Mary Robb - Down the Rabbit Hole

The conversation with his sister was next. He found her in the small music room, playing Bach. He was relieved. Bach meant that her world was ordered and as happy as it ever could be. If she had been playing Beethoven he would have left the room and waited for another day.

He took a seat, knowing full well that interrupting her would not be in his best interests. Less than a minute later, she played the final notes and looked over her shoulder at him.

“I doubt you have come for music appreciation, Weston. And I can go further and guess that you have come to plead for me to reconsider Martha Stepp’s dismissal. I will not.”

She turned back to the pianoforte and began shifting the music sheets. Dreading Beethoven, Weston came over and sat on the bench beside her, facing the opposite direction.

“Anne, I respect your decision to dismiss your maid. I know it must have been difficult for you.”

“No, it was not,” his sister said, raising her chin a little. “And I do not regret it.”

Anne never made anything easy. He could not imagine how she would ever find someone who would be able to bear her moods. “Yes, be that as it may, I trust you will allow Miss Kemp to help you find a new dresser.”

“Yes.” Anne drew breath. “She certainly is an improvement over that person she sent as a substitute when she was delayed. At least she had a reasonable explanation for her delay.”

Anne began to fiddle with the sheets of music in front of her again, and a thought occurred to him.

“Sister, dear, do you even want a Season? Do you even want to go to London; and if you do, then why?”

“Of course I want to go. And finding a husband is what the Season is for.”

Hmm, he thought, not exactly enthusiastic about finding a spouse. He thought about the women he had seen in the twenty-first century and wondered if there was a way for Anne to have what she truly wanted.

“I do believe there could be more to the Season than husband hunting. If that were just a side interest, then what would you really like to do with your time?”

He looked at her as she furrowed her brow and stared into the middle distance as if trying to find an answer.

“Music. I would spend all my time attending musicales and operas and meeting composers.” She spoke with a kind of defiance that made him realize how rarely anyone took her seriously.

He smiled at her and nodded. “Then that, my girl, is what you shall have. You do not have to go to Almack’s once if you would rather not, and, I would think, one ball a week would satisfy your more traditional relatives.”

This next sigh was more like a huff. “You are not serious.”

“I truly am. I have had a recent experience that convinces me that living the life we want is more important than bowing to the conventions.”

“I suppose this is what comes when one unexpectedly inherits a title,” Anne said. “ My father would never have even considered such an idea.”

“Well, your father held the Earldom of Uxbridge, one of the oldest in England. Let me remind you, however, that our mother was the one time in his life when he gave in to his heart. He had no need to make a second marriage. So even he had a moment of doing what he wished rather than what he must.”

They rarely spoke of their different fathers, of their mother’s two marrages. His father was no more than an earl’s second son without even “Lord” before his name. Anne’s father had been an earl.

Lady Anne had always held her title over him, and then fate had intervened, giving him a title he had never expected. Now, if he chose, he could hold his title over her. But he did not so choose. He wanted only one thing now.

“But what will we tell Miss Kemp? She expects to lead me through a typical Season.”

“Miss Kemp will be part of your Season, but—and brace yourself for this—she will be doing so as my wife, as the Countess Weston.”

It had just the effect he expected. It took him some time to convince his sister that if she could live life as she chose, filled with music first and foremost, then she could certainly grant him permission to do so himself.

“But we know nothing about her.”

“I do, Anne. I met her in London last Season and we came to know each other quite well. I proposed to her then but she refused, as she thought my family would take offense at my connection to a woman whose parents were divorced.”

He made himself stay relaxed and waited for the explosion.

“Divorced? Truly?” She thought a moment. “How have I never heard of it?”

“You have not been to London.” Weston put a hand on the instrument she sat before. “And music is all you truly need, Anne.”

She nodded her agreement and was silent a moment. “So, her parents were divorced. How very awkward.”

It was not the reaction he expected.

“Is that all?”

“I am not an idiot, Wes. I gather that her influence is what has led you to a more, shall we say, open mind about my Season. I expect you brought her here for more than my education.”

“Do not insult her, Anne. She is as much a lady as anyone with a title.”

She actually patted him on the arm. “I do not mean any insult, brother, only that I see your motives more clearly now.”

He stood up then and gave her a formal bow. Best not to let this go on any longer or they would wind up hugging each other. “Thank you for your support, my lady. I look forward to sharing the Season with you and my countess.”

A shake of her head was Anne’s only answer. As he left the room he heard her begin to play something lighthearted, perhaps even happy. Definitely not Beethoven. The notes sang through the air and touched his heart so deeply that he laughed. He laughed out loud.

Weston thought the portrait artist would be the easiest of the lot. More fool he.

“My lord, you cannot be serious! The painting is virtually complete. To add elements such as these will require a complete reconsideration of the composition so that the eye views what is important.”

As far as he was concerned, the train, the locket and the coin were what was important, but he knew better than to tell that to the man.

“I understand that this may entail more time than anticipated. I am willing to consider additional support if that makes the decision easier for you.”

The artist brightened a little at that suggestion. “I do have other commissions.”

That may or may not be true. The trustees had found him, and insisted the portrait be an immediate priority. Clearly they feared the third earl would die before his portrait was done, as his uncle, the second earl, had.

“I trust they will understand your commitment to excellence.”

The artist smiled a little and picked up the coin. Weston felt a moment of panic but the man merely looked at it, then set it down. Weston wondered what the man might have wished for, had he known it could grant wishes.

“All right, my lord. It will be a challenge, but I can rise to the occasion. Can you tell me what these items symbolize so I can cast them in the proper light?”

The locket was easy; the others took a moment of thought. “The locket symbolizes the love of my life. The train car is the future of England, and the coin, well, the coin represents all that we wish could be.”

The artist nodded as though he understood perfectly. “I will consider, my lord, and let you know if I need you to pose again.”

Weston grimaced. He hadn’t considered that possibility, but it was too late to back out now.

He left the conservatory and sent one of the footman to ask Miss Kemp to join him in the library. It seemed to take forever but he suspected that was only his imagination.