After a moment the cat deigned to leave Georgia, sniffed at Ashley’s hand, and daintily ate the proffered cheese. He graciously allowed Ashley to pet him and meowed for another piece.
As there were only two toasting forks, they took turns until everyone had toasted cheese on toasted bread. Smokey took care of any crumbs before returning to Georgia’s lap for more cuddling.
Between snacks, the cat circled the floor beneath the bird cage. It sat on its haunches and stared up at the cage, then at the nearby furniture and windowsill as though calculating distances and angles.
“You’re not getting up there, you naughty boy,” Georgia called to the cat, patting her leg. “Come sit with me.”
Tail twitching, Smokey returned to her lap.
“You must have a hundred things to do if you are getting married in three weeks,” Ashley said, arranging cheese on her toast.
“True, though I think Mother is enjoying the planning more than I. She didn’t have much say in Parker’s wedding breakfast last spring.”
“You could have been married last autumn if Lawrence was a faster learner, or better musician.” Georgia poured each of them a glass of lemonade.
Clarissa shrugged one shoulder. “At least now I can be sure that he genuinely cares for me,” she said. “And he learned he has to take me seriously.”
Ashley’s confusion must have been evident.
“It’s a Linford family tradition,” Georgia explained. “Going back at least five generations, the Linfords have only married those who share their affinity for music. Prospective spouses don’t have to be talented singers or musicians but they do have to make an effort. Diana would not agree to marry our father until he serenaded her. "
“Every now and then he sings and plays the same song for her again.” Clarissa offered a bit of her toasted cheese and bread to the cat. “And then they inevitably disappear up the stairs for a few hours, hand in hand.”
Georgia waved away the image her sister’s words conjured of her amorous parents. “I don’t care about a suitor’s title or wealth,” she said, “but I won’t accept any offer unless he can sing or play for me, too.”
Clarissa turned to Ashley. “Do you have any similar requirements for a suitor?”
Ashley sipped lemonade while she collected her thoughts. “I doubt anyone will offer for me, other than perhaps a widower seeking a mother for his children.”
Clarissa and Georgia exchanged glances. “It seems to have worked out for Diana and our father,” Georgia said.
“I meant no offense,” Ashley quickly said. She stroked the cat. “The men who so far have sought an introduction to me are unsuitable.” She winced as an image of Sir Rupert’s face flashed across her mind. Georgia gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Or much older. I don’t think a suitable man with less than forty years in his dish has even spared a glance for me.”
“Deirdre caught herself a young husband,” Georgia said. “And she is at least as old as you.”
Ashley forced herself not to wince at the reminder of her advanced age for a woman on the Marriage Mart, since she had been the one to bring up the subject.
“Not the same circumstances at all.” Clarissa skewered another piece of cheese and held it over a coal. “Parker has been in love with Deirdre since he was fifteen and she was nineteen. He was devastated when her parents arranged for her to marry a viscount three times her age.”
“But her husband obligingly stuck his spoon in the wall two years ago,” Georgia added. “Parker sent her a note of condolence, they continued corresponding, and they were married one year and one month after the viscount was put to bed with a shovel.” She stroked Smokey, who had curled up on her lap, his crooked tail lazily swishing back and forth. “If you want to be like Deirdre, we can help you search for a suitor who is, what, twenty? Twenty-one?”
Ashley let out a self-conscious laugh. “No, thank you. I don’t see marriage in my future. I am determined to enjoy the Season but I intend to find another position at a ladies’ academy before the end of May, when my aunt and uncle return to his plantation. I have already sent out several employment inquiries.”
“As you say.”
Ashley gave Georgia a curious glance. Georgia was busy scratching under the cat’s chin.
They chatted a little longer, until Clarissa yawned and bade them good night.
Ashley and Georgia finished getting ready for bed, blew out all the candles except one, and climbed into the enormous tester bed. Smokey jumped up, turned in a circle, and curled up at their feet. The down mattress was even more comfortable than Ashley’s bed at Uncle Edward’s townhouse. She indulged in a luxurious long stretch and tucked the blanket under her chin.
“I can think of at least one suitable gentleman who has spared a glance for you.” Georgia blew out the candle on the bedside table. “Someone who is not a widower, and who is under forty.” She counted on her fingers. “He’s thirty, to be exact.” She plumped her pillow. “As much as I like having you for an adopted sister, I think I would like having you for an aunt even better.”
Chapter 7
Refusing to toss and turn any longer, David got out of bed, tied the sash on his banyan, and lit a candle before opening the cover on the clavichord. Being such a quiet instrument, it seemed the least likely of those available to disturb anyone.
He warmed up with a few scales and tried to play Pachelbel’sCanon in D.It had been too long; he’d forgotten too much. He lit more candles and dug through the music folders until he found the sheets he wanted. Now with the music, he was able to play the entire piece through, albeit slowly.
