"Lud, no." Kirk rose and began dressing. "Poetry's nothing but tripe, but if it makes Dahlia smile, I'll do it."

"An' smile whilst ye do it."

"Don't ask for too much, MacCreedy. It's enough that I'm even going."

Randolph found a spot on the rug that seemed to please him, for after sniffing it thoroughly, he dug at it.

"Randolph, stop!" Kirk commanded.

The dog looked abashed, circled three times, and with a monstrous sigh, plopped down.

"Good dog."

Randolph panted, his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth.

"At least you do what you're told," Kirk said to the dog.

"And all he wants is a bone fer his trouble," MacCreedy said.

Kirk looked at the book of poetry, a thought flickering through his mind. Finally, he nodded. "MacCreedy, help me into this coat and then hand me that blasted book. If I'm to do this, then I'm going to do it right. I'll pick the shortest poem and memorize the blasted thing. Surely that will make Miss Balfour happy."

"Tha' is the spirit, me lor'!"

An hour later, the poem freshly committed to memory, Kirk was on his way to dinner, the book tucked in his coat pocket.

Fourteen.

From the Diary of the d.u.c.h.ess of Roxburghe

Roxburghe is fond of saying, "Never predict your fellow man, for you'll fail every time." Until Lord Kirk's performance tonight, I didn't understand the true meaning of that phrase. But now . . . oh my.

When Dahlia entered the Blue Salon she saw Miss MacLeod and Dalhousie sitting at the pianoforte, which had been moved to a prominent spot near the fireplace, rows and rows of chairs lined up before it. Now that dinner was over, the guests were wandering into the salon while Lady Charlotte fluttered here and there, handing out beautifully handwritten programs and trying to herd everyone to their seats.

As Dahlia approached, Anne pointed to the program on top of the pianoforte. "I see you're playing two songs."

"What?" Dahlia frowned. "I only offered to do one."

"That's quite all right," Dalhousie said. "Apparently I'm reading"-he squinted at the program-"an edifying sermon.'"

Anne giggled. "You! A sermon!"

He sent her a mock-stern look before flashing a grin at Dahlia. "It wouldn't be acting if it were true to life-right, Miss Balfour?"

Dahlia had to smile back. "Very true."

"The big surprise is Lord Kirk." Anne pointed to the final name on the list. "He's reading a poem."

"Which one?"

"It doesn't say."

"A pity, for I've been wondering about that since I heard him tell Lady Charlotte days ago that he'd do so." Dahlia had to fight to keep the smile on her lips. The last few days had been difficult. After she and Kirk had had their disagreement about the battledore game, Lady Charlotte and the d.u.c.h.ess had warned her about allowing Kirk to "set the pace" on the relationship and had opined that perhaps things were progressing "far, far too quickly."

Dahlia had been embarra.s.sed that they were so closely monitoring her relationship with Kirk, but that wasn't why she hadn't protested when the two older women had begun chaperoning her more thoroughly.

She had no fear of Kirk. He was painfully honest, and while he was more than willing to break society's rules, she knew he would never, ever touch her in a way she didn't want. The real trouble was that she was beginning to realize how much she did want him to touch her. She didn't mistrust Kirk; she mistrusted herself.

Anne, who'd been arranging sheet music in a pile to match the program, glanced up at Dahlia. "Do you know both songs you're to play?"

"I know one of them very well. The other one, well enough that only the musically inclined will know when I've made a misstep."

"You're fortunate, then, for I heard Miss Dapplemeyer say that she'd never even heard of the song Lady Charlotte put her down for."

"At least she can plead off," Dalhousie said. "But those of us who've been instructed to read an improving sermon are stuck, for we can't pretend we've forgotten how to read."

Anne laughed. "Yes, but you-" Her gaze suddenly locked over Dahlia's shoulder, then she turned back to the sheet music. "Someone is walking this way."

Kirk! Dahlia held her breath and waited. But as the seconds pa.s.sed and no shiver warmed her skin and no breathlessness overtook her, she realized it wasn't him. She was just turning to see whom it might be when Lady Mary's nasally voice broke into her thoughts.

"Ah, Miss MacLeod and Lord Dalhousie." There was a slight pause, then Lady Mary said, "And Miss Balfour. I'm looking forward to this evening's entertainment."

Dahlia turned to find Lady Mary and Miss Stewart standing behind her. They curtsied as she turned, so she returned the favor. "Good evening."

They smiled and murmured a return greeting. Since their battledore match Lady Mary had been polite, but no more. So Dahlia was surprised when the taller lady offered a faint but encouraging smile. "Miss Balfour, I wish to speak to you." She glanced at the others and hesitated, but then continued with a dogged air. "Miss Stewart feels that we owe you and Lord Kirk an apology. After some rather heated conversations, she has won me to her way of thinking."

Miss Stewart added in a faintly husky tone, "The whole thing grew out of proportion very quickly. We didn't mean any harm, either of us."

Dahlia blinked. "I see. I a.s.sure you that you don't need to-"

Lady Mary threw up a hand. "I do and I know it. I'm not very good at saying 'I'm sorry,' but allow me to do so now." Lady Mary's smile was stiff, but genuine regret shone clearly in her sharp gaze.

Dahlia smiled. "Of course. Allow me to say that I never intended for our little disagreement to become so public, either."

"Neither did I." Lady Mary picked up the program from the pianoforte, the candlelight catching the faint bruise that still discolored the bridge of her nose. "I see you are performing on the pianoforte. I look forward to hearing you play."

"Thank you. I'm looking forward to hearing you sing."

"I fear you'll be sadly disappointed. I have no talent, you know. I'm only singing because Alayne-Miss Stewart-had to cancel due to a sore throat, and Lady Charlotte was determined to find a replacement."

Dalhousie, who'd been idly riffling through the sheet music, drew back a little. "Miss Stewart, if you're ill, it would be best if you'd confine yourself away from the rest of the d.u.c.h.ess's guests."

Anne sent Dahlia a mischievous look. "Dalhousie fears illness worse than death."

Miss Stewart chuckled, her voice noticeably hoa.r.s.e. "Lord Dalhousie, I promise to stay far, far from you until I'm better."

"Thank you, Miss Stewart. I, and my valet, who would have had to nurse me back to health, thank you."

"You are quite welcome."

"It's a pity you won't be singing," Anne added. "I had the pleasure of hearing you sing at school, and you have a lovely voice."

Miss Stewart blushed so red that she appeared to have been slapped. "Now I'm glad I'm not singing, for all of this praise would have made it too difficult to-" She coughed. "Excuse me, but-" She pulled a kerchief from her pocket and covered her mouth, coughing heavily the entire time.

Dahlia noted Miss Stewart's flushed face and wondered if the poor woman had a fever. "Miss Stewart, perhaps you should ask the d.u.c.h.ess to call her physician?"

"I'm fine. I shall berate my little brother when I go home, though. He was just beginning to cough and had a touch of fever when I left, and he insisted on a proper good-bye kiss." She coughed again, too hard to speak.

Lady Mary threaded her arm through her friend's. "Come, Alayne, let's get you a gla.s.s of orgeat. That will do your throat the most good." With a nod to the others, she started to lead her friend away when Dahlia stopped them.

"What! Miss Stewart dropped her handkerchief." She picked it up and pressed it into Miss Stewart's hand. "I hope you feel better soon."

"Thank you, Miss Balfour. That's very kind." With a smile, Miss Stewart went with Lady Mary to the refreshment table, which had just been set up at the other side of the room.

"Poor thing," Dahlia said. "She was quite flushed."

"And all of that coughing!" Dalhousie waved a sheet of music in the air as if to blow away Miss Stewart's illness. "I hope none of us succ.u.mbs."

Anne frowned at him. "You are such a child when it comes to illness."

"I'm cautious. There's nothing wrong with that."

Anne turned back to Dahlia. "If Miss Stewart doesn't feel better soon, then someone must put a word in the d.u.c.h.ess's ear about fetching her physician."

"I'll be sure to-"

Lady Charlotte clapped her hands, her lace cap fluttering about her round face. "Come, everyone! Pray sit! Her grace will say a few words about our evening's entertainment, and then we will begin."

Everyone wandered toward the chairs. Dalhousie procured seats for Anne and Dahlia, who sat to either side of him. As Dahlia watched the others take their seats, she caught sight of Lord Kirk limping into the room, the last one to arrive.

His gaze swept the crowd and locked on to hers. For a long moment they gazed at each other, but then Lady Hamilton gestured for him to take the empty seat beside her. With obvious reluctance, he pulled his gaze from Dahlia and took the offered seat.

Dahlia pretended to listen to the story Dalhousie was telling Anne, but her attention was several rows back, fixed on Kirk. Was he still angry? She hoped not, but she had to admit that in the days after the match, the other guests had gone out of their way to be more solicitous. Too much so. Each time someone pulled his chair from the table or rushed to pick up something for him, she'd cringed. For a proud man, that attention must be onerous, and she reluctantly admitted it was partly her fault. The battledore match to defend his honor had painted him as incapable in some way. Blast it, I never meant for that to happen.

Lady Charlotte pinged a silver spoon on the side of a winegla.s.s. "Her grace is going to welcome us."

MacDougal a.s.sisted her grace onto the raised hearth. Dressed in an evening gown of blue gauze, the bottom of her skirt finished with a triple band of mustard-colored silk that mirrored the mustard silk tabbed at her waist, she was the picture of fashion and good breeding.

She patted an errant curl that had loosened from her red wig as she smiled upon her guests. "Welcome! Tonight we celebrate the talents that are among us. Many of you did not know this until now, but you were all carefully invited as guests based on your performance value."

Many laughed at this, which made the d.u.c.h.ess smile more brightly. She continued to expound upon the performances she expected from her guests, but Dahlia didn't hear another word, for Dalhousie was now whispering.

"Good lord, he's sitting directly behind us."

"Who?" Dahlia asked.

"Kirk. He was sitting beside Lady Hamilton, but he just moved closer."

Anne instantly craned her neck, but Dalhousie whispered a harsh "Don't look!"

"I'm sorry," she whispered back.

"I wonder if he's actually going to perform"-Dalhousie squinted at the program-"a poem, after all."

"He must or he wouldn't be here," Anne returned. "Dahlia, you know Kirk best. Do you think he'll-"

To Dahlia's relief, their conversation was interrupted by applause as the d.u.c.h.ess finished her welcome speech. She curtsied gracefully, took MacDougal's hand, and stepped off the "stage."

With that, the performance was under way. Mrs. Selfridge opened with a sonata that was surprisingly good. That was followed by the reading of a pa.s.sage by a solemn Viscount Dundee.

His chosen text was obviously a favorite of Lady Charlotte's, for as the final word faded she leapt from her chair, clapping furiously. "Excellent! Excellent! That's exactly how I heard it in my own mind!"

Several more guests offered renditions of various poems and readings, and then Dahlia played her two pieces. She was aware the entire time of Kirk's dark gaze upon her. Feeling fl.u.s.tered, and aware that she'd rushed through the last song until it sounded more like a Scottish reel than the graceful, elegant piece it should have been, Dahlia returned to her seat.

Next, Lady Mary sang her a.s.signed song, often looking toward Miss Stewart for guidance during the more difficult portions. Though her face was damp and flushed, Miss Stewart rewarded her friend with the largest of smiles at the finish of the song.

It was really quite sweet, and put Dahlia back in charity with both of them.

Lord Dalhousie was next, reading the "improving text" selected by her grace. It was long winded, stilted, and totally without merit, especially when Dalhousie himself yawned in the midst of it. Finally finished, he took his seat to tepid applause.

Next was a reading of the balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet, performed by Mr. and Mrs. MacLind, who did so with such exaggerated expressions that Dalhousie and Anne convulsed with laughter. Dahlia, aware of the glances sent their way, shushed them.

Finally, they came to the last performance of the evening: Lord Kirk's. A collective rustle pa.s.sed over the crowd as he went to the front of the room, and Dahlia realized that the others were just as curious as she about his performance. It was hard to imagine such a usually taciturn and abrupt man reading a poem.

He conferred for a moment with Lady Charlotte, his dark head bent near hers. Her eyes widened as he spoke, and she looked at the d.u.c.h.ess. At a nod from her grace, Lady Charlotte broke into a smile, and then nodded vigorously. To everyone's surprise, she ordered a footman to douse half of the lights. And as the room gradually fell into semidarkness, the crowd's murmur increased in excitement.

A footman went to stir the fire, but Kirk halted him with an upraised hand. "No. Pray leave it." At the surprised look from the footman, Kirk added, "For ambience."

"Ah, setting the stage, are you?" Lady Hamilton called out, looking amused.

"Indeed, madam." He blew out a candle on a table near Miss Stewart. As he did so, their eyes met and she flushed an instant and deep red, and looked away, coughing into her kerchief.

Beside her, Lady Mary tsked, though she seemed amused. "Lud, Alayne, it's just a poem."

"But which poem?" Kirk asked. He held a candle before him and moved to the hearth as a hush fell over the crowd.