Page 45 of A Single Obsession

“Why don’t you play for us, Elizabeth?”

All eyes turned toward her, and heat burned her cheeks as she tried to decline, but her aunt insisted.

“A little reluctance is becoming, but do not overdo it. Take your place at the pianoforte and delight us.”

Eliza had no choice but to move to the instrument, feeling as if she were on the way to the gallows. Her performance would delight no one. If she could overcome her nerves to sing, it would distract her audience from her indifferent playing, but as she felt her throat go dry at the prospect, she dared not try.

She sat down, closed her eyes, and drew a deep breath, wishing she were as talented as Charlotte. Eliza might despair of her younger sister’s fears and foibles, but even she, with no appreciation of music, could tell that when Charlotte played, the keys sang.

After rifling through the printed sheets for what seemed like hours, she found a sonata she was familiar with, which she hoped would not reveal her lack of talent. She bashed out the piece as best she could, missing out the sections that were too difficult, and with a huge sigh of relief, she reached the end without disgracing herself.

The other ladies gave a weak round of applause, and Harriet moved to take her place.

Lady Whitlow must have invested a lot of money in music masters, and her daughter must have spent many hours practising, because her performance put Eliza to shame. Lady Frances applauded her sister-in-law loudly and begged for another piece.

Eliza decided it would be better for her not to play in public if she could help it, and certainly not directly before or after Harriet, as it would be bound to reflect badly on herself.

The evening dragged. When her rival tired of performing, Lady Harting called for the card table to be set up and invited them to join her for a game of whist.

It was an invitation that could not be refused. Eliza’s heart sank further. She was even worse at cards than she was at playing the pianoforte. She had never considered herself ill-equipped for going into society, but tonight had forced her to realise how inadequately she was prepared.

Her throat seized up in panic and she could not find the words to excuse herself from the ordeal. She had not thought the situation could get any worse when Lady Harting chose to partner her.

Eliza knew she would embarrass herself and hurried to warn her aunt she was a very indifferent card player.

Harriet sneered. “Didn’t you play cards at home? I was practically born to it.”

Eliza did not think that was anything to boast about.

“I expect it was banned,” said Frances with a snicker. “You will recall her father is a rector—and an enthusiast at that.”

Harriet raised her eyebrows and stared at Eliza as if she had two heads. “An enthusiast? I didn’t realise your family took their religion so seriously. I’m surprised you did not give us a rendition of a hymn earlier rather than a sonata.”

Eliza said nothing, unable to find the words to counter Harriet’s barbed comments. It was some slight consolation that her aunt did not look pleased. Her mouth grew firm, and she glared at Frances before turning to her niece.

“It is fortunate I am an excellent player. Watch and learn. I am certain I can make up for your inexperience.”

Lady Harting had been overoptimistic. Her aunt’s eyes became dark with displeasure, her smile rather forced. Eliza guessed she was making a mental note never to partner her at whist again, and certainly not for money. It was as well that they were playing for points and not pounds this evening.

Her aunt did not prolong Eliza’s agony. After two games, she rose from the card table and rang for the tea tray. With one look at her niece’s furrowed brow, Lady Harting announced she must be tired from travelling, and gave her no option but to retire.

Eliza submitted, though she would much rather have waited for the gentlemen’s return. It was the prospect of seeing Beau that had kept her going all evening.

And it was the only thing that supplied her with enough courage to face the next day.

Chapter 20

The next morning, Eliza woke to the sound of birds singing outside her window. She lay back on her pillows, listening to their song, enjoying the moment. How strange to hear the sounds of the country after so many weeks of town clatter and noise. Despite the trauma of the previous evening, it was the most peaceful she’d felt since leaving home.

She slipped out of bed, walked to the window, and opened the shutters so she could see into the gardens. She feasted her eyes on the greenery laid out before her. Nearest to the house, the neatly mowed lawns were bordered on each side with flowerbeds bursting with bright colours, with a walkway covered with trailing roses along the far edge with an arch in the centre.

Beyond the rose walk, there was another stretch of grass, which sloped away into the distance where she could make out the lake, reflecting the sunlight on its waters. Not a single cloud marred the blue of the sky and the day beckoned to her.

Dressed in a green riding habit with a matching shako hat, Eliza headed for the stables. As she reached the bottom stair, a footman appeared out of nowhere. Like a wooden soldier, he stood in silence against the wall, eyes straight ahead, ready to leap into action if, and only if, she spoke to him.

“Good morning, Ash.”

He bowed his head toward her. “Good morning, madam,” he said, as if it were perfectly normal for a guest to address him by name.