That was...odd. “A curious and perhaps distressing subject.”
“Well,” she said, with a bit of a shrug. “Really, it is more about marriage.”
He was certain he wasn’t understanding her. The book was about unrequited love and marriage? “One would assume in a marriage all love is requited.”
She had to think about that. “I suppose,” she said after a beat or two.
Now he wasn’t certain this book even existed, but he had to admire Miss Raney’s approach. He could confidently say no one had ever made up a book or claimed to be fond of reading to impress him. “I will take this as a recommendation to read the book.”
She smiled, clearly delighted. “I do hope you enjoy it.”
“My lord?”
Mateo turned. Mrs. Forsythe was at his side. “For your pleasure, Miss Porter has offered to sing for us this evening. Shall we retire to the music room?”
He agreed that they should, and away the guests trooped to the music room across the hall.
That room was painted yellow and white. A piano was angled before chairs that had been arranged in rows. It was crowded, and there were not enough seats for the number of people who wanted to hear Miss Porter’s musical performance. Mateo was given a seat at the front of the room beside the Forsythes and Lord and Lady Iddesleigh, which unnerved him. He didn’t like the idea of everyone watching him watch Miss Porter. “Really, I can stand—”
“I wouldn’t hear of it,” Mrs. Forsythe insisted. “You are our honored guest.”
He reluctantly sat. There was quite a lot of shuffling about as more people entered, and then Miss Porter came to the front of the room in the company of the pianist. Mateo considered her fine looks once again. Maybe he’d been too hasty in his mental dismissal of her for not knowing geography. He was only human—a dimpled smile could make him forget that the woman didn’t know that France was just across the Channel.
The pianist sat and played a chord or two, but before Miss Porter could begin, an elderly woman wandered to the front of the room in search of a seat. Mateo saw his opportunity and immediately stood and helped her into his, ignoring Mrs. Forsythe’s loudly whispered protests, then quickly made his way to the back of the room to stand with those who had not been lucky enough to find a seat.
Miss Porter began to sing. The man standing next to Mateo slinked away, and when he did, Mateo found himself standing next to Miss Woodchurch.
She glanced at him from the corner of her eye and smiled wryly.
He whispered, “Fancy meeting you here. You didn’t mention you’d be in attendance this evening.”
Miss Porter’s first high note was a bit of a screech that caused them both to recoil slightly.
“My invitation came quite late,” she whispered in return.
“Are you enjoying the evening?” he whispered as Miss Porter fixed her gaze at some point above everyone’s heads.
“Not particularly,” she whispered back.
Just then, the music swelled and Miss Porter’s singing grew louder. Not in the style of opera, which one might expect from such an open mouth and earnest look. But more in the style of a hyena.
The song, from what Mateo was able to understand, was about a soldier returning from war, whose love had abandoned him. Another case of unrequited love? Whatever the lyrics meant to convey, Mateo was too distracted to notice or care, because the woman continued to sing off-key, screeching the high notes. He wanted to throw his hands over his ears and spare them, but of course, he had to bear it like every other poor soul in the room.
If anyone else noticed how horribly the woman sang, they did not show it. There was no looking about, no one trying to pull her off the stage. Mateo glanced at Miss Woodchurch. She glanced back with dismay. Mateo couldn’t help himself—he bit his lower lip and feigned concern that something was terribly amiss.
She tried to suppress a smile, but she was unsuccessful. So she looked down, hiding her expression from anyone who happened to look in their direction. Anyone looking would still be able to see the slight tremor to her shoulders as she swallowed down her laughter.
The song finished on a very high and long note that got sharper and sharper with the duration. When Miss Porter was done, she smiled brilliantly, and the room applauded, and Mateo and Miss Woodchurch looked at each other with wonder.
“I’m so happy I’ve had the opportunity to hear your future wife sing.”
Mateo choked back a laugh. “You’ve confused me with another future husband.”
The music began again and Miss Porter settled in for another shrieking, and Mateo and Miss Woodchurch leaned back in unison, trying to escape it.
The second song was decidedly worse than the first.
When the young woman had taken her last bow, Mr. Forsythe came for him directly, and Mateo lost Miss Woodchurch in the crowd. After a time, when he couldn’t possibly think of another thing to say, and Lady Aleksander was having a brandy and talking loudly with two women, he thanked his hosts and bid them all a good night, then walked directly to the door to escape before Lady Aleksander could accost him.
