A Gentleman Never Tells(83)
She had been very select in choosing the guests. She had invited Lord Snellingly and several other members of the Royal Society of Poets. Those gentlemen would probably send Brent running for the door the moment they opened their mouths about verse. Lord Waldo Rockcliffe had responded that he would be in attendance. That should make Brent very uncomfortable, since most everyone in London suspected that Lord Waldo and one of Brent’s brothers had been less than civil to each other.
She had also invited the extremely showy, pious, and well-decorated Count Vigone, who had recently returned from Italy with more stories about how great he was than anyone wanted to hear. That count had a propensity for irritating the most patient of gentlemen. She had invited Brent’s brothers and the youngest and silliest of the past Season’s debutantes who hadn’t already made a match. If all these misfits didn’t make Brent see she would have no idea how to pair guests and host a party for him if they married, she had added one more gentleman to the evening. Sir Randolph Gibson had to be Brent’s biggest nemesis. With almost everyone in London thinking the dapper old gentleman was his brothers’ real father, surely Brent would never forgive her for inviting that man to the recital.
This simply must work. Not only was Gabrielle finding it very difficult to resist Brent’s romantic attentions, she was running out of time. She knew any day now she would hear from her father that he was returning home. Once that happened, she knew he would be calling on his solicitor and checking with Brent about setting a wedding date.
“I’ve made the rounds one last time,” her aunt said, coming up behind her. “Everything seems to be in place.”
Gabrielle faced her aunt. “Oh, good.”
Auntie Bethie rubbed the back of her neck. “I have to say again, Gabby, I’m not happy about making the guests come inside and immediately sit down to an hour of music before we give them a sip of drink or bite of food.”
Gabrielle knew it was the epitome of bad taste to do so, but she was getting desperate. “I know what I’m doing, Auntie.”
“Then why in heaven’s name couldn’t we at least add a violinist, a cellist, or a flutist? Piano music can become tedious for those who are not trained in music.”
“I know you don’t understand, Auntie. But you must trust me that this is the way I want it.”
She knew desperation made people do strange things. She’d certainly done that the morning she’d met Brent in the park and she was still trying to make amends for her rash behavior.
“I’ve been trying to work out in my mind why you want tonight to be a disaster, but I’m puzzled.”
Gabrielle remained silent. She hated the thought of disappointing her aunt, and for a moment wondered if she had gone too far. But what other choice did she have? Her father was away. She couldn’t try to dissuade him. There was nothing left for her to do but discourage Brent.
“You know you don’t have to tell me what is going on in that busy mind of yours,” her aunt said. “I just hope it accomplishes what you want.”
Gabrielle hugged her aunt. “You don’t know how much I appreciate your saying that, Auntie.”
“Well, you certainly chose your dress well,” her aunt said, admitting defeat again and changing the subject. “You look stunning tonight, dearie.”
“Thank you,” Gabrielle said and looked down at her gown, a plain, cap-sleeved, high-waisted dress of pale yellow. Over the shift, she wore a long-sleeved, golden-colored tulle that flowed gracefully down her body. Around her neck hung three long strands of delicate pearls, and matching earrings that had belonged to her mother. Her hair had been swept up into a loose chignon with pearls woven throughout the bun.
“Oh, that was the doorknocker,” Auntie Bethie said. “Let’s go greet the first guest.”
More than two painful hours later, Gabrielle had finally had enough. As the guests had arrived, she had shown them straight into the music room and had them sit down. When Brent arrived, looking dapper in a black evening coat with an ivory-colored waistcoat, she asked him to sit on the front row and save her a seat beside him.
After it appeared that all the guests had arrived, she announced the pianist, Mr. Michael Murray. She had heard him before and knew him to be an uninspired pianist who played long, tiring scores. When she had asked him to do the recital, she had told him to feel free to play as long as he wanted. He reminded her that he sometimes played for hours without stopping. That gave her a moment’s pause, so she then told him to play until she rose from her seat and went to stand beside him.