Dahlia's Music Read online

  The piano forte was her favorite, and as the boys grew into adolescence, they turned to outdoor pursuits more and more. Dahlia began to trade in romps around the countryside for time in the conservatory, especially in colder, wetter weather. The only exception to this was riding and training the beautiful horses bred on or brought to her father’s estate.

  Squire Talbot’s estate was a combination of good, flat land suitable for farming and gentle, wooded hills. He was no farmer, though, and had devised instead large grazing pastures for his horses on the flatlands, along with multiple riding arenas and even a small race track. The wooded portion of the squire’s land backed up to a small mountain in a pie-shaped track of land. Local history had it that the entire mountain and a considerable portion of the circumference around it had been the property of a medieval laird with four sons. Upon the laird’s death, the property was split evenly among his sons. So that each would get a similar tract of hill and valley, the split was made from the tallest point of the mountain and radiated outwards, creating the four pieces of the “pie” that remained to present day. The original family ownership of each quarter had passed to outsiders over the centuries. Today, the Talbots held the southwestern quarter, the Sweets the northwestern, the Parkinsons the northeastern, and the Standfords the southeastern. The heads of these families were affectionately known in the county as the Quartermasters.

  Sharon Sweet, Dahlia’s favorite of the Quartermasters’ wives and the youngest of the three, walked up to her. “Indeed, it was one of your best, I think, my dear. But you do look a bit piqued. Are you well?”

  “Yes, very well. Thank you, Lady Sweet,” she replied, hoping to deflect the eyes upon her. She looked at her father, who smiled affectionately at her and returned to his conversation with Sir Randal Sweet and two other gentlemen. The other guests, too, removed their gaze from her direction and the gentle hum of conversation resumed in the room. Only Lady Sweet continued by her side, looking down at her with curiosity. She took her by the shoulders and led her to a settee where they both sat down.

  “You are not one to tire from such a relatively short performance, dearest. We have heard you play and sing for hours and hours at home. What is it?” she prompted.

  “Nothing, really,” she said in a small, unconvincing voice. She played with a small bit of lace from her dress. Lady Sweet cupped her chin and raised her face so she was obliged to look at her.

  “Come now, child. What’s upset you?”

  “I, well, had an encounter with a particular patron just now.” Lady Sweet raised both eyebrows.

  “Indeed. And would this ‘particular patron’ be a boy?” she said knowingly.

  “Yes.” Dahlia started, then corrected herself. “No.”

  “Well, he either was or he wasn’t,” laughed Lady Sweet, making Dahlia smile and relax slightly.

  “He was an older boy,” Dahlia said. “Not really a man, but not young like me.”

  “And was he rude to you?” Lady Sweet berated herself mentally for not waiting for Dahlia as she had intended. Squire Talbot and her husband had assured her Dahlia would be just fine and, as was normal, would return to the private room immediately following the concert.

  “She’s old enough to walk thirty paces on her own,” Squire Talbot had said. “Any girl who can hold her own with five older brothers – aye – with any boy in the county, will do just fine.” He had said with some pride. “I pity the city boy who tries anything with her!” Lady Sweet saw some truth in what he said and had let herself be cajoled into remaining in the room. ‘A woman’s intuition is always right,’ she thought. ‘I should have waited for Dahlia.’

  But Lady Sweet was too practical for harping on personal recriminations, so she forged on with prying the information out of the young girl. She was obviously not physically hurt, after all.

  Dahlia was thinking of her answer to Lady Sweet’s question of the young man’s rudeness.

  “Yes…No.” Dahlia shook her head. “I’m not sure,” she answered honestly. Her brows were furrowed, pondering the question further. Lady Sweet tried not to smile, waiting for Dahlia to work it out in her mind. After a moment, Dahlia looked up at her neighbor. “I don’t think he meant to be rude. I think he was trying to be clever and I took it the wrong way.” She blushed as she remembered what had been a gentle kiss, and her violent response. She rubbed her hands together as if to wipe away the remembered sting of her hand as it had connected with his face.

  “I think I acted like a country dolt. And now he will think me a simpleton.” It occurred to her for the first time since leaving Mr. Kent that what he thought of her mattered.

  Lady Sweet smiled inwardly. As she had expected, only Dahlia’s pride was hurt. Without showing her amusement outwardly, she gave Dahlia a concerned look. “And why is that?”

  “I was receiving the patrons after the last number,” she began. “There were a good many of them, asking all manner of inane questions. Nothing out of the ordinary, but they were very insistent. You know,” she said, now looking directly at Lady Sweet. “They say city folks are very elegant and well-mannered, but I daresay I prefer country manners. People in the country would never have been so tiresome!”

  Lady Sweet smiled at the workings of Dahlia’s mind. She had, apparently, quite forgotten about the boy-man to focus on her observations of what had precipitated their encounter. “And was the young gentleman part of this mob?” Lady Sweet tried to refocus Dahlia’s thoughts.

  “No,” continued Dahlia, coming back to the issue at hand. “In fact, he came out of nowhere quite the authority figure and took my arm saying it was time for me to retire. He then escorted me right out of the concert hall.” As she recounted what happened, she considered for the first time how efficiently he had done that. “No one in the crowd had thought to contradict him, or question his authority in doing so.”

  ‘Apparently not even you,’ thought Lady Sweet. “So he was gallant in rescuing you from what he must have observed as an uncomfortable situation for you,” she prompted Dahlia.

  “Yes, I suppose.” The little furrow between Dahlia’s eyebrows appeared again as she considered. Then, she remembered what happened in the hall when they were alone. “But I don’t think he did it for purely altruistic reasons,” Dahlia stated firmly.

  “Oh?”

  “No. I think he wanted to talk with me alone and that was the only way he could bring about that situation.”

  “And you therefore considered that to be rude?”

  Dahlia considered before answering. “Well, I think the first thought that occurred to me was that I had been very easily manipulated and even though the end result was what we both wanted – me to be away from the crowd and him to be alone with me – I don’t think I liked the way he brought it about.”

  “I see,” said Lady Sweet. “And what did he say when at last you were alone?”

  “He said I was delicate.”

  “And?”

  “I said I may be delicate, but so was a spider web and it was very strong.”

  “A good metaphor. Then what happened?”

  “I called him a spider.”

  “A spider?”

  “Yes. The intense way he looked at me made me feel less like the spider web than a fly caught in it, and he was the spider.”

  Lady Sweet tried not to laugh. “Did he take offense to this?”

  “No,” Dahlia surprised herself with the recollection. “No, he didn’t. He said I had ensnared him with my music and he wished he should be so ensnared again soon.”

  “So he tried to help you, regardless of his own motivations, complimented you despite your calling him a predatory insect, and indicated a desire to see you perform again. Have I got this right?”

  Dahlia looked confused. Surely the way Lady Sweet put it didn’t seem very awful or rude at all. “But he kissed me!” she cried, defensively. A few people closest to them turned in her direction, not quite sure what they heard. Convinced it couldn’t have been
what they thought they heard, they turned away and resumed their individual conversations. Conscious of what she had blurted and now embarrassed that anyone but her confidant Lady Sweet would have heard, Dahlia blushed again.

  “On your hand, surely,” Lady Sweet whispered inquisitively.

  Dahlia answered in a whisper, too. “On my cheek! And it wasn’t like when my brothers kiss me on the cheek!”

  Lady Sweet nodded solemnly, concealing her amusement from her young friend. “And what did you do?”

  Dahlia blushed a deeper hue of scarlet. “I slapped him,” she said quietly.

  “You what?”

  Dahlia looked even more uncomfortable and, forced to repeat what she said, sighed. “I slapped him. Good and hard.” She did not look at Lady Sweet as she gave her answer.

  Lady Sweet could no longer conceal her mirth. A small laugh escaped her before she could muffle it. “I see,” was all she could say for trying not to laugh again. On observing Dahlia’s distress over the situation, however, she sobered quickly.

  “It was quite forward of this gentlemen,” she started. “What was his name?”

  “Kent. James Kent.”

  “Very forward of Mr. Kent to take the liberty. Did he get angry that you struck him?”

  Dahlia shook her head and muttered something about a gift.

  “What, dear?”

  “No, he looked quite shocked at my behavior and said he had not brought flowers so the kiss was a gift for my performance.”

  “I see. It is true, you know, that the very well-known opera singers are frequently given flowers by admirers to show their appreciation for their talent,” Lady Sweet began, hoping to allay Dahlia’s apprehensions. She didn’t explain that most of those admirers also desired to be the singer’s next lover.

  “Really?” asked Dahlia, looking at Lady Sweet hopefully.

  “Indeed,” confirmed Lady Sweet, seeing her friend’s mood change slightly for the better. “A kiss is not quite a substitute for flowers, and the cheek is not as suitable a destination for a kiss between strangers as the hand, but, after all, he did not try to kiss you on the lips or otherwise accost you physically…” she paused and saw Dahlia shake her head emphatically. “So, we must give Mr. Kent the benefit of the doubt and assume his intentions were honorable and he meant only to compliment you on your talent.”

  Dahlia pondered this. “Yes. You are right, Lady Sweet. I have only now to regret how poorly I handled the compliment.”

  “Do not distress yourself, Dahlia. You are still very young. The maturity of your voice and your confidence in your ability does give the impression you are older than your years. This, no doubt, confused Mr. Kent. But a young lady should always err on the side of caution. I daresay Mr. Kent will be none the worse for this encounter and, if his intentions were indeed motivated by your talent, you will no doubt see him at another performance before we quit London.”

  Chapter 3

  James Kent was, indeed, not put off by his encounter with the surprising young Miss Dahlia Talbot. In fact, he felt elated upon leaving the concert hall. As expected, his uncle had not waited for him and gone on to the elegant townhouse in the carriage. James decided to walk the mile or so home and used the time to think upon his evening. Dahlia’s voice echoed in his head, and he kept picturing her gorgeous green eyes framed by the stunning red hair. Redheads were commonplace in his hometown – indeed they were a recognized mark of the Scottish. But those eyes! They were otherworldly and he pictured her as a wood nymph. He laughed aloud on the cold street. Over the course of the evening, she had conjured all sorts of beings: an enchantress, pixie, angel, and nymph. She was all these things at any given moment.

  He had met many accomplished young women both in Scotland and here in London. They all seemed two dimensional, however, against the multi-faceted and ethereal Miss Talbot. The accomplishments of these young women seemed contrived, their skills developed and portrayed in company only with the goal of attracting the attentions of young men. He remembered a recent party and the singing of a certain Miss Colefield whose vocals, while more than tolerable, appeared to be nothing more than an opportunity for her to exhibit her chest. Her breathing during the song giving her a suitable excuse for the pronounced rising and lowering of her breasts against the neckline of her gown. The effect, of course, was that all the young men gathered round the piano to stare down at her heaving bosom. James could not have recalled what song she sang if his life depended on it. At the time, he could not have cared. He knew the performance for what it was and thoroughly enjoyed it for that reason. Now, however, he compared it to the soul-wrenching beauty of Miss Talbot’s performance and saw the former for what it was. Miss Talbot had given a true exhibition of talent for the sake of the performance alone. Of course, at thirteen, she barely had any breasts to notice and the girlish cut of her dress would have prevented any hint of their existence. But as James had already noted, the power of her vocals came from deep inside her and she had no need of the affected breathing to achieve the delivery that Miss Colefield used. With this comparison, James wondered whether he would ever view Miss Colefield again without thinking of bellows desperately trying to blow air into the flames. In contrast, he knew a red-hot ember glowed within Dahlia and ignited effortlessly upon her command when she sang. He guessed she sang as much for her own pleasure as the delight of the audience.

  James continued down the cobblestone streets and smiled at himself. Surely the poetic heritage instilled in him from his Scottish upbringing was bubbling to the forefront of his consciousness. Curious, he thought, that a child-woman would cause it to surface. He had certainly been infatuated with women, even after getting them to bed, but not very long after the conquest had been achieved. After all, there was always a new conquest that came along to occupy his thoughts and efforts. In the case of Miss Talbot, the end result was entirely unknown. He could not imagine bedding a child the age of one of his sisters. He therefore could not account for his attraction to her. She was a game for which he did not know the prize for winning. What was the point?

  He arrived at the home of his uncle and entered the dark house. His uncle had obviously retired and dismissed the servants. This was not unusual and James made up the stairs to his bedroom.

  He resumed his musings as he undressed. There may not be a point to his infatuation with Miss Talbot that he could discern, but he knew that first thing in the morning he would find out as much as he could about the little singer. The air in the room was chilled, and James quickly got under the thick quilts. Mental consternation put aside, he simply let Dahlia’s voice fill his mind. As he drifted off to sleep, he added yet another persona to her: siren. She was a siren whose lyrical voice had lured him in and would not release him. He did not wish to be released.

  Chapter 4

  Dahlia was changing for the second half of the performance. She stepped into the white frock that Lady Sweet held for her. Once in, she turned so the buttons could be done up the back.

  “You were a little flat during that last number better I think, Dahlia,” she said. “Are you well?”

  Dahlia was glad she was not facing Lady Sweet. “Yes, just a little tired.” She wasn’t, but she had looked for Mr. Kent in the audience and had not spotted him. She couldn’t help but be disappointed.

  “It’s no wonder. All the excitement of the season, the traveling, and two more performances yet to give before we leave.” She finished the buttons and turned Dahlia around by the shoulders. “Now, where’s your cape?”

  The beautiful dark blue velvet cape was thrown around her shoulders with a flair and fastened at the throat. Dahlia felt very regal indeed with the weight of the expensive garment. Sharon pulled up the hood and positioned it just so on Dahlia’s head. “There,” she said, stepping back to look at her young charge. “You look like a princess.” She smiled warmly. “Go on then, I’ll be waiting for you when you are done.”

  Since the incident last night, Sharon had decided not to leave D
ahlia alone. She walked Dahlia to the door, then down the corridor to far entrance to the concert hall so Dahlia could start the Ave Maria from the rear of the audience. The two ladies entered the hall quietly, unnoticed by the crowd, whose attention was forward on the choral singers.

  The harpist began the harmony and Dahlia straightened. She began the lovely song right on cue and began to walk very slowly forward. As the crowd noted the direction of her voice they turned to watch her. Sharon sidestepped behind a large column so the effect of Dahlia’s entrance would not be spoiled. When she was halfway up the center aisle, Sharon circled around the column and stood with it to her back so she could watch the remainder of the performance.

  Dahlia had nearly reached the front of the hall when Sharon heard the door and footsteps behind her. She turned discreetly to see the late comer. It was a young man, very fashionably attired. He immediately noted the sound of his boots on the polished marble floor and adjusted his walk to lighten their sound. She made a mental note of this consideration. As he approached the column opposite the one where she was standing, she saw he had a small bouquet of roses tied with a ribbon in his hand. He casually rested a leg on the base of the column and leaned against it. As he did so, he put his hand on his hip, positioning the flowers slightly behind his back. He did not seem to notice her staring at him. He didn’t seem to notice anything but Dahlia, who had turned towards the audience now at the front of the hall to finish her song.

  Dahlia’s voice was clear and strong. Her eyes met with Lady Sweet’s and the tiniest smile appeared on her face. Dahlia’s eyes moved from Lady Sweet to the column opposite and the young man there. There her gaze remained for the final verse of the song.

  ‘Mr. Kent, then,’ thought Sharon. A glance at the young man confirmed her suspicions. He smiled broadly at Dahlia. He had black hair, fair skin, and the bluest eyes Sharon had ever seen. His profile was strong, aristocratic. Her overall assessment was that he was wickedly handsome…and that he knew it. She began to wonder whether or not she should have been so forgiving of his behavior of the previous night as described by Dahlia. She also wondered why Dahlia had not mentioned how good looking he was.