Except…it did matter. She liked him, blast it all. When the holiday ended, leaving him behind forever was going to destroy her. And if he didn’t want it to end because he was fortune-hunting…that would destroy her, too.
There was no way to win. And when there was no way to win, all she could do was the thing she had always done: keep her focus firmly on the morning she would wake up to full freedom. That shining moment had been enough to light her way these past twelve years. It would be enough to last the rest of her life, too.
Wouldn’t it?
Chapter 17
When the reel ended, John deposited Miss Enid with her mother and hastened back to the pianoforte. Before he could so much as speak, the question burst forth from Allegra’s mouth:
“Does your interest lie in my dowry?”
He looked startled, then chagrined. “I don’t know how to answer that question without offending you.”
Splendid. She started a quadrille. Did she want to know if her dowry seemed the most efficient path to his tea room?
“Just tell me the truth. I will survive it.”
“Very well. Your dowry—while perfectly respectable and nothing to be ashamed of—would make no material impact on my life or my future.”
“I thought you said you didn’t have the money to purchase the tea room you like so much.”
“I do not. I would need Miss Enid’s dowry for that.”
There. Allegra considered this. On the one hand, not possessing a dowry tempting enough to interest him was indeed embarrassing. On the other hand, that meant his interest…was in her. Her chest fluttered.
He leaned against the pianoforte. “Are you going to play this thing all night?”
“I agreed to,” she said.
“You were coerced, which is not at all the same thing. I was looking forward to our dance.”
“As was I. Perhaps the first waltz at the grand ball next week can be ours?”
“If your uncle doesn’t convince the master of ceremonies to have you play for that, too.”
“I enjoy playing the pianoforte,” she reminded him.
“You like playing the things you like playing,” he responded. “Which is not what you’re currently doing.”
“I cannot play made-up melodies like ‘Pining’ or ‘Existential Dread’ at a soirée.”
“But you could play one of your own reels, could you not? Something people can dance to, that also makes you happy?”
Allegra glanced up from the keys. “Uncle would kill me.”
“He could try.” John patted his sword stick. “I stand at the ready to protect your life and your honor.”
Temptation flooded her. There was nothing better than the joy of playing her own creations. “What if no one likes my music?”
“Did anyone worry about whether I would like these horrid excuses for canapés?” he countered. “I declared this year to be the year of trying things I believed impossible. I quit my post as a solicitor to pursue my dream of becoming a chef. I met you, and became Captain Hamish L’Amour. I even cooked in Mrs. Cartwright’s unfamiliar kitchen and deviated from the planned recipe.”
She gasped in exaggerated shock. “You are indeed a rebel and a force to be reckoned with.”
“If someone as terrified to stray from the path as me can try to become a truer version of myself, then certainly so can someone as fearless as you. If you must be this evening’s entertainment, then entertain yourself first and foremost. No one else has to live your life but you.”
All right, then. Allegra did not wait for the end of the quadrille. She transitioned directly into a quadrille of her own making.
Recognizing it at once, her cousins’ faces lit with surprise and delight on the dance floor. Because it kept the same time, the steps were the same, and there was no interruption to the dance, besides a few looks of confusion from those expecting to hear the rest of the standard Joseph Binns Hart melody she’d been playing before that.
When the last of the figures ended, a murmur arose on the dance floor. Allegra’s uncle dropped Portia’s hand and made a menacing step in her direction. Before he could thread his way across the parquet, she launched into one of her favorite waltzes of her own creation. Mrs. Oswald intercepted him and he was forced to dance with the widow he was wooing rather than lecture his niece.
“Brilliant,” John said. “I am more impressed by you with every passing moment.”
Pleasure heated her cheeks. A small crowd began to form around the piano. Those who were not waltzing had come to watch Allegra play. John stepped aside to give them a better view.
“Make your requests,” he suggested. “Name any style. She’ll have composed one the equal to any of the masters.”
Allegra wasn’t certain she’d go that far, but it was difficult not to bask in his obvious pride at her skill with the keys. Not to mention that “name a style” was one of her favorite games to play at the pianoforte.
“Cotillion,” a debutante said breathlessly.
“Scotch reel,” blurted a young buck.
“Oh, and how about—”
Allegra played them all in turn. News of what was happening spread, and soon the crowd around the pianoforte was as large as the crowd dancing on the parquet. Their enthusiasm filled her with energy, which she instilled into the music, making it even more lively.
“You should host a musicale of your own,” said one of the older matrons.
“Not a musicale—a concert,” said one of the gentlemen. “I would pay a pretty penny to hear her play for three hours.”
“I can arrange that,” said Mr. Neilson. “What do you say to providing the evening’s music at next week’s grand ball at the Old Ship Inn, young lady?”
Ha! She was a young lady.
“You want me to play all evening long?” she asked Mr. Neilson.
“Name your price,” the master of ceremonies answered. “But privately, as it’s no one’s business but ours.”
John covered his face with his hand in mock despair at losing yet another opportunity to dance with Allegra, but he was clearly thrilled to see her talent recognized and valued.
“Here’s my price,” she said. “I’ll play at your ball if you allow my brilliant betrothed to cater the food.”
John paled and made desperate shooing motions with his hands.
“Captain…what was his name?”
“His nickname is John. You won’t be disappointed. There’s not a better chef in Brighton, and possibly all of London.”
“Done,” Mr. Neilson said, a smug smile flitting at his lips as though he were the one who had got the better bargain.
Uncle Townsend elbowed his way through the crowd. He pulled Allegra from the bench mid-cotillion, to the boos of the disappointed spectators.
“What did I tell you about not embarrassing me?” he hissed.
“Everyone seems to be having a fine time,” she protested.
“This is Mrs. Oswald’s soirée, meant to highlight her daughter Enid. Instead, you’re here, stealing the show—”
“I didn’t even want to play! You’re the one who commanded me—”