The Necklace Affair by Ashley Gardner

The Necklace Affair by Ashley Gardner

Author:Ashley Gardner
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Ashley Gardner
Published: 2014-05-10T21:00:00+00:00


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Chapter Seven

Bartholomew would not return tonight, so I had to dress myself for the musicale. Bartholomew was convinced I could no longer do this on my own, but he kept my clothes so clean that they always looked fine, no matter how clumsy I might be at buttoning my own coat.

I peered into the small square mirror in my bedroom as I brushed my thick hair and fastened the braid across my chest. The regimentals of the Thirty-Fifth Light consisted of a dark blue coat with silver braid and dark cavalry breeches with knee-high boots. I wore the regimentals for social occasions, this being the finest suit I owned.

Imposing, Lady Breckenridge had written. I glanced into the aging glass again. She either flattered me or poked fun at me.

I took a hackney across London to South Audley Street and entered Lady Breckenridge's house with a few moments to spare.

Lady Breckenridge prided herself on her musicales and soirees, styling herself as one of the tastemakers of London. Therefore, her sitting room was filled to overflowing, and I sidled through the crowd as politely as I could.

Sir Gideon Derwent was there, his kind face breaking into a smile when he saw me. Next to him was his son Leland, a slimmer, younger version of the father, and a pace behind them, Leland's great friend, Gareth Travers. The Derwents were a family of innocents who invited me to dine with them at their house in Grosvenor Square once a fortnight. There, they'd beg me to entertain them with stories of my army life. Travers had a bit more cynicism, but he seemed to enjoy the unworldly companionship of the Derwents as much as I did.

We took seats for the performance. Lady Breckenridge, dressed in a russet gown that bared her shoulders, introduced the lady as Mrs. Eisenhauf, a young Austrian who was just beginning her career. A pianist played a few strains on her instrument, and the soprano launched into her aria.

I found myself floating on a cushion of music, sound that filled my entire body. The woman's voice soared, loud and full, then dropped to the tiniest whisper, never losing its strength and quality.

Those around me were enchanted as well, but after a time, I stopped noticing anyone else. I heard only the music, observed only the curve of Lady Breckenridge's cheek, her face soft with enjoyment. Lady Breckenridge might once have been the naïve young wretch she described, but she'd left that girl far behind.

For a moment, I forgot about necklaces, weeping ladies, de la Fontaine's unhappiness, and the cold rain outside. There was only this bliss of warmth and music, and Lady Breckenridge's smile.

The aria ended, not in a crescendo, but in a few low notes of pure sweetness. As soon as the lady closed her mouth, the room erupted in applause and shouts of Brava! Brava!

They surged forward to meet her, swamping Lady Breckenridge, who stood next to her protege. I wondered why Lady Breckenridge had brought me to this crush if she wished to speak to me privately as her letter had stated.



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