Chapter Three An Evening Assembly

Chapter Three

An Evening Assembly

Two months later

“A ugust, darling, you’ve arrived at last!”

His mother’s bright voice was the first to greet him when he entered the noisy dining room. Lisburne Manor was a squat, sprawling, old stone castle, one he’d visited many times, and though it could be cold and drafty, it did offer plenty of space for populous gatherings. This dining room had been a great hall once, had, in fact, hosted the wedding banquet of Elizabeth’s parents: the Duke of Arlington and his Welsh bride Guinevere.

Now the duke and duchess sat at the head table, entertaining their youngest child’s wedding guests in advance of next week’s nuptials.

“You must sit with me and your father,” she said, guiding him among the long, roughhewn tables.

“Of course, Mama.”

“Look who it is,” said his brother Theo. Beside him, his twin sisters Isabella and Constance tended to their children while their husbands passed around plates of food. They peppered him with questions about his journey as their young ones crawled from their chairs to throw themselves at “Uncle Aw-gust.” He patted them on their heads and sent them back to their dinners. The room was full of friends and family, all chatting merrily.

It was a lot to take in after his cold, solitary journey. He’d ridden most of the way atop his horse, while his valet rode in the coach with the luggage and gifts. The faithful old retainer, who’d followed him through Europe—and the wilder streets of London—in his reckless youth, deserved his comfortable journey. August had preferred the wind and cold, bundled against the chill. An external chill, and a bit of an internal chill also.

Oh, he was not feeling low, but he was not feeling jolly either. It was no fun to go to a wedding when you, yourself, ought to have been married a long while ago. It made one embarrassed, but he’d agreed to come because when the Duke of Arlington sent a terse note strongly requesting one’s presence at his daughter’s nuptials, one was obliged to comply.

It was natural that someone as bright and sociable as Elizabeth would want all her family and friends about her for her Christmas wedding. He’d noticed dozens of carriages parked at Lisburne’s stables, some of them spilling over into fallow winter fields. Between his parents and siblings, his friends’ parents and siblings and children and wives, Lord Fortenbury’s extended family, and all their servants and baggage, they’d become a noticeable presence in this corner of the Welsh countryside.

At the inn where he’d stopped last night, a buxom housemaid had offered herself to him without using so many words. She’d made her availability known in constant flirtation as she served him at dinner, progressing toward the end to rubbing against him with burning glances. She’d pouted, disappointed, when he didn’t take advantage.

In a lighter mood, he might have, but this wasn’t London, and she wasn’t the sort of woman he was used to tussling with. She would have wanted sweet lovemaking, country simplicity, and his tastes were far from simple.

Instead, he’d retired to the inn’s small, firelit parlor and eavesdropped when conversation turned to the influx of aristocrats at Cairwyn. The local guests spoke of Lord Lisburne’s granddaughter and her Welsh wedding. Then they lowered their voices to trade gossip of Elizabeth’s ill-fated betrothals, and whether she was really a witch. Why did this nonsense travel from lips to ears all across the countryside?

He supposed it was because it was sensational, to talk about a witch or sorceress or whatever otherworldly thing they believed her to be. It didn’t help that she was daughter to the powerful Duke of Arlington, the wealthiest, most influential aristocrat in England, save the king.

Then there were her unusual green eyes, greener even than her mother’s. He was used to them now, but when people saw those eyes for the first time, with their rare, distinctive hue, they were often taken aback.

Poor Lisbet. His fingers had tightened on his pint as their gossip veered to the ridiculous, though he’d made no effort to defend her from the drivel pouring forth. Those simple-minded cretins hadn’t seemed the type to be reasoned with, and they weren’t worth his effort at the end of it all. Elizabeth would marry and be happy, and they could choke on their slander after making her the subject of so much lurid speculation. She did not deserve it. There was no one less lurid and evil than his sweet-natured piano student.

Former piano student.

He’d left those gossiping travelers and prowled about the inn’s common areas, finding a dusty piano in a side room which was only slightly out of tune. He’d sat down to play, to drown out their stupid insinuations. He’d played for Elizabeth, who deserved all good things, and none of the speculation that followed her.

Why, society’s whispered words had blighted her marital prospects, powerful father or no. Her previous fiancés…God rest their souls…had not been of the highest water, not what she deserved. Her current fiancé was honorable enough but dull as days-old dishwater. Perhaps duller.

What is more harmful to her then? his conscience questioned. The gossip of strangers, or using her for your twisted spanking fantasies?

Because at the end, he had come to enjoy spanking her too much. He’d begun to desire it in a very unwholesome way. The last spanking, the last “lesson,” had been a veritable orgy of self-indulgence on his part. He’d only just managed to refrain from taking down her thin knickers, from spanking her on her bare bottom as some sort of crescendo. It was not his right to see her bare bottom, nor spank her on it.

It was bad enough that he’d spanked her over her pantalettes with full abandon, until she’d broken down crying and he’d been obliged to take her into his arms. She’d pressed her head against the side of his neck and said, “Now you won’t have to listen to me play the piano so poorly.”

And he’d teased, “Oh, I imagine you’ll improve now that our lessons are done.”

And she’d laughed and cried at once, marking the end of the delirious chapter between them. Good, for he did not wish to risk their long friendship nor tarnish her trust in him, which seemed to have increased, strangely enough, since he’d begun spanking her.

Laughter rang out at the far end of Lisburne’s dining hall, a reaction to some joke or comment he’d missed in his daydreaming. Now that he was here, he must refocus his energies on playing the attentive wedding guest, and participate fully in the festivities. As he thought it, Elizabeth appeared at his shoulder, eyes bright with welcome.

“You’ve come to celebrate with us,” she exclaimed over the din in the dining room. “I’m so very glad you’re here.”

“I’m glad, too. I wouldn’t miss your wedding.”

Speaking with her publicly, before his whole family and hers, he felt strangely shy. This was the Lisbet he’d known since she was in short dresses, but now she looked womanly, full-grown. Her gown was cut lower than the ones she’d worn to his lessons. It was an evening gown, of course, and she was soon to be a bride…

“You’ve arrived just in time,” she said, embracing him. She squeezed him and let go, and took his face between her hands. “I hope it was a pleasant journey.”

“It was.”

“I’m to be married next week, you know.”

“That’s what I was told. What the invitation said.”

She laughed and he felt he was standing in sunshine, despite being in the dark, stony great hall.

“Do you know why I say you’ve arrived just in time?” she prompted.

“Because you’re to be married next week?”

“Yes, but also because we’re to have an assembly after dinner in the grand parlor. There shall be music and singing, and a great deal of merriment. Lord Fortenbury’s brother is to play the bagpipes and Ophelia has promised to sing an aria from her latest opera in London. Your father said he’ll play the piano for us, but please say you’ll play too, dear August.”

“Goodness, I must defer to my father. He’s a much better pianist than me.”

“If the bride-to-be asks you to play, you must play,” his mother admonished him, taking Elizabeth’s hand. Her hair was as blond as Elizabeth’s was dark, but they might have been twins in their impish delight. “Why, the two of you ought to play together, as teacher and student,” his mother continued. “Don’t you think so, darling?” She turned to August’s father, Lord Barrymore, who looked very much like August except for his salt-and-pepper hair.

“I wasn’t following the conversation,” he replied, “but yes.”

Of course, his mother and father weren’t aware of the turn their lessons had taken. He saw a faint pink blush spread across Elizabeth’s cheeks. Her gaze met his and skittered away.

“Tomorrow, if the weather’s nice, Grandpapa shall take all the guests for a walk in the woods to gather winter greenery to decorate the chapel,” she said. “I’m glad you’ll be able to join us for that. And Mama has planned a luncheon after, and then…” Her gaze strayed across the ballroom, to the table with Lord Fortenbury and his family. “Oh, and we’re to have a grand reception after the wedding as well. There will be fine refreshments and dancing, and music by Welsh artists from the village.”

“That all sounds very fun,” he said. “I look forward to all of it.”

“And I shall introduce you to some of my cousins here. Lord Fortenbury has brought some lovely cousins too, from Hampshire. You’ll have lots of ladies to dance with.”

“I’m happy to hear that.” He forced a smile, although the idea of dancing with Fortenbury’s cousins sounded awful.

Her gaze softened, her eyes holding his. “Thank you for coming all this way, dear friend. It wouldn’t have been as fun without you here.”

*

After dinner, August was swept along with the other guests into the adjoining parlor for music and refreshments. Sherry and port flowed, as old friends and interconnected families caught up on births, engagements, ailments, and adventures that had taken place since they’d left London.

August found a flowered velvet divan in a far corner and sipped port while he watched everyone mingle. The craggy stronghold seemed to burst at the seams with bantering guests, which was well enough if it made Elizabeth happy. Despite dinner recently ending, food and drink was carried about on trays, offered with grinning Welsh hospitality. Townsend and Marlow came by to chat with him a while, and Wescott a bit later, with Ophelia on his arm.

Elizabeth glowed, playing the hostess with consummate skill for one relatively young. Lord Fortenbury stayed at her elbow most of the time, with his thin smile and bland conversation. Wescott was cordial to him because the man was marrying his sister, but August, Marlow, and Townsend avoided him as much as politeness allowed. Marlow had named him, unkindly, Lord “Fruityberries” early in the courtship, and August had to be careful not to address him as such in their public interactions.

As long as Elizabeth was happy…

Soon the area around the piano was cleared, and his father played while Ophelia sang for the company. Wescott’s wife had been operatically trained and, as a musician, August appreciated her confident talent and flawless tone. His father, a noted composer, followed Ophelia’s performance with a concerto he’d written in honor of Elizabeth’s wedding, reducing her to tears. Lord Fruityberries—Fortenbury—rubbed her back awkwardly. It seemed to August that Elizabeth’s betrothed was not a lover of music. A shame.

The Fortenbury cousin played his bagpipes next, his questionable technique sending August for another glass of port, though he intended this one to be his last for the evening. He did not want to get drunk here, with so much of his family around, and his friends making comical faces that threatened to undo him. He didn’t want to hurt Elizabeth’s feelings; he knew how sensitive she was.

A few more guests stepped forward to sing or play—and some of these seemed already a bit too drunk. He noticed his mother looking around for him, and tried to blend into the floral upholstery, but she called his name and beckoned him until he was forced to respond.

“My son would like to play,” she announced. “Lord Augustine must play with his student—the bride-to-be.”

“Indeed, let’s hear the pupil and teacher together!” The Duchess of Arlington, Elizabeth’s mama, took up the call, making it impossible for him to refuse. “Let us enjoy her progress under your tutelage.”

August stood, feeling a flush rise beneath his cravat. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to play the piano with Elizabeth. Goodness, he adored the girl. It was only that the last time they’d sat on a piano bench together…

She came and took his hand, leading him to the piano. There was an immediate question of what they might play. Despite what the duchess said, Elizabeth had not progressed under his instruction. If anything, she’d regressed in her technique once they’d started playing their disciplinary game.

Don’t think of that now, before all these people.

He pulled his coat closer about his waist and was glad he’d worn his more restrictive, formal trousers. It wouldn’t be appropriate to grow aroused. His conscience continued to berate him. Not here, not now. For God’s sake, you’ll make people talk.

He couldn’t bear that, couldn’t bear to add to the gossipy burden Elizabeth already carried. He smiled, gesturing for her to sit first and make herself comfortable. She left plenty of space for him, but he still felt he crowded her as they bent over the available music. Fortenbury hovered nearby, smiling his banal smile. It wasn’t really a smile, August realized, then quickly pushed the thought away.

“What shall we play?” she asked. “Nothing too hard. I’m afraid I’ll blunder because I’m nervous.” Her soft voice was part hilarity, part dread. “I’ll make so many mistakes.”

He laughed at their situation, finally, a great, friendly laugh that made those around them smile, even though he and Elizabeth had whispered their conversation.

“Even if you make mistakes, your guests will applaud afterward.” And I won’t spank you, of course. Not here. “Let’s try this one,” he said, choosing a steady minuet like the ones he’d assigned as her teacher. “You can play the treble part, and I’ll play the bass.”

“I’m afraid there are too many notes in that piece. Isn’t there an easier one?” She grinned at him, her vivid eyes twinkling. “I haven’t been practicing at all.”

Naughty girl. The words were on the tip of his tongue before he pulled them back. He bit his lip instead and chose a different piece, a popular song from his parents’ era. It was a little more challenging than he’d expected. He hoped she was up to the task.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Goodness. I’ll try my best.”

Her best was not good enough. As they began to play, he felt transported back to his echoing music hall and her silly faces as she laid waste to the pieces he put before her. She’d learned something during their lessons together, but it wasn’t better musicianship.

“I’m cocking things up again, aren’t I?” she said beneath the din of her off-beat playing.

“Steady on.” He reached over to pick up some of the notes she was missing, not that it disguised the wrong ones she managed to play. His naughty Lisbet, blushing and laughing and announcing that it had to be nerves…

As they played shoulder to shoulder, he tried not to think about the spankings he’d given her, and about the one she was earning right now, embarrassing him in front of everyone. No, he couldn’t spank her anymore, even if everyone in the room had lost faith in him as an instructor.

“Remember, those should be G flats, my dear,” he said, catching a few more missed notes on her behalf.

She giggled, their feet tangling on the piano’s pedals as they neared the end of the piece. A few guests had started to sing the well-known lyrics. Or perhaps they were trying to cover up Elizabeth’s dreadful playing. He laughed too, at last. What could one do but laugh?

He added a great flourish to end the piece as his pupil flubbed the final chord to dissonant effect. Some clapped politely, while others chuckled.

“Terribly sorry,” said Elizabeth, turning to her guests. “I’ve never been much of a sight-reader.”

“G flats,” August added, forlorn.

“I paid you good money to improve her technique,” teased the Duke of Arlington. “What went on in those lessons?”

August turned to Elizabeth, holding her gaze for a fleeting second. Was he blushing as furiously as she was?

“We had biscuits and tea with Cousin Larissa, mostly,” said Elizabeth with perfect comic timing. “And sometimes played cards.”

More laughter. All he could think about was turning her over his damned lap. She’d been an exceptional spanking subject, equal parts penitent and restive.

“I did try my best to bring her along, Your Grace,” said August. “Some pupils are more inclined to musical excellence than others.”

His droll reply brought another wave of laughter. It was then he noticed the expression on Fortenbury’s face. While the other guests laughed, he looked grim and disdainful. Perhaps he felt August was sitting too close to his future wife.

If you could read my mind right now , thought August, you’d be more than disdainful.

“The next round of lessons shall be on your dime,” the duke teased Fortenbury as Elizabeth rose and crossed to her betrothed’s side.

“Lord Augustine was an excellent instructor,” she said to the assembled company. “It is entirely my fault I’ve not progressed to a more expert level. I try, but the notes flummox me when they cluster upon the page, and I haven’t had much time to practice.”

“It’s no matter,” said Fortenbury, taking her hand and patting it. “You don’t need to improve on your piano to be a proper wife. I’d prefer if you busied yourself with children and homemaking once we’re wed.”

“Well,” Ophelia piped up, “one can care for children and still practice music.” His friend’s opera-singing wife had three young ones, all of whom were knee-deep in music lessons.

“Of course, Elizabeth may continue her piano studies after marriage if she wishes,” said her mother the duchess. “Children or no.”

Fortenbury had frowned when Ophelia challenged him; the duchess’s subtle reproof made him go positively stiff. “It’s my personal belief young wives should focus on their families,” he said. “Why labor over music lessons, darling, unless you wish to seek attention on the stage?” He glanced at Ophelia, then gazed down at Elizabeth, the picture of the doting fiancé. “I shouldn’t want that for you.”

August looked at Wescott, who nearly had steam coming from his ears. Fortenbury had said “seek attention on the stage” as if it were a whispered string of expletives, knowing full well Wescott’s wife Ophelia regularly performed at fine opera houses and assemblies.

“If one is talented,” Wescott said tightly, “one should feel free to perform and share that talent. This isn’t Shakespeare’s day, when women weren’t permitted onstage.”

“We needn’t debate the matter, since my fiancée has little talent.” Fortenbury patted Elizabeth’s shoulder as she carefully arranged her expression, trying not to look hurt. August wanted to punch the man. Fortenbury was lucky Wescott wasn’t carrying one of his swords.

“Lord Augustine, will you play some more for us?” the duchess entreated as the room resonated with tension. The duke, too, had gone very red.

“Yes, please play for us without my clumsy fingers,” said Elizabeth, putting on a bright face. “Play something we can dance to. Let’s have dancing, shall we? That’s something I am good at.”

You’re good at a great many things , August wanted to say. And this Fortenbury you’re marrying is a braying ass.

But he couldn’t say that, so he turned back to the piano and played a few country dances, followed by the “Duke of Kent’s Waltz.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his parents dancing close, whispering together. His friends partnered their wives, and many of the unmarried guests paired off. Fortenbury did not offer a dance to Elizabeth, so Marlow took her for a spin while his wife Rosalind rested.

August looked up as he finished his musical set and found Elizabeth gazing at him, her expression unreadable. He glanced away, though he regretted it at once. He wanted to let her know he supported her, that she was not clumsy or inept at anything.

But it was too much to look at her from the piano bench after all they’d shared.