“You are up next,” James said. “Are you still nervous?”
“No,” Poppy whispered. Such a fib. This was her very first musicale and she was not only an observer but a participant. “Perhaps a tiny bit anxious.”
Poppy stood up and strolled up the side aisle to the steps to the piano. She waited for the young man’s bow and thanks to end before taking her place at the piano. Poppy turned and gazed at the audience and smiled. Her glance swept past the faces of her furious stepmother, and the obviously incensed Lavinia and back to where James sat waiting for her to begin.
The dratted man winked, and Poppy briefly looked away, so she did not grin like a silly goose. She would ignore the rest and play only for him. Poppy breathed deeply and let her fingers pull the music from the keys of the instrument in front of her. Then she was lost in the melodies of Chopin as the crowd sat silently, letting the sound reach deep into their shallow souls. As she played the finale she paused and glanced at Lord Sanders, unsure whether she should play her second piece or perhaps make her curtsy and retire. As the last notes melted away the applause thundered through the room. “Encore, encore,” was yelled and the clapping went on.
She stood and curtsied, then looked to Lord Sanders.
He banged his cane once more, “Superb, magnificent, Miss Ashford, please honor us with another piece…”
So, Poppy sat back down and played the lyrical romantic strains of Mendelssohn to an audience enthralled by the beauty of the music. Once more she reached the final flourishes and allowed the notes to flow through her to the end. Then she stood and curtsied and descended from the dais to another eruption of applause and demands for “More, more!”
As Poppy passed her stepmother and Lavinia to return to her seat, she noticed their faces violently contorted in their anger. They would never forgive her for it and would surely blame Poppy for Rebecca’s earlier mortification. There were several more acts, before James was summoned to perform. Schubert’s Erlkönig or the Elf King, this was a settling of Goethe’s poem, while normally performed by a soprano, it was apparently, James’s tour de force.
Poppy was not sure whether she should change the key or not, from the rumbling minor bass telling the haunting tale of the wicked Elf King and a terrified child. James produced a mellow baritone which he modulated to fit the eerie tale. He moved and acted out the story, sending chills running up and down the spines of his watchers. His voice might not have had the full power of an opera soloist, but his performance was powerful and moving. His applause was brilliant, and Poppy joined the crowd in their applause.
The rest of the evening proved magical and exhausting. Poppy met so many people who effusively complimented her playing, and then invited her to join their party another time for some rout or picnic. By the time supper arrived she wanted to sleep, and laughingly told James so. They did not linger long after, and within an hour Poppy was in her bed, mightily exhausted, and staring at the ceiling.
“Today was another wonderful experience,” she murmured in the dark. “And I am another step closer to attaining everything I’ve ever wanted.” A husband, children, to be mistress in my own home.
Except as she rolled over and sank in deep slumber, it was not this phantom beau that stole into her dreams, but James—laughing and dancing, then her kissing his lovely, laughing mouth.
Chapter 12
The very next evening, Poppy attended Lady Bloomfield’s most anticipated ball with Daphne. The ballroom was tastefully decorated in white, gold and touches of crimson. The drapes over the huge front windows were crimson velvet with golden tassels. The ballroom, which extended the full depth of the house, was glazed at the other end with the drapes left unclosed opening into the small but exquisite gardens behind the mansion.
The crush was already stifling, and Poppy yearned to sneak outside into that garden for a breath of fresh air. While the season was exciting, it could also be exhausting. It astonished Poppy that some attended an event, or more than one event, every day. It also amazed her how many people from the musicale were in attendance, and they greeted her warmly and sometimes with over enthusiasm. Even the hostess begged her to come to her own musicale next week and play for her guests.
“You are so very lovely tonight,” Daphne said, smiling.
Poppy wore another of her new gowns, this one rose-colored with a scalloped neckline. It flattered her figure remarkably, and she wore the pearls she had inherited from her mother. Her hair had been caught up in a cascade of curls and was unadorned with flowers or jewelry. Yet many admiring glances settled on her by several gentlemen.
Daphne was delighted, while Poppy was…she swallowed. She was not entirely certain what she felt at the moment.
“I see my sisters and stepmother are in attendance. I will go and greet them.”
Daphne frowned. “Are you certain?”
“Yes. I dread a confrontation with them because it can be exhausting. And I must return home eventually. I cannot stay under your roof until I am married.”
“Yes, you can.”
Poppy laughed. “My dear, Daphne, that would cast too many shadows on me and my family’s relationship. The tongues will wag for certain.”
Poppy was also concerned about Rebecca. Though she stood beside her mother and sister, appearing resplendent in a lime green gown, there was an air of melancholy about her. Poppy made her way over, and Lavinia spied her first and uncurled her fan.
“Poppy, dearest, you are back in town and importuning Lord Kingsley. People might start to wonder if you have a home,” Lavinia said with biting malice.
Poppy dipped into a slight curtsy and smiled serenely. “It was mother who taught me it was dreadfully impolite to refuse an earnestly pressed invitation. Surely you would not want me to act poorly and refuse Lady Daphne’s kindness.” She looked at Rebecca, who had taken on a mulish expression. “How are you, Rebecca?”
“As if you cared,” she spat. “You deliberately played at Lady Sanders musicale even though you knew I would be one of the performers.”
Poppy sighed. “Do not be ridiculous. My playing has nothing to do with your capabilities. I do not like when you prattle nonsense as if you are not a lovely girl with charm and her own sense of self.”
“How dare you lecture your sister,” her stepmother sniffed. “And she is not incorrect. It is Rebecca’s time to shine, and you are a spiteful thing to try and steal her spotlight, given everything we have done for you.”
Lavinia stepped forward. “Do you know how mortifying it is to see you strolling about in your borrowed finery as if you are a debutante? If you had any hopes of receiving a pound from us for being Rebecca’s chaperone, you are mistaken!”
Poppy stared at her family, wondering if they could really be this horribly obtuse and petty. “Rebecca has everything. A great beauty, a lovely charm, and a dowry, yet you are jealous of the little I have accomplished. How ridiculous you all are.”
Lavinia gasped as if she could not believe Poppy’s temerity. She did not wait for a reply but turned away from her family, confident they would not start a scene here.
The dancing started, and Poppy gave herself up to enjoyment. She danced at least three sets of the polka and was laughing breathlessly when James approached her. A ripple went through the crowd, and Poppy flushed, her fingers gripping the edges of her gown.