“We’ll take a break in a moment.” My teacher’s voice pulled me back to him, not outside this house and running to see where the lane led. Never did learn where to find the shortcut to the mews.
“Perhaps we should try another stanza,” he said in a louder voice, then yanked a watch from his blue waistcoat. “Actually, let’s keep going. We have another hour before our time ends.”
That sounded sad.
We were not very far into this piece, and I knew no more about my teacher or what he longed to compose.
“I will miss this music room tonight. It’s very feminine compared to His Grace’s study. And it’s very different from my house.”
“How so? Doesn’t everyone have Russian tapestries? Torrance had very specific requirements. He wanted it designed for a woman’s pleasure. I think it might be a tribute to his sister or something for his future duchess.”
“Then, I think he must add more paintings like the watercolors behind you.” I came back to the pianoforte. “Do you have sisters, Lord Mark Sebastian?”
“Afraid not. I met Miss Scarlett and Lydia Wilcox. They seem full of life.”
That was a beautiful way to describe the two, or even our house on the other side of the Thames, full of stomping and arguments and slammed doors.
“Yet, having seen the concerns and worries that gentlewomen have, I’m not sure I’d like to see a sister having to put up with these rules only to be coerced by my parents into a match that may make sense on paper but not her heart.”
“If she were truly in love, that wouldn’t make a difference to your parents.”
He looked away, concentrating on the ivory keys. “Silence. I guess that is an answer.” I bit my lip for a moment. “When they find out about our faux alliance, will they be angry with you?”
“Yes, but this ruse will be done by the time my father returns from holiday. If my mother knows, I doubt if she will say anything.”
“If your father, the Marquess of Prahmn, does find out about your escape from my clutches, what will happen?”
“I’ll have to sit through a few lectures and threats of being cut off. Life will go on. And then my mother will have a new list of vetted candidates awaiting me at the next ball.”
That sounded wretched. Yet, the gentleman was so matter-of-fact, removed from it. “You don’t mind being a rebel, even a fake one?”
He lifted his hands and dropped them to his hips, exposing more of the check-patterned waistcoat that swaddled a muscular physique. “I suppose I don’t. But don’t credit me with false bravery. I’m cavalier because I know this is temporary. The separation from truth and make-believe helps me.”
This made me laugh.
“But such negative talk, Georgina? ‘Clutches’ sounds criminal and you shy away when I call you gorgeous. Why?”
Now it was my turn to be quiet. I shrugged.
His gaze stayed on my face. My cheeks felt warm, felt stroked by an invisible touch.
“Da dum. Da da dum.” Mark flew from the seat to the nearby table. He ripped the cork from the inkwell with his teeth, then began furiously writing. “Yes. Yes. Yes.”
The pleasure in his voice scared me. Then I realized he’d written another stanza in his piece.
I stayed quiet, hoping that whatever anointing he’d gained stayed with him, set in his soul to give him all the music he desired.
Ten minutes passed.
His quill stilled.
When his eyes closed, I knew it was gone. The inspiration or the notion had departed.
“Sorry, my lord.”
He scooped up the cork, which had fallen by his boot. He closed the bottle and put down the quill. “Nothing to be sorry for. I have another piece of it.”
“What are you working on? Why are you so perplexed? You’re more angered over this than your parents’ lectures.”
