Page 102 of Heartbreaker of the Ton
At first she’d shied away from Eleanor’s insistence that she sing for the company after dinner. But, encouraged by her sister’s gentle touch as she led Etty to the pianoforte where Arabella had already set aside the music, Etty finally relented.
“Possa trovare l’amore.”
As she sang the final words, the music trailed away, followed by silence punctuated by the ticking of the clock on the mantelshelf. Giving Arabella a quick, tight smile, Etty moved toward her seat, but Eleanor caught her arm.
“You sing well, sister. I trust you will sing for us every night while you’re here.”
“Oh, I-I did not think you’d want me to…”
“To what? Accept your sister’s hospitality?” Eleanor said. “You are welcome here for as long as you like. Having you here is a joy.”
“You flatter me,” Etty said, then regretted her words as Eleanor narrowed her eyes and looked away. She took her hand.“Forgive me, sister—I did not mean to imply that you were insincere. It’s just that I am unused to—” She broke off, her cheeks warming.
“Unused to praise that is genuine, as opposed to mere words from another who wishes to ingratiate themselves?”
Etty met her sister’s gaze, wincing at the intensity of Eleanor’s expression. “I always used to fear your insight,” she said. “Instead I should have welcomed it. I suppose the choice of song was yours?”
“Bella’s, actually,” Eleanor said, gesturing to Etty’s friend, who was rising from the pianoforte, a protective hand over her belly. Etty’s heart ached as Arabella’s husband leaped to his feet and gently guided his wife back to her seat.
“Lawrence, I’m perfectly capable of walking to a chair,” Arabella huffed.
“Yes, love, but I’m incapable of watching you struggle without feeling like an arse,” he replied. Arabella swatted him on the arm, and he winced and nodded toward Etty. “Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am, for cursing. That song were lovely, though I’m afraid I couldn’t understand a word of it. What was it?”
“‘È degna di amore,’” Arabella said.
“It means, ‘She is worthy of love,’” Eleanor added, slipping her arm through Etty’s. “Bella and I thought it appropriate under the circumstances. Now, sister, I think you’ve earned a rest. I—” She broke off and tilted her head to one side, a smile curving her lips. “Is that…?”
Footsteps approached, and the doors were flung open to reveal two men. The first, tall and broad shouldered, strode into the room, and Etty caught her breath as she set eyes on him—on the savagely handsome face that had claimed the hearts of every eligible debutante—and their mothers. With thick, dark hair that curled rakishly at the ends and brilliant blue eyes, the Duke ofWhitcombe was the handsomest man to have ever walked upon the earth. But he had eyes for none but his wife.
“Monty!” Eleanor let out a cry and ran toward him while he pulled her into an embrace, lifting her off her feet to spin her around, before claiming her mouth for a kiss.
“I didn’t hear the carriage,” she said, breathless. “We did not expect you before Saturday.”
“Ah, but, my love, when the opportunity presents itself to return to you early, I’d be a fool were I not to take it. And to return to such sweet music only convinces me that the duration of my absence has been too long.”
“Have you brought Olivia with you?”
“I believe my sister will enjoy the trappings of London more without her brother getting in the way,” he said. “But I’ve ensured Olivia’s virtue is safe by bringingthisreprobate home with me.”
He gestured toward his companion, who limped toward Eleanor and dipped his head in a bow. Etty recognized the Duke of Sawbridge—a committed rake whose piratical good looks had secured his position as Whitcombe’s main rival for female attention, but who was renowned for spending his considerable fortune contributing to the profits of London’s most notorious gaming hells and bawdy houses.
But, judging by the splint bandaged to the lower half of his right leg, his profligate lifestyle must have caught up with him. Perhaps a cuckolded husband had met Sawbridge at dawn and he now sported a bullet hole in the leg.
I hope it gives you much pain.
As if he’d heard her thoughts, Sawbridge glanced toward Etty. “Well, I’ll be damned!” he cried.
Whitcombe approached Etty and extended his hand. “The songstress, I presume,” he said. “For as much as I love my wife,I know that her talent lies in drawing, not singing. Forgive me, I don’t believe we’ve been…”
He froze, his voice trailing away. Then he glanced toward Eleanor before resuming his attention on Etty, his expression hardening.
“For what purpose areyouhere, madam?”
Etty flinched at the harshness in his tone.
“Monty, I invited my sister here,” Eleanor said. “Forgive me, I meant to—”
“You’vedone nothing to forgive, my love,” he said, his gaze still fixed on Etty. “As to this creature”—he gestured toward her—“no reasonable man could ever forgive her for what she did. And to prey on your good nature by slithering her way into our lives once more… Madam, what right have you to disturb our peace? Were you not content with destroying your sister’s life the first time that you seek to ruin her again?”
