With an exasperated sigh, she gave up. Shutting her book with a snap, she pushed back her chair.
She would go and find Amelia, for she was serving no purpose here.
CHAPTER FOUR
BY THE TIME Lenore learned of her brothers’ plans for that evening it was too late to circumvent them. She entered the drawing-room, her usual serenity under threat by the thought of what might occur once the assembled company, growing hourly more relaxed, embarked on an impromptu programme of musical events. Her brothers, she was well aware, could draw upon a large stock of ribald ditties; quite how she was to keep them sufficiently in line cast the shadow of a frown on her face.
Eversleigh noticed. When he came to claim her for dinner, Lenore detected the ghost of a smile and a faint questioning lift to his brows.
“I confess to being curious, Miss Lester, as to what fell occurrence has succeeded in marring your calm.”
“It is nothing, Your Grace. Pray disregard my megrims.”
Jason threw her a glance of haughty superiority. “Permit me to inform you, my dear, that I have no wish whatever to overlook anything that brings a frown to your fair face.”
His bombastic tone had the desired effect. Lenore’s lips twitched. “If you must know, I am not entirely at ease over my brothers’ plans for us to entertain ourselves with musical renderings.”
A chuckle greeted her admission. “Confess that it is not our talents that concern you so much as the possible choice of subject a
nd I’ll undertake to quell the high spirits of those of the company inclined to excess. Or,” he amended, as they came to a halt beside her chair, “at least keep them within the pale.”
Frowning openly, Lenore looked into his eyes, remembering her last bargain with him. “I am not sure that you can do so, Your Grace.”
“Doubts, Miss Lester?” Jason allowed his brows to rise in mock offence. Then he smiled. “Relax, my dear, and let me handle the matter.” When the footman drew out her chair, Lenore sat and settled her skirts, casting a puzzled glance at Eversleigh. As he moved to take his own seat on her right, Jason cocked a brow at her, his smile impossible to deny. “If you want to muzzle licentious behaviour, who better to turn to than a rake?”
Unable to find an acceptable answer, Lenore gave her attention to her soup.
When the company adjourned en masse to the music-room, set at the rear of the house, Lenore found Eversleigh by her side. “Invite the Melton sisters to play.” Together, they strolled into the large room. “I take it you play the pianoforte yourself?”
“Yes,” Lenore replied, wariness echoing in her voice. “But I don’t sing.” Her escort merely smiled his charming smile and escorted her to a seat in the front row. To her surprise, he sat beside her, stretching his long legs before him, giving every evidence of honouring the proceeding with his full attention. Lenore eyed him suspiciously.
His plan turned out to be simplicity itself. At his urging, Lenore invited one after another of the more youthful of the ladies to play or sing. Lady Henslaw, a matron with a distinctly racy reputation, followed Lady Hattersley. Under Eversleigh’s gaze, Lady Henslaw preened, then gave a surprisingly pure rendition of an old country air. The applause, led by Eversleigh, left her ladyship with a smile on her face. Mrs. Ellis followed, with a predictably innocent song. She was supplanted by Mrs. Cronwell, who, not to be outdone in maidenly accomplishment, played a stately minuet with real flair.
From the corner of her eye, Lenore saw her brother Harry shift in his seat. Jason saw it too. “Harry next.”
Lenore turned to him, consternation in her eyes. “I do not think that would be wise, Your Grace.”
Jason dropped his gaze to her face. He smiled, confidence lighting his eyes. “Trust me, Miss Lester.”
With a sigh, Lenore turned and summoned Harry. Her brother stood and strolled forward, his walk just short of a swagger. Taking his stance in front of the audience, he drew breath, his eyes scanning the expectant faces before him. Harry blinked. Shifting his stance, he swept the audience again, then, with a slight frown, he waved at Amelia. “Come accompany me, coz.”
Without fuss, Amelia went to the piano stool. The song Harry chose was a jaunty shanty, boisterous but in no way ineligible.
To Lenore’s relief, her brother appeared gratified by the thunderous applause that crowned his performance.
“Ask Frederick Marshall.” Lenore turned at the whispered command. Raising her brows in question, she was treated to a look of bland innocence. “He sings very well,” was all the explanation she received.
That proved to be no more than the truth. With Amelia at the keys, Mr. Marshall’s light baritone wended its harmonious way through one of the bardic tales, holding the audience enthralled. The tumultuous applause at the end of the piece was entirely spontaneous. The performers exchanged a delighted smile.
“Try Miss Whitticombe next.”
Lenore reacted immediately, no longer doubting her mentor’s wisdom. Miss Whitticombe held the dubious distinction of being the only unmarried female guest. A plain girl, she had accompanied her mother, a dashing widow. Miss Whitticombe opted for the harp, proving to be more competent than inspired. Nevertheless, her effort was well received.
“Now Jack.”
Lenore had to turn in her seat to locate her eldest brother. He stood at the back of the room, shoulders propped against the wall, a look of thinly disguised boredom on his face. Lenore waved to attract his attention. “Jack?” Even from across the room, she saw his eyes narrow as he straightened, then flick from her to Eversleigh and back again.
“No, no, my dear. It’s you who should do the honours of the house.” A smile Lenore knew boded her no good appeared on her sibling’s face. “I suggest a duet. The gentleman beside you will no doubt be happy to join you.”