Page 32 of From Unwanted to Duchess
He was a pleasant man and lovely company, but she wasn’t interested in him. There was something about him that she couldn’t quite put her finger on—a solemnity that bordered on arrogance. Or maybe it was simply because he hadn’t laughed at her joke earlier.
However, now she enjoyed his company, and she enjoyed his playing even more. A few people turned their way and smiled appreciatively.
Lord Blatt glanced up at her. “It seems my hunch that music was needed was quite correct.”
“It seems that way. I always wished I could play.”
“It is not too late,” he said. “You are very young. And I can tell from the way you have picked up dancing in just a few days that you are a very quick study. I would be happy to teach you myself.”
Frances smiled, knowing that wasn’t going to happen, but she appreciated the offer. She was considering asking Aunt Eugenia if she could take lessons.
Just then, the front door opened. She hadn’t seen the butler make his way to the door, so she knew it wasn’t someone who had just arrived. Since she and Aunt Eugenia were the only people who would enter without knocking, other than James, it did not come as a surprise when his figure appeared in the doorway.
He looked quite done up from when he had left that morning. His usually combed hair stood on end, and he had not buttoned his jacket properly. His cravat was slightly askew as well.
He paused and looked around, his lips slightly parted, as though he had forgotten about the tea party. He cleared his throat and nodded as he walked into the room, discreetly straightening his cravat and running a hand through his hair.
What had left him looking so harried? Frances wondered. He had told her that he had a meeting with a business associate, and he had expected it to last into the evening, so it was odd that he was already here.
She wasn’t entirely sure if she was glad that he was here or if it bothered her.
He made his way around the room, but she felt his eyes drift to her now and then.
“The Duke of Somerset. I forgot that he is your aunt’s godson. Is he staying here right now?” Lord Blatt asked as the piece he’d been playing ended and he started another.
“He is. There was a fire in his house.”
“I hope it wasn’t the vagrants who attacked poor Mr. Robinson.”
Her throat tightened. She did not like hearing these people being called vagrants and other unkind names. Most of those who had been there had genuine grievances. Some were acting out and being violent, which she did not condone. However, one should not forget the cause of their anger.
Still, she knew better than to start an argument with the Baron right now.
“No, I believe it was a mishap in the kitchen,” she said.
“Oh well, that is good. I do hope that the authorities will put a stop to those ridiculous protests.”
“Did you vote for the Corn Bill?” she asked.
Lord Blatt looked up at her and shook his head. “No. I only became a baron last year, and even if I had been, I likely would not have voted for it. One must not provoke the masses. They may be poor and uneducated, but they outnumber us by a large margin, and if they ever decided to put their heads together and revolt, we might die the way poor Marie Antoinette and King Louis did. And I, for one, am rather attached to my head.”
He shrugged while continuing to play. “Although I imagine they would not come for a baron and a lady such as yourself, so we should be fine regardless.”
“And that is all that matters,” Frances said flatly.
He nodded enthusiastically, not catching her tone.
“Lord Blatt,” a voice called, and she noted that James had walked over to them. “Trying to entice a young lady with your tolerable musical skills?”
Lord Blatt looked up, slightly wounded. “Your Grace, it pains me to hear that you think my playing is only tolerable. I have been complimented on my skill more than once.”
“I am certain you have. Although was that inside your own drawing room or outside? Family members tend to have a rather high opinion of anything one does. My grandmother once complimented me on some needlework that one could only call abysmal.”
“Perhaps she was a lover of abstract art,” Frances interjected, disliking the way that he was talking to the Baron, even though she had no fondness for the man.
“She preferred landscapes and such.”
Lord Blatt stopped playing and placed his hands on his knees. “Is there something else I could play that would please you more?” he asked.
