“Simon Beckham is my man of business. He has presented himself as the duke at my request. Do not hold this deception against him.”
“This was not well played, Burwood,” the Duke of Ashton said, although he appeared sympathetic.
“I’m sure he has his reasons, Harry,” the duchess said.
“But the new duke is a Pendrake,” Lord Harcourt said. “Your surname is Merrick.”
“We can explain that, my lord,” his mother answered. “Francis agreed to rear Drake as his own, but he was not Drake’s father.”
Chaos erupted as people shouted more questions.
He raised his hands. “Please. Please. I promise I will explain everything.”
Honoria wove her way to the front. Her voice was loud and clear and sounded exactly like an angel’s. “His Grace may not wish to make an excuse for his deception, but I believe I understand his reasons. May I demonstrate?”
Demonstrate?
“With your permission, Your Grace. If everyone would follow me to the music room.”
Like a lovesick pup—which in truth he was—he, along with the crowd, followed Honoria through the house to the music room.
Once there, she took a seat at the pianoforte.
What was she doing?
The telltale sign of trembling hands gave her away. Even a wisp of hair hanging seductively at her nape fluttered from the pulse at her neck. She took several deep breaths, then placed her fingers on the keyboard. “Your Grace, would you be so kind and assist me?”
Unsure what she had planned, he took tentative steps toward her. He leaned down and whispered, “What are we doing?”
“William and Mary. A duet as before.”
In her humility, she underestimated her skill at the keyboard, and she played the opening measures perfectly.
Too stunned by her request, he was unable to force the first notes and words out. But her tremulous voice and panicked eyes brought him to his senses, and he joined her in song.
Treacherous tears clouded his vision, and he blinked them back. And although her voice grew strong and sure, his quaked and broke from the emotion flowing through him.
At the last stanza, he dropped to his knees before her and sang.
Forgive me, dear maid, then William he said,
Your love it was only I tried.
To church let’s away, for ere the sun sets,
I’ll make little Mary my bride.
Grateful his back was to the crowd—the gathering tears dripping down his cheeks—he whispered, “Do you forgive me?”
“A little louder, please.” Her smile lit up his world.
“Do you forgive me? And will you marry me?”
Honoria’s heartbeat a rapid tattoo throughout the whole song. The fear of playing and singing in front of others, especially at such a large gathering of members of theton,was nearly paralyzing.
But Drake’s bravery in admitting his deception had given her courage.
He swiped at his face, and her tears mirrored his.
