“Drexel?” he barked.
“Yes,” Blackbrook spat before he snorted derisively. “That fool thinks he can get her to marry him.”
“Jac…Jacqueline.” He gasped for air, nearly calling her Jack to her brother, which would prove a disaster.
“He admires my sister.” Blackbrook’s lip curled. “She’s exactly the opposite of the sort you’d think he’d like, except…lords like Drexel like breaking a young lady.”
His insides coiled, suddenly cornered for Jack. “You should go ask several ladies to dance.”
“I thought you were going to find one for me,” Blackbrook drawled.
“I’m going to make a list,” he replied tightly, looking for escape.
“You do like your lists, don’t you,” his friend teased.
“Lists are what make the world go round,” he replied.
And it was true. He loved lists. He loved organizing things and making sure that everything was in its right place, because if everything was in its right place, everything would go smoothly. And if things went smoothly, people would be happy. There would be no shouting, no screaming or tears, no throwing things about, and that was a very good thing, indeed.
Blackbrook headed into the fray, and James? He went in pursuit of Jack.
After all, he had to make sure that someone else had not pursued her into the dark.
Chapter Seven
Jack rushed out onto the terrace and drank in the scent of lilacs and hyacinth. The night had not gone at all as she thought it would. Most of her nights were not going at all as she thought they would.
It was most upsetting.
But one year ago, she had been certain of the path of her life.
She was going to stay in Vienna, train with Herr Beethoven, and spend the rest of her life playing the pianoforte.
She’d even dared to hope that she might be able to perform in public one day. There were a few ladies who did, after all. But why should she not? She had the skill. She had the passion.
The truth was that music moved her in a way that very little else did. There was something about the feel of the keys beneath her fingertips, and the way the instrument vibrated when the hammers struck the chords, and the way her soul positively sang when the notes filled the air around her.
All that hope was gone now.
Her eyes burned and she quickly dashed her fingers over them.
No. She had few hopes.
And those hopes?
She had such things to look forward to as Lord Tewksbury. Ha!
She blew out a frustrated breath and folded her arms over her breasts.
He wasn’t a terrible sort, but he was most certainly on the far side of seventy.
No doubt he’d be an excellent companion for discourse. But for a husband?
An old man.
Truly was that Stone’s idea of a suitable marriage?
She was to be an old man’s darling, was it?