The Bad Luck Bride (The Brides of St. Ives #1)(55)

“You father was a frequent guest at Tregrennar,” Elda said. “And of course I recall you, as well. You entertained us by playing the piano, if I remember.”

Berkley’s smile grew tight, as if it were not a pleasant memory. “Ah, yes. I played with great determination and little talent, as I recall.”

Elda let out a small, uncertain, laugh. Alice felt sorry for her mother, for it was difficult to know when Lord Berkley was joking or being ironic or simply contrary. He turned to Henderson and asked, “Do you play the piano?”

Henderson shook his head. “The violin.”

“What?” Alice could not stop that exclamation from erupting, unladylike, from her mouth. “How do we not know this?”

He shrugged. “I suppose you never asked. And I did not bring my violin out when I was here.”

“Why ever not?” Elda asked. “You and Joseph could have played together.” She turned to Lord Berkley. “My late son was an enthusiastic piano player.”

“I have never played in front of an audience, much to my teacher’s dismay. I tried to once and froze, still as a statue, then burst into humiliating tears. It was the Von Hausen competition and my teacher gave up on me, then and there. I was twelve and far too old for such an emotional display, according to him.”

“The Von Hausen competition?” Alice looked at this man whom she thought she knew better than any other and could not believe he had kept such a secret from them all. If he had been selected to perform at that competition at such a young age, he must be a master at the instrument.

“I suppose I didn’t want any of you to treat me differently. If you knew, you might have insisted I play for you and I don’t know if I could have.”

Henderson fairly squirmed beneath everyone’s astonished stares, until Lord Berkley turned to Lord Northrup, and asked, “Do you play an instrument, Northrup?”

“I sing.”

Badly, Alice thought, but gave him an encouraging smile. He was her almost-fiancé, after all.

“We’ll have to hear you some time,” Berkley said, sounding completely uninterested. “And what brings you to St. Ives, Northrup? This hardly seems the place for such a cosmopolitan fellow as yourself.”

Northrup’s cheeks turned ruddy. “I am a guest of the Hubbards.”

“How very charitable of them,” he said blandly, and Henderson gave him a look that could only be described as a warning.

“It is hardly charity to have the man who plans to marry your daughter as a guest,” Northrup said with a small sniff.

“My felicitations,” Berkley said, turning his dark gaze toward her. Alice could not tell if his eyes were brown or a very dark blue, but either way, having them pinned on her was disconcerting.

“Lord Northrup misspoke.” Elda looked nervously from Northrup to Berkley. “They are not officially engaged.” Knowing her mother was vying for Berkley did not lessen Alice’s gratitude for her mother saying those words aloud. She’d feared her parents had come to the forgone conclusion that she and Northrup would marry.

“We were engaged,” Alice said feeling a bit of a devil for saying that aloud.

“But Northrup failed to appear at the church.” Henderson, who had seemed nervous not ten minutes before, now seemed to be having a bit too much fun. “He’s here to win his lady back.”

“Indeed?” Berkley asked, giving Northrup an assessing look.

“This is a private affair,” Northrup said, clearly annoyed by this turn of the conversation.

“Actually, it was in the newspaper.” Biting her lip to stop from laughing at Christina’s comment, Alice gave her sister a look that begged her to stop. She might have known Christina would ignore her. “The newspapers, well, one newspaper, called Alice the bad—”

“Chris-tina,” Elda said.

“The newspaper called me the bad luck bride. You see, I’ve been engaged to three different fellows and, as you can see, I remain unmarried.”

“Do we need to discuss this?” Northrup asked tightly. “There are much more pleasant topics we can explore.”

“Like murder.”

Alice froze at her sister’s words. She had promised not to bring up murder in front of Lord Berkley, but had done so anyway. One look at her mother, and Alice knew Christina might not see the outside of her room for a month.

“Murder?” Berkley asked silkily.

Christina looked at her mother in confusion; then her face paled—no doubt as she remembered that she was sitting in the room with a man who had once been accused of murder and she had promised her father not to discuss it. “Yes, poor Mr. Turner. Some are saying he was murdered because it appears he’d been stabbed. In the back.”

“Oh. Mr. Turner,” Elda said, nearly sagging with relief. “So sad. Are they really saying it could be murder? Where did you hear such a thing?”

“Martha’s second cousin’s brother works in the mortuary.”

“Martha shouldn’t go around telling such tales. And you, young lady, should not repeat them.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Christina dipped her head, pretending shame. “But I heard the same from Patricia Ellsberry.” Christina turned toward the men. “Her father is a physician.”