She bowed her head over her still hands when she was finished.
“May I go and see Tiny now, Papa?” a voice said from behind her, bringing her soul back inside her body again.
“Yes,” he said. “Ask a footman to go with you. You might remember to say ‘please.’”
“That’s silly, Papa,” the child said.
Fleur heard the door open and close again.
“You have great talent,” the Duke of Ridgeway said. “But you are out of practice.”
“Yes, your grace.”
“If you are to teach my daughter,” he said, “you must play faultlessly yourself. Half an hour a day for her lesson, an hour a day for your practice.”
“Where, your grace?” She still had not turned.
“Here, of course,” he said.
She rubbed at a key with one finger. “I am not allowed on this floor, your grace,” she said.
“Are you not?” he said. “By Nanny’s orders?”
“By her grace’s,” she said.
“Given in person?”
“Yes, your grace.”
“You will spend an hour and a half each day in here,” he said, “by my express order. I shall explain to her grace.”
She could not continue to sit there all day with him standing behind her. She drew a steadying breath, got to her feet, and turned to face him. He was standing quite close, so that for a moment she felt again that terror at his largeness.
“You have had access to a pianoforte for most of your life,” he said. It was not a question.
She said nothing.
“You told Houghton that your father died recently in debt,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Did he?”
She looked up into his eyes.
“Did he die in debt?”
“Yes.” She was not sure that any volume had come out with the word.
“And your mother?” he asked.
“She died,” she said, “a long time ago.”
“And you have no other family?”
She had never been good at lying, though she had done enough of it in the past few months, heaven knew. She thought of Cousin Caroline and Amelia and Matthew and shook her head quickly.
“What are you frightened of?” he asked. “Just of me?”
