At least two dozen men cheered, and moved farther into the entry, making room for even more to file in. Men with boisterous voices raised in conversation spilled into the entryway, in a trail leading down the steps all the way out to the street. Parker and Lawrence came in, followed by Lord Bristol and the other four in his group, wearing matching red neckcloths, then Mr. Barrett, and dozens more men.
“Make way for the champion!” boomed a familiar bass voice, though Ashley had never heard it raised that loud before.
The crowd parted, revealing Ravencroft carried aloft on the shoulders of Fairfax and Westbrook, with Sutcliff and Huntley holding his legs. Ravencroft ducked his chin, his cheeks flushed almost as pink as his neckcloth as he held onto Westbrook and Fairfax to keep from falling from his precarious perch.
“Make way, I said, make way!” Fairfax gestured with his free hand, and those who had drifted into their path stepped aside. The procession went straight to the music room followed by more and more people until it seemed every gentleman in London was trooping into the house, all of them talking at once.
Lord Mansfield must have spoken to the footmen, because the wall separating the front parlour from the music room suddenly swept back. Within moments, even the enlarged space began to feel crowded with so many people continuing to pour in.
Lady Templeton stood with her back against the wall, watching the river of masculine humanity, her jaw slack. Lady Mansfield directed the servants to bring in more chairs, though most guests seemed inclined to stand and circulate, analyzing tonight’s competitive performances. Two maids rolled trays with glasses and pitchers of lemonade into the hallway, and confirmed that tea would be ready shortly.
Ashley stood on her tiptoes, trying to see over shoulders and between bodies, searching for a glimpse of Ravencroft.
There. By the pianoforte, receiving so many pats on his back and shoulders and handshakes, jovially shoved back and forth, it was a wonder he was still on his feet. Someone grabbed him by his right arm. Ashley winced in sympathy as she watched him quickly retrieve his arm and hold it close to his torso, only the slight tightening at his eyes betraying his discomfort from the jostling of the barely healed wound.
“Sing!” called an unfamiliar voice over the din of dozens of conversations. “Sing the winning songs!”
“Sing! Sing! Sing!” The chant was taken up until almost every man present joined in. “Sing! Sing! Sing!”
“It’s tradition,” Lady Mansfield told Ashley amidst the shouting. “Lydia was at home in the country about to give birth the last time a Ravencroft group won, but it’s tradition for all the men of the Catch Club to gather at the home of the winner to celebrate.”
Now as Ashley looked over the crowd, she noticed that instead of plain white cravats as at typical society functions, most of the men wore neckcloths or cravats in a variety of colors and prints. Fairfax and the others in his group wore dark green, as usual. Four men she’d never seen before wore matching floral print cravats, and another quintet wore blue and green paisley. Hardly anyone, come to think on it, was wearing a white cravat.
Someone played a few notes, and Ashley found herself ushered to the sofa on the far side from the pianoforte, seated between Lady Bedford and Lady Mansfield. Georgia perched on one arm of the sofa. Lady Templeton and Deirdre shared the overstuffed armchair immediately to their left, and Aunt Eunice and Uncle Edward shared the other sofa with Mr. Barret. The rest of the men sorted themselves out until they either sat on the remaining furniture or stood around the edges of the room, allowing Ashley to see Ravencroft seated at the pianoforte, with Mansfield and Westbrook standing just behind him on one side, Parker and Lord Templeton on the other.
They launched intoThe Last Rose of Summer. David must have changed the arrangement, as it was now in a lower key perfectly suited for five male voices and only one instrument. The room quieted as they sang the first phrase, and the audience had gone utterly still by the time they reachedAll her lovely companions are faded and gone.
Ashley felt and heard David’s sisters gasp.
While the song had a pretty melody, the lyrics had always struck Ashley as being too melancholy. She disliked the image of picking the last surviving rose of the summer and scattering its petals on the ground. Several girls at the academy had rehearsed this song, and they’d just been singing words about a flower, with no deeper meaning. After her parents died, Ashley stopped seeing the appeal of songs that could make one cry.
Until now. The men imbued such emotion into the lyrics as they told the story of the song, they each had to be thinking of a lost loved one. Now the song was about a shared experience of loss to which everyone could relate.
She’d heard David sing before, but this… this performance was magical, an entirely different level of talent than he’d previously displayed. His voice was an exquisite instrument as much as the pianoforte he played with such skill, far beyond technical proficiency.
’Tis the last rose of summer, Left blooming alone;
They were alternating who sang lead on each phrase, the others providing a soft background harmony. David looked up from the music, his gaze darting around the room, settling on Ashley in time for his line:I’ll not leave thee, thou lone one!
Though there must be over a hundred people in the room, it felt as though he sang directly to her.
Her heart thumped as she remembered the first time she’d heard him sing that line. How he’d spoken those words to her just before he lost consciousness in the alley, still bleeding. Words that had made her think of taking care of him, seeing to his injuries, with not a thought for her reputation or other consequences until much, much later.
Ashley swallowed hard, willing herself to not tremble.
She felt Lady Bedford hold her left hand and Lady Mansfield squeeze her right, but she couldn’t take her eyes off David.
The next phrase went to Mr. Westbrook, and David glanced down at his music and the keys. Only now did Ashley realize Lord Mansfield’s quintet was not wearing the blue neckcloths they had in previous performances. Tonight they were each wearing a pink cravat.
The same shade of pink as the gown Ashley currently wore, a shade found in the dawn sky for only a few fleeting moments.
Don’t think I’ve ever worn pink,he’d said.From what little she could see of it, David’s waistcoat was also pink, embroidered with roses and leaves.
Her heart began to pound. It could mean nothing. Mere coincidence.
But he had to know she’d be here tonight, keeping Georgia company, waiting with his family for the men to return from the competition.
Parker sang, then Templeton. Mansfield did not solo but kept the bass line going in the vocal tapestry the men were weaving. And he did not sound the least bit like a bullfrog.
