her lute.
    It was a very old instrument, dating back to the time when the lute was fashionable and widely played. She stroked the silky cedarwood of its sound box lovingly for a moment, then tuned it and started to play an air by John Dowland.
    The lute had been a gift from her beloved teacher Signore Ferrante when she came to London earlier in the spring. Both of them had known matters would never be the same again; she would marry or stay in London with her aunt, and the closeness of master and student would change in the future.
    He had chosen the perfect gift. Whenever she played it she thought of him and the happiness they had shared in exploring ancient and modern music. While the pianoforte was her first love, the gentle lute was easily carried and could be played without disturbing the rest of the household. After plucking several Elizabethan tunes, Caroline rippled out an Italian lullaby, singing softly in her sweet true voice. Half an hour later she was ready for sleep.
    * * * *
    Rising earlier than the rest of the family, Caroline had a quick breakfast and set out for her Aunt Jessica’s house with a young maid trailing behind for propri ety’s sake. The housemaids took turns at chaperoning her, and debated among themselves whether it was easier to scrub steps or keep up with Caroline’s brisk pace.
    For all her fragile appearance, she was a vigorous walker and much preferred it to riding. Today she was to give her cousin Linda a lesson on the pi anoforte, and she blessed the excuse to be out early.
    A late night rain had left the streets bright-washed as a new-minted coin, and Caroline felt her natural serenity return as she mentally translated the street rhythms to music. Irrepressibly social sparrows chat tering overhead, peddlers making their rounds with fresh bread and early strawberries, a grave child on a pony headed toward Hyde Park with his proud papa—it would make a splendid concerto, or better still, an overture. As she softly whistled a melody, it was impossible to take seriously her anxieties of the night before.
    As an Army wife, Jessica had learned to keep early hours and her household was fully awake when Caro line arrived glowing with color from the fresh air. She looked around the small entry hall with pleasure.
    The house was not large, needing only two servants to be comfortably staffed. But it had a welcoming air and was possibly her favorite place in the world. The walls were light-colored and the uncluttered rooms free of crocodile-footed sofas and other such fashionable monstrosities. The furniture had the graceful lines of the middle eighteenth century, with some foreign ac cents Jessica had acquired while traveling with her husband.
    Being able to visit Jessica whenever she chose was Caroline’s compensation for the rigors of the Season. They had corresponded regularly ever since Caroline was old enough to write, but they seldom saw each other in person while Major Sterling was posted in distant places. After her husband’s death in the Battle of Salamanca, Jessica brought her daugh ter back to England and