Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Though Lord Augustine could be uncomfortable as a teacher.
As she thought it, he appeared in the parlor’s doorway, crossing to greet her and her chaperone. She noted his fleeting bemusement as Larissa looked up with a mouthful of crumbs. They had biscuits aplenty at Arlington Manor, they truly did, but Larissa swore Lord Augustine’s were the best in England, a point she made each week.
Lord Augustine accepted her compliments with grace and confessed to recently polishing off a tray in his study. Elizabeth knew it for a lie—she could sense, at least, when her dear friends lied—but he probably said it to make Larissa more comfortable about her own conspicuous consumption, so in a way, it was a kind lie. Lord Augustine was unfailingly kind.
“Are you ready for our lesson?” he asked Elizabeth.
She felt the flush rise again from her neck up to her ears, and hoped the looped bun at the back of her neck hid some of the color. She was not silly over Lord Augustine. Truly, she wasn’t. He was tall and dashing, with hair as black as hers and piercing, dark-hazel eyes, but he was practically a brother to her, and older besides.
She stood and reached for her music, ignoring the trembling in her fingers. Silly fingers.
“Would you like to join us for the lesson, Cousin Larissa?” he asked her companion.
“Oh, no, my lord. I’ll only be a distraction. I’ll wait here and keep out of your way.”
And eat biscuits and lounge before the fire, thought Elizabeth. Every week he invited Larissa to their lesson, and every week she demurred.
They’d come to count upon it.
The two of them set out for the music hall, located some distance from the parlor where Larissa relaxed. August walked slightly ahead of her, which was just as well, since she was still in full blush. He wore a fine navy blue coat today, and country trousers of heavy linen that, to be frank, clung revealingly to his muscled posterior and set off its fine form to excellent effect. Not that she looked. Well, she didn’t stare.
“How is the weather outdoors?” he asked as they traversed the long corridor. “There were clouds this morning.”
“Still some clouds, but a bit of sun too.”
“That’s good to hear. How are your mother and father?”
“They’re well and send their regards. In fact, they dined with your parents and Lord Theodore last night.”
“And you?” he asked, turning back to her.
“Of course, me. Your brother was very shy and retiring. Do you find him so?”
“Theo’s always been shy. But in good appetite, I imagine. He loves eating at Arlington Hall, for your cook is arguably the best in Oxfordshire.”
“And a terror to everyone. Papa threatens to fire Marcelle, but his food is too good.”
He cast her a reproving look. “You might invite me to dinner now and again.”
“You’re always welcome, Lord Augustine.”
He smiled and turned away. She clutched her music, thinking how handsome he could be when he was in a buoyant humor. Her betrothed, Lord Fortenbury, was handsome too, but in a more…well…astringent way. Of course, Lord Augustine was older than Lord Fortenbury, more “seasoned,” as a gossiping acquaintance had once said rather suggestively.
“I’m looking forward to our lesson,” he said as they passed the ballroom, beyond which the paneled music hall awaited.
“I always look forward to our lessons.” She glanced down at the music he’d assigned, a piece of advanced difficulty by Johann Sebastian Bach. “I’ve practiced every day.”
“I rejoice to hear it.”
When they reached the carved double doors, he ushered her within. She loved his formal music room, with its polished wood walls and high windows that overlooked a picturesque garden and small lake. The grand piano took pride of place in the center, with a cozy sitting area in one corner and imposing shelves of music along the far wall. Of course, such an accomplished musician needed a worthy music chamber. She spun about, appreciating the well-appointed surroundings before she crossed to the piano and sat upon its polished wood bench. She fumbled her music trying to arrange it upon the stand until August was obliged to assist her.
“There,” he said, opening it to her lesson’s page. He had made some notes there the week before, about where she ought to concentrate on tricky fingering, and where to improve upon dynamics. Elizabeth was no novice at the piano, which was why her father had engaged Lord Augustine as her teacher. August was a virtuoso, just the sort of instructor to continue her development…
But that hadn’t really been happening.
“Begin when you’re ready,” he said, sitting in a chair beside her. “And remember the importance of posture.”
“Yes, my lord.”
She straightened her spine and curved her fingers in the way he’d taught her, to caress the keys, he’d said. She took a deep breath and began to play the intricate minuet, striving for accuracy if not musicianship. In the end, she found she could not manage either one. Her tempos were clumsy, her phrasing non-existent. She missed at least one-third of the accidentals, so the piece sounded haunted, with awkward melodies falling flat.