And there was nothing the captain liked better than causing a scene.
“Lady fair, mine eyes and heart are yours,” he boomed as he swept into the room like a buccaneer storming a ship.
He realized too late that he’d added an extra syllable to his romantic tetrameter, but Captain L’Amour was too rebellious to hew closely to prescribed strictures. That’s why he employed a bard, rather than write his rhymes himself.
Like now. John had no second line to complete the rhyming couplet. So he tossed his books aside—all right, he placed them gently on a side table; these were not his books and would need to be returned to the library in respectable condition—then strode to Allegra in five dramatic strides. At her feet, he lowered himself to his knees, keeping one hand atop his cane.
With the other hand, he brought Allegra’s gloved fingers to his lips and pressed a reverent kiss to each knuckle. Lady fair, mine eyes and heart are yours.
Miss Portia nearly swooned right out of her chair.
“Captain mine, come take me then by force,” Allegra replied, managing to rhyme in John’s imperfect meter whilst simultaneously out-scandalous-ing him at his own dramatic poetry greeting.
John rose in one movement, pulling Allegra to her feet with him. Her eyes twinkled merrily.
“Is he… Are they about to…” gasped Miss Portia.
“He won’t kiss her here,” Miss Dorcas whispered. “Much less throw her over his shoulder to run off and ravish her with all of these witnesses watching.”
John winked at the girls. “But I will think it very hard. When the stars align, I shall strike.”
Miss Dorcas grabbed an ivory fan and waved it at her chest.
He tucked Allegra’s hand in his arm. “There is something I wish to…show you. Care to take a turn about the assembly rooms with me?”
“There is nothing I would like better.” She lowered her voice so only her cousins could hear. “Except for a few scandalous suggestions a lady would never mention in polite company.”
“All your desires shall be granted,” he assured her, and guided her toward the door—only to stumble in his tracks.
His books. Shite. His books.
Very well, John would have made a terrible plunderer. There was far too much spontaneity required. He needed a third arm to hold Allegra, the books, and his cane all at the same time without dropping anything or anyone.
Without breaking stride, Allegra scooped up the books with her free hand and sailed with him out through the coffee room door.
When they were down the corridor and safely out of earshot, she grinned up at him. “Thank you for the timely rescue, Captain L’Amour. That was very piratical of you.”
“No sea is too deadly, no coffee room too treacherous for the dreaded pirate Hamish,” he assured her.
“Is there really something you want to show me?”
“Many things,” he said. “You’ll have to settle for one that belongs to the assembly room.”
Her eyes twinkled. “I shall make do. In the meantime, what am I carrying? Never say the dreaded pirate Hamish is bookish.”
“Where would he learn about trochaic tetrameter if not from books?”
She arched a brow. “Clearly he did not learn about tetrameter. His line had one beat too many.”
“He cannot help it if his fair maiden makes his heart race and his head empty.”
“Are these poetry books, I wonder? What is it you like to read? These look like…” She tilted them to read the spines. “Recipe collections?”
“Aye, ye can’t pillage with a crew full of scurvy,” he replied in his best pirate voice.
“This says… ‘French Sauces from the Court of King Louis XV.’”
“Pirates have refined palates and delicate tummies,” he informed her. “Nothing cures seasickness quite like roast duck in buttery velouté.”
“Are you transcribing recipes for your cook?”
“I am indeed,” he said. “Also, I am my cook.”
Surprise showed on her face. “Oh! I thought… I assumed…”
“I can afford to employ a chef, but I fear it would all be for show. That is my domain. I am never happier than when in my kitchen. A little like you and your pianoforte, I imagine.”
“If you feel for your kitchen even a quarter of what I feel for my music, I understand completely,” she said. “It is a shame that gentlemen cannot dabble in trade, or you might be able to cook for more than your household. As a profession, I mean.”
“You will be delighted to learn that I am exactly that scandalous,” he told her. “It has long been a dream of mine to open a tea room to rival Gunter’s. This is the year those dreams will come true.”
Probably.
Maybe.
Assuming he was able to successfully plan for every possible eventuality.
“Oh, that’s lovely!”
He hoped so. The recipe books would help. John had hundreds more at home, and dozens of journals full of notes. Those were the ingredients that went together in these situations. This sauce went with that. These spices in those amounts. Water at this temperature, oven at that one. Lid on, lid off, stir occasionally, stir constantly, never let the sous chef set the kitchen on fire.
There was always a right answer. A perfect plan to follow. The trick was finding it, and then doing it, without any hitches or deviations.
“I would love to visit your tea room,” she added.
Something strange fluttered in his chest. Visiting his tea room meant seeing Allegra again, even after their fake summer affair was through. It meant she wanted him to have it. She understood him. Unlike Vivian, Allegra thought the tea room a good idea. His entire body felt like smiling. She not only approved, but also looked forward to that day, too.
Now he had two reasons to make his dreams come true.
“This way,” he said gruffly. “Your surprise is in here.”
He led her into an airy music room with a large pianoforte in the center.
Her face lit with absolute joy before she cut her gaze to him with a worried frown. “Am I allowed to touch it?”
“It’s rented in your name for three hours a day through the end of summer,” he replied. “So, yes. You can touch it.”
A strangled sound gurgled in her throat. She shoved the recipe books into his chest and grabbed his upper arms, and for a wonderful, magical moment he almost thought she was going to kiss him.
Then she wiggled with glee and dashed over to the pianoforte, placing one gloved hand on its wide hardwood body and walking slowly all the way around its shiny veneered circumference.
“It’s a Cristofori Venetian grand fortepiano,” she breathed in awe.
“Er, yes…exactly what I had them install.”
She glanced up at him.
He burst out laughing. “I have no idea what a Cristawhatsit is. The piano belongs to the music room and is rented through the lending library. May I assume you find it to your liking?”
Rather than reply, she slid onto the bench and placed her fingers to the keys. Music erupted. An explosion of pure unadulterated jubilance. His breath caught. Trilling high notes, a lively infectious base, tripping scales that flew up and down before coalescing again into chords and melody.
John had always liked music, but never considered himself an aficionado before. This was different. This was better, deeper, lighter. This grabbed his chest from the inside and forced his heart to beat in time with its elated rhythm. A joyful dance that began in one’s ears and continued through one’s heart.