“Oh no.” A slow smile spread over Lincoln’s face. “That’s much too expected. No, I plan to represent his eventual adversary, Henry the Seventh.”
“Siding with the opposition—the House of Tudor against the House of York?” Scott stood up and tossed his napkin onto the linen tablecloth.
Lincoln sat back in his chair. “The Tudors won.”
“But even that line didn’t last,” Scott observed. “Still, your choice is unique, so good for you.”
Jennifer tapped her chin with one finger. “According to Tey, Henry was the villain who killed the young princes.”
Lincoln shrugged. “Who knows the truth of that story? Tey had her opinions, but nothing has ever been proven.”
“At any rate, I hope you’ll all have a good time tonight, virtually traveling back in time just as Tey’s Detective Grant did,” I said, as Alicia appeared with fresh eggs and other items and plopped them down in front of Lincoln and Jennifer.
“Full English breakfast,” she said. “Enjoy.”
Lincoln lifted his fork. “Thank you. Now, once more into the breach …”
I turned aside, swallowing a remark about the inappropriateness of his quote. Because, as far as I knew, no one was at war, or in any danger of death.
Of course, as later events soon proved, I was quite wrong in this assumption.
Chapter Two
When breakfast cleanup was complete, I headed for my bedroom, which, unlike Alicia’s suite and the guest rooms, was located on the ground floor. But as I strolled down the hall, I heard a melody wafting from the front parlor we also used as a music room. I paused outside the open door as someone launched into the opening bars of a current pop tune. This pianist was no rank amateur, but even their well-trained fingers were eclipsed by their voice.
It was a voice that captivated from the first note. Clear but lush, with deeper undertones, it held a special quality that made me press my hand to my heart.
I loved music enough to recognize the rarity of such an instrument. Ranging across registers, the voice never wavered. It also had a distinctive tone, as unique as it was beautiful.
When the song ended, I strode into the music room, determined to express my admiration for the singer. Imagining a mature performer, I was surprised to see Tara Delamont seated at the grand piano.
“Brava!” I said, clapping.
“Thank you.” Tara pushed back the piano bench and stood up.
“No, really.” I crossed over to the piano. “Your voice is amazing. And you’re only sixteen, right?”
Tara tensed her narrow shoulders. “Yeah.”
“You sound professional. Have you studied voice?”
“A little.” Tara’s brown eyes remained wary.
After teaching for many years, I knew that look. The girl probably thought I was patronizing her. “I could tell. Your breath control is on point, and you’ve already learned how to switch registers without any cracks.”
Tara dropped her shoulders and offered me a real smile. “You know something about singing?”
I smiled in return. “Yes, but I’m just an amateur. Oh, I’ve sung in choirs and choruses all my life, but I certainly don’t possess anything like your natural talent.” I tipped my head and studied the girl. “Are you planning to study voice in college?”
Tara’s smile faded. “I’d love to, but my parents …” She used both hands to shove her mane of curly dark hair behind her shoulders. “They don’t see it as a real career.”
“That’s a shame. You have a remarkable instrument. It should be developed and heard.”
Tara bounced on the balls of her feet like a track star preparing to sprint. “That’s the thing—Iamheard. My YouTube channel has over a hundred thousand followers, and I just started it a few months ago.”
“That’s impressive.”
Tara lifted her chin and met my approving gaze. “And I’ve even been contacted by scouts for a couple of TV talent shows. I mean, I didn’t do anything—they askedmeto audition.”
