When he managed to pull himself together, he approached the front of the room where Rose stood with Poppy. (The elder Blakes were chatting with other guests at the side of the room.) He said, almost accusingly, “You never told me that you sing.”
“I suppose you only heard me practicing at the piano,” Rose replied, as if she’d not just upended his world. “I’ve been studying both pianoforte and voice with Maestro Valdi for years. He said that if I’d been born in different circumstances, I could have run away and joined an opera company.”
“He never said that in Mrs. Blake’s presence,” Poppy added dryly. “She’d have apoplexy at the thought of her daughter on a stage.”
Adrian nodded, for it was true. Regardless of talent, young women of Rose’s social class would have to give up everything to perform professionally. Such a decision would be seen as the equivalent of becoming a prostitute—and to be fair, considering that a significant number of actresses and singers also supported themselves by offering certain favors to patrons, this assumption was often correct.
So Rose would only ever perform in places like this, parties of indulgent gentry and small family gatherings, where such entertainments were only for diversion, and nothing more than praise would ever be offered.
“You have a rare skill,” Adrian said, wishing he could say what he really felt, which was that Rose’s voice ripped several layers of armor off his soul, layers he put in place very carefully, over years…and he didn’t even mind.
“I’m glad you enjoyed the music,” Rose said with a pleased smile on her face.
Enjoyed wasn’t a strong enough word, but he smiled back all the same.
He bowed and turned to leave, not wanting to bring too much attention to him being near Rose. He walked toward the doors, before he got ensnared in some dire conversation with the other guests. Just as he reached the doorway, Mr. Blake said, “Halt there, my lord.”
Adrian looked back and raised an eyebrow. He was in general not used to being told to halt, as if he were a mule on the way to market. “What is it, sir?”
The older man was graying and portly, but he had an unmistakable energy. “I wish to have a word.”
“Then have it.”
Blake glanced around the busy room. “Come with me, for what I have to say is a sensitive matter.”
He led Adrian down the hallway to the library. A fire burned low in the hearth, and candles burned in sconces along the walls, brightening the space.
He sat down in the chair opposite Dillon Blake, sensing that he was about to hear something he didn’t want to. He proved to be correct in his assessment.
“I think it would be best if you did not call at my house again,” Mr. Blake said, opening with the blunt statement as if he were arguing before the bar and needed to state his case quickly.
“Have I offended you in some way, sir? I assure you the kittens were not a planned addition to the family.”
“Never mind the kittens!” Blake said. “I am concerned about Rose. Let us not pretend that you are of spotless reputation, my lord. The longer you are seen calling on her, the more dangerous it is for our girl.”
Adrian knew where this was going, and he needed to head it off. “I disagree, sir. In fact, the longer I am seen calling at your house, the safer Miss Blake’s reputation is.”
“How’s that?”
“Well, just think of the appearance, sir. Calling at the house as I have, during regular social hours and among the whole household and other guests…that is very dull. Clearly I cannot be doing this without your knowledge and approval, and your knowledge and approval means that nothing untoward could possibly be going on. What is less prone to gossip than what is out in the open, fully sanctioned and utterly without intrigue?”
Blake frowned, thinking his way through that argument.
Adrian went on. “Yes, it’s likely that some folks in London think I’ve lost my head for enjoying the company of young ladies such as Miss Blake and Miss St. George. I am expected to only desire dissolute, dangerous entertainment. But that is nonsense, and it says more about those people talking than it does about me. Indeed, all it really tells us is that London society has missed two ladies of great charm. Though Miss Poppy might hold her tongue a bit to spare the unwary,” he added.
“That girl!” Blake sighed, momentarily distracted. “She does speak her mind.” He shook his head in despair.
Adrian leaned forward. “Sir, if I were to abruptly cease calling at your house, the gossips would notice that, and assume that there is a reason, and they will dream up the wildest reasons they can. Let me continue to visit, and everyone will be bored by the lack of news.”
“Possibly,” Mr. Blake murmured.
“Summer is practically upon us. I escape to my country estate for those months, and when I return to London for next Season, this will all be forgotten.” In truth, Adrian didn’t fancy the idea of leaving town just yet, or of implying that he’d not see Rose in the future. But if that’s what it took to calm Mr. Blake’s concerns, it would do. And with the echo of Rose’s song still in his ears, Adrian found himself wanting any excuse to see her again.
“I suppose that makes sense,” Mr. Blake said, mulling it over. “And who knows, by the end of summer, Rose might have a proposal in hand, and then all will be well. The best solution, really. It is nice that several potential suitors call at the house now. Took them long enough, but perhaps that incident at the ball was what it took to get her noticed. Have you got an opinion on any of these gentlemen?”
“I don’t know any of them well enough to say,” Adrian replied cautiously, not hinting that he tended to loathe any other man who tried to get Rose’s attention. Especially cads like Mr. Evans, who had a vested interest in making Rose’s life a wreck. “Have any of them asked for permission to”—he could barely get the word out—“marry her?”
“Not yet. Too early, I expect. But it is encouraging. If Poppy doesn’t frighten them off.”
