Chapter 9

Chapter 9

It almost seemed as if the last rainstorm swept away the worst of the bad weather. Even though it was just the end of February, a lovely spring day and an invitation to a garden party at Clare Court arrived simultaneously.

Lenora and Dorian stood together, watching Iris take a turn at croquet. The dust ruffle on her skirt kept getting in the way. She shifted foot to foot in an attempt to get a better position with her mallet.

“That was an odd sort of dinner party the other night,” Lenora remarked.

Dorian did not even ask which dinner party. “It was, wasn’t it? That so often happens when the primary purpose of the gathering is to obtain money from the guests.”

“You kept trying to hint me away,” Lenora went on. “Was there a particular reason?”

“No, no,” Dorian replied. “Just that I know your father is in the last stages of his current manuscript and is doubtless low on funds as a result.”

Something about his tone did not ring quite true. Lenora gave him a sharp glance as Emma stepped up to the wicket to take her turn at starting her ball.

“That could be true, but that’s not the whole story, is it?” she asked shrewdly. “I’m your best friend. Are you keeping secrets from me?”

Bright colour rose on Dorian’s fair cheeks. “What makes you say that?” he asked.

“For one, you are blushing, which you only do when you are trying to hide something.”

“There is a secret,” Dorian admitted. “But it is not wholly mine to tell. But I promise I will not keep more secrets than I absolutely must.” Then, with something of an air of relief, he added, “Oh, look. I believe it is my turn.”

As he stepped to the wicket, Lenora admired the way he set his feet, positioned his arms, and swung at the ball. The brightly coloured wooden sphere went spinning across the grass, stopping just short of the first wicket. He was perfection in motion as he held the follow-through with textbook precision.

The party all managed to play through one set of the game, with Dorian declared the undisputed winner, when the sun went behind a cloud and with spring’s usual capriciousness, the weather took a turn for the worst.

Everyone ran for the veranda as a light mist turned into a harder rainfall. All the guests had just made it under cover when the skies seemed to open, and wind-driven rain came down in sheets.

“Let’s adjourn to the music room,” Dorian suggested. “There are tables, and I’ll ring for tea.”

The guests gladly threaded their way through the halls into the spacious room where a grand piano sat at one end of the room, and a fireplace with a cheerful fire in it was located at the other.

Some of the guests gravitated to the fire, while others grouped themselves around the pianoforte.

August seated himself at the keyboard and played the opening notes of a popular air. “Do you know this one, Iris?” he invited.

“Yes,” Iris replied as August used his right hand to imitate the part normally played by a flute. When the vocal part came around, she sang, “Lo, the gentle lark . . .” in a voice that was not strong but sweet and true for all of that.

Emma took a turn next, singing a comic rendering of “D’ye ken John Peel.” She was a trifle off on the deeper notes, but everyone came in strong on the “view halloo” of the chorus and agreed that it was a rousing performance, perfect for such a dreary day.

“What about you, Lenora.” August grinned at his sister wickedly. “I know you’ve been practicing.”

“I fear I caught a chill in the rain last week,” Lenora protested. “I daresay I would damage my voice.”

Dorian came to her rescue, saying in a self-deprecating way, “I can take Lenora’s turn. I have a piece I’ve been working on — just a trifling thing.”

August rose from the piano, gave Dorian a bow, and said, “It is all yours.”

Dorian’s piece began gentle and sweet, like a lullaby, then skipped and frolicked like a child. Soon, more sombre notes slipped in and progressed to a desperate sort of tarantella, then finally tapered off into something closely akin to a funeral march, ending with one solitary note mimicking the tolling of a bell. Then, unexpectedly, the melody turned back to the lullaby with which it had begun.

There was not a dry eye in the room as the piece ended. Then everyone burst into applause.

Dorian stood up from the piano, giving someone else a chance to take a turn. A couple sang a silly duet featuring giggles and simpers from the feminine half of the song.

Meanwhile, he and Lenora retired to a corner seating arrangement, carrying their cups of tea.

“That was lovely,” she said. “I don’t believe I’ve heard it before.”

“It is just a little something I’ve been working on,” Dorian said modestly.

“It is amazing,” Lenora commended him. “Will you write it up and publish it?”

“Perhaps. I’ve not quite decided what to call it,” Dorian said.

“Speaking of not knowing what to call something,” Lenora remarked, “it seemed as if you flirted with every lady at the dinner party the other night.”

Dorian made a moue of distaste at his cup of tea. “That is Jonathan’s strategy,” he said. “I am to flatter and compliment the various ladies until they open their purse strings and make a sizeable contribution. But I must do it without referring to our real work.”

Lenora knit her brows together in a thoughtful frown. “That scarcely seems ethical. And not your style at all. Really, Dorian, I think you should make an effort to disassociate yourself from Jonathan. He gives me an odd feeling as if his name might be Macbeth or some other ill-fated character.”

“I understand your point,” Dorian temporized, trying to think what to say next.

“Let me see,” Lenora pressed on jovially, “he has possession of a deep, dark secret you do not want revealed. He is your father’s only brother who has developed a miracle cure for melancholia, or you will come into a fortune if you do as he says.”

“You are shooting wide of the mark,” Dorian replied, “as you well know. Except on one point. Jonathan is my mother’s sister’s brother-in-law. She and my father were Emma’s godparents. There is something I’ve been avoiding telling you.”

“Aha!” Lenora exclaimed. “I knew you were keeping secrets from me. Is she to inherit Clare Park? The bulk of your fortune? What dire fate will befall you if you do not support Jonathan Holt’s ideas?”

“Nothing so dreadful as any of that,” Dorian temporized.

In the confines of the corner, Lenora could feel the warmth from his body. She admired the way his lips moved as he spoke, reluctantly revealing his points one at a time.

“What is it then?” she persisted. “We have been friends for such a long time. You can tell me.”

Dorian sighed. “When Emma’s mother died in childbirth, Jonathan was frantic. He seemed to feel that, as a renowned physician, he should have been able to save her. As it was, only the baby survived the birth.”

“That is sad,” Lenora said, “but so long ago it scarcely bears considering.”

“Oh, but it does,” Dorian explained. “My father promised that little Emma Holt would never lack for anything.”

“All right,” Lenora commented. “I can see that gives you a certain amount of responsibility, considering that you are his son. But what does that have to do with supporting Jonathan and his odd ways?”

Dorian turned his cup around and around in the tray of his saucer, reluctant to say the words that were likely to sever him from his childhood friend forever.

“Well?” Lenora queried. “Come on, out with it.”

“My father promised my hand in marriage when Emma and I were just babies. Emma was still in the cradle, and I was in my early school years. Father sat me down and explained all of it to me. He said that this was the only way he could be sure of Emma’s security in the future. I was just a child, so it didn’t mean much to me at the time.”

Lenora had a sinking feeling in her middle. “But now?”

“Now Jonathan is home, and he has brought Emma with him. I cannot put off the announcement or the event much longer.”

“Do you love her?” Lenora asked.

“I care about her,” Dorian said. “I’m not sure what you mean by love.”

Two bright spots on his cheeks told Lenora that he knew a great deal more about love than he was willing to own.

“Well, that’s it then, isn’t it?” Lenora said, bitterness tinging her voice. “Isn’t it a good thing I have set my sights on someone else?”

“I suppose it is,” Dorian said, although his manner suggested that he knew nothing of the sort. “I shall do my best to bring you and Reuben together as often as possible. But I fear there is little else I can do to bring the gentleman up to scratch.”

Lenora gave a little laugh. Even to her own ears, it sounded brittle and a little false. “I could scarcely expect you to force him to say, ‘I do’ at gunpoint.”

Dorian laughed in a way that seemed relieved at her response. “No, I suspect that would create a major scandal. In all events, I suspect Jonathan will expect the banns to be read soon, so you and I will have a narrow window of opportunity to press the issue. It would be a feather in my matchmaking hat to see you wed either before me or at the same time.”

“Another double wedding?” Lenora teased.

“Why not?” Dorian asked. “After all, you and I have been friends for years. Nothing could be more natural. We are practically brother and sister.”

“So familial,” Lenora agreed. “You fished me out of the brook more than once while I loyally did not tell that you pushed me in to start with.”

“Indeed,” Dorian said, clearly relieved that she was taking the news so well.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, sipping the last of their now-cold tea. Lenora was the first to speak. “I’m surprised you did not invite Reuben to the garden party.”

“In point of fact, I did invite him,” Dorian said. “But he was previously engaged. I did not ask him doing what. He is a busy person, after all.”

“I suppose so,” Lenora said, trying to give her words a lightness and enthusiasm she did not truly feel. Dorian and Emma? She had certainly not seen that coming. She hoped they would continue to be friends. Dorian had been a part of her life for so long that she could scarcely imagine not meeting with him, talking to him, or riding with him.

“Well, well,” she said aloud. “I suppose we all have to grow up sometime. I know I said that I regretted putting off doing my duty to my family. I guess I now understand why you did not more fully reply to me on the subject. Have you set a date?” She kept her voice steady, trying not to betray her inner turmoil.

“Not as of yet,” Dorian said. “Jonathan and I have discussed it a time or two. Emma does not seem to be in a hurry to set up housekeeping.”

“I see,” Lenora said, giving Doran a look of understanding. “Well, very few of us are masters of our fate. I shall look forward to dancing at your wedding.” She did her best to conceal her emotions, but in her heart, she knew she would dance with boots of lead.