had already turned a pretty shade of pink as they mounted the steps with their arms tucked through Lord Rayne’s, and it was Caterina who fired the first salvo of questions. ‘How long have you been home? Have you sold out now? Have you been offered a position?’
He squeezed her arm against him, looking down at the mass of deep chestnut curls as rebellious as their owner, at the flawless skin and the sun-kissed cheeks, the sweep of thick lashes and the marvellous arch of her brows. How she had changed; her movements now every bit as graceful as her aunt’s, her manner assured and confident. ‘Only a couple of days,’ he said, smiling into her eyes. ‘But never mind that. Tell me about all these improper offers you’ve had, Cat. I thought you’d have had a clutch of bairns by now.’
‘Oh, how vulgar you are,’ she scolded. ‘And don’t fib. You didn’t think of me at all, did you?’
‘Yes, I did. Once or twice. But I didn’t imagine…well…’
‘Well what?’
‘That you’d have blossomed so. We have some catching up to do. And does Miss Chester sing?’ He looked down at Sara’s bonnet.
‘Only a little, my lord,’ Sara said. ‘I mostly play the harp when Cat sings. It’s easier.’
Lord Rayne smiled indulgently at her, thinking how very different the two sister were and how agreeable their relationship. He did not believe it would be as easy as all that to accompany Caterina when she sang, knowing what he did of her high standards. ‘Signor Cantoni is already here,’ he said. ‘Would you like an audience for your lesson?’
‘As long as you don’t disturb us with your snoring,’ Caterina replied.
Always welcoming, Lady Elyot greeted her nieces more like sisters, embracing them and keeping hold of their hands, noticing her brother-in-law’s obvious delight. ‘Now, you’ve met again at last. Any changes, Seton?’
‘Plenty,’ he said, with a teasing glance. ‘Thank heaven.’
‘Still ungentlemanly,’ Caterina snapped. ‘No change there. Don’t expect any compliments, Sara dear. Lord Rayne has even forgotten the one he knew.’
Sara giggled, understanding but unable to match her sister’s wit. ‘We’ve brought the phaeton back, Aunt Amelie,’ she said. ‘Cat thought it best because we’re away to Wiltshire tomorrow and it won’t be used for a few days. And Hannah won’t be coming with us after all, because the baby twins are coming down with something.’
‘Oh, my dear, I’m sorry to hear that. Has Dr Beale been?’ Lady Elyot’s dark almond-shaped eyes filled with concern. She was an inch smaller than Caterina, heart-stoppingly lovely and, at thirty, still the kind of woman men hungered for, with warm brown curls falling through bands of ribbon and spiralling down her long neck. Her figure was firm and slender, even after bearing three children, showing off to perfection the blue sleeveless pelisse worn over a blue-bordered white muslin day dress. A Kashmir shawl was draped over one shoulder, which Sara would never have thought of doing. Lady Elyot was responsible for Caterina’s transformation to assured womanhood, and a special bond had grown between them of the kind that Sara and Hannah had not quite managed to forge.
‘Doctor Beale was arriving just as we left. Hannah is going to ask Aunt Dorna if she’ll take on the duties as chaperon. She was going, anyway,’ said Sara without a trace of regret.
‘Dorna as chaperon,’ said Lady Elyot with a lift of her fine brows. ‘Well, I’m sure she’ll agree, my dear, in principle if not in fact.’
Lady Adorna Elwick was not only the widow of Hannah’s late brother, but she was also Lord Elyot and Lord Rayne’s sister. The sudden loss of her husband, however, had been a tragedy only in that it obliged Dorna to wear black, which she would not otherwise have done.
‘As long as you don’t expect the onerous duty of chaperon to make the slightest difference to Dorna’s own enjoyment,’ said Lord Rayne. ‘Perhaps it’s as well that I was invited along to partner her, for I’m sure she has no intention of being saddled with her brother, and I was all set to find myself a couple of innocent young sisters to pass the time with. You two should fill the bill quite nicely.’
‘Thank you,’ said Caterina, taking her music case from the footman with a smile, ‘but we have no intention of filling your bill. We are not nearly innocent enough for you. Anyway, I didn’t know you’d been invited.’
‘Not invited to Sevrington Hall? The Ensdales would never have a house party without me. I’m one of the standard eligible males.’
‘Good. Then you’ll know your own way around the place, won’t you? Sara and I have been invited to perform.’
‘Oh, Lord,’ he groaned in mock despair.
‘And we must not keep Signor Cantoni waiting any longer. Aunt Amelie, thank you so much for lending us your phaeton. It was polished only this morning. We had such fun with it.’
‘Then you shall borrow it again, love, at any time. Go through to the gallery, both of you. May we peep in later on?’
‘Of course. We’re rehearsing our songs for the weekend.’
A lengthy glass-covered corridor led into one of the first-floor side wings where a previous Lord Elyot had added a long gallery, centuries after the fashion had disappeared, in which to house his collection of objets d’art and ancestral portraits. Lit by ceiling-to-floor windows on two sides, the room was often used for dancing and concerts; now, as the sisters entered, Signor Cantoni was already playing to himself on the small Beckers grand pianoforte, his eyes scanning the ornate plasterwork ceiling with its riot of foliage, swags and shells.
‘Are you all right, Cat?’ Sara whispered. ‘After seeing him again?’
Caterina was more than all right. There had been a time, years ago, when she had dreaded seeing Lord Rayne with a beautiful and sophisticated woman on his arm, looking down the length of a ballroom at her with pity in his eyes. It had not happened. Instead, he had picked up the old familiar sparring, the mild insults, the banter that was more acceptable than that awful pretence at politeness, a cover for regret. She had changed since then, realising for perhaps the first time that he must have known she would, that her needs would grow well beyond the dreams of a seventeen-year-old. She was grateful to him for telling her what she had not wanted to believe, that there were other men for her than him.
Placing an arm around her sister’s shoulders, she hugged her as they walked towards the piano, almost laughing with relief. ‘Yes, oh, yes,’ she whispered. ‘It’s gone now. Really. I mean it. I’m quite free, and we shall get on well together, the three of us.’
Greeting her singing teacher with a kiss to both cheeks, she helped Sara to uncover the harp and sift through the music sheets, settling into the seriously enjoyable music-making that had been her lifeline during the last problematical years. From the start, she had been sought to add glamour and talent to the most select house parties, soirées and private charity concerts, sometimes with Sara, sometimes with her teacher, and often with an orchestra. It was not a voice, they told her father, that one kept to oneself.
Before long, the family at Sheen Court began to gravitate towards the door that only grown-ups knew how to open silently. In a slow trickle with fingers to lips, they went to sit on the window-seat at the far end, or took up positions on the pale upholstered chairs against the cream panelling. Lured by Caterina’s rich mezzo-soprano voice, they listened entranced to the music of Mozart, Gluck and Handel and to some by her late mentor himself, who’d had a piece written for him, a castrato, by Joseph Haydn.
Standing to face the harp and the piano so that she could watch her teacher’s expressions, Caterina was hardly aware of the growing audience until Sara whispered to her during a pause, ‘Lord Elyot’s here.’
‘Don’t look, then,’ Caterina whispered back. ‘Shall we go from bar fourteen, signor? That trill needs polishing, doesn’t it?’ Taking a pencil, she made a note on her music,