His father’s handwriting. Going by the dedication, lyrics, and the location of the sheets, songs his father had composed to sing privately to his wife. Two were unfinished. Father had scratched out and started rewriting the second verse on one, and the other had an incomplete melody and very little harmony.
When he was growing up, his parents often held hands and regaled their children with the story of how Mother had been courted by no less than two future dukes and a marquess. Her eyes sparkling with mischief, she told how she had chosen a mere earl because he had composed a song for her and she liked his voice the best of all her suitors. They often performed duets, Mother on her harp, Father playing pianoforte, singing together.
David blinked back tears.
Gilroy studied the Gainsborough landscape hung above the fireplace as though he’d never before seen it, utterly entranced, his back to the room.
Clearing his throat, David put the papers away and closed the drawer. “I believe I will take up my old room after all.”
* * *
Liam sat down hard, almost missing the chair’s seat. “You’re moving to the townhouse? Today?”
Part of Liam’s reaction, David realized, was shock that David was moving to a place he’d refused to even step foot in for over two years. There was also a little melancholy—for both of them—as they’d shared living quarters for those two years whenever David was in London.
David shrugged. “Like swallowing a live toad first thing in the morning. Best to just get it over with.” He let out a jaw-cracking yawn. “After my nap, that is.” He clapped Liam on the shoulder. “It’s a big house. If funds get tight, you can always move in with me.”
Liam grinned. “I may just take you up on that.”
Two days later, David took a fortifying breath as he exited his coach in front of the Mansfield townhouse, accompanied by Liam, Parker, and Deirdre. They went directly to the music room where Templeton and Mansfield were warming up.
“There you are!” Diana left her lyre to greet David with a hug before leading him over to get the viola da gamba case from the cupboard. “Everything all right? We haven’t had flooding at Linford Hall in at least five years. I didn’t think this spring had been particularly wet.”
David raised an eyebrow at Liam.
Liam gave a barely perceptible shrug as he took his mandolin out of its case.
“Had more to do with diverting one of the drainage ditches. It’s all taken care of now. Mr. Ogden has things well in hand.” David took his place, settled the viola da gamba on his calves, and began to warm up.
“Mr. Ogden always has. Father could have played more music if he’d been less of a nuisance tracking his steward’s every move.” Lydia handed out music. “We only have six days left before the competition. I don’t know if you boys can be ready.”
Parker stood beside Templeton, both of them looking over Mansfield’s shoulders at the music on the pianoforte, while Diana helped Deirdre settle on the sofa with her embroidery. “Then let them get to it, you silly goose,” Diana said.
David hadn’t touched a bow in over two weeks. He’d played nothing at Liam’s but the clavichord while he tried writing music, and the pianoforte at his townhouse when he wrote or rehearsed. As he drew the bow along the strings, the antique wood case of the viola da gamba reverberated with warm tones as though it had missed being played. David allowed himself a few moments to close his eyes and picture his ancestors who had played this instrument before him, see the joy on the face of the audiences who had heard it, going back to King George I. The instrument was a tangible connection between him and his father all the way to the great-great ancestors who had died a century before David was even born.
Ashley loved to hear him play this instrument. He remembered the look of delight on her face, her lips slightly parted. Her utterly distracting mouth. He hadn’t been able to look at the audience that first night he’d filled in for Parker. Couldn’t risk looking at her and losing his concentration.
At Lydia’s command, they began to play and singThe Last Rose of Summer, a tune beloved by the public though a bit melancholy for David’s taste.
He’d looked at Ashley the last time he sang this. She’d been staring right back at him, her mouth open in a slight “oh.” He’d almost forgotten to make the key change, nearly played the wrong chord. He imagined she was in the room now, just out of his sight. Maybe seated behind the sofa, where sometimes Georgia or some of her younger siblings would sit and listen.
They started the next to last phrase when he noticed Lydia had stopped conducting. She simply stood there, arms at her sides. Staring at him, her jaw slack.
She roused herself enough to bring her hand up and cut them off in unison at the end.
As though in a daze, she sauntered toward David. “You’ve been rehearsing.”
He wasn’t sure if she was accusing him or was in shock. “You and Mansfield want us to play this for the competition. We’ve rehearsed it several times.”
She put her hands on her hips. “No, I meanyouhave been practicing. By yourself. I can hear it in your voice. It’s stronger. Your passaggio, your transitions between octaves, are smoother.”
“He did sound as sweet as a twelve-year-old hitting that high C sharp.” Diana got up from the sofa and advanced on him. “Youhavebeen practicing!”
“We always know where he is in the house.” Deirdre set a stitch, a smile tugging up the corners of her mouth. “He can’t seem to go more than a few minutes without singing.”
Startled, David glanced at Parker for confirmation. Did he really make that much noise?
“Or humming,” Parker added with a big grin, not the least bit teasing. “Or impersonating a violincello.”
