“Mr. Wright!” Royston chased him. “It’s me, Lord Wharton. I just want to talk to you.”
Wright stopped, his breath coming out in hard pants. Wheezing, he put a hand on his side and bent over, panting.
Blimey. The pianist needed to spend some time outdoors and to move more.
“Apologies, my lord. I thought you were someone who wanted to rob me,” Wright said among shallow breaths. “I didn’t recognise you.”
“I opted for more comfortable clothes for an evening walk. I’m sorry to have given you a fright.”
Wright straightened, as pale as milk. “I don’t feel well.”
“Let me help you.” Royston led him to a bench and helped him sit. “I must ask you a personal question.”
The pianist dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief. “What is it?”
“Does Mrs. Haywood blackmail you?” Straight to the point.
Wright stopped wiping his face. “I beg your pardon.”
“By chance, I happen to have heard a conversation between you and Mrs. Haywood about money. If Mrs. Haywood is causing you trouble, I can be of help.”
Wright chuckled, but the chuckle turned into a coughing fit that caused him to shake hard. “You misunderstood, my lord. Mrs. Haywood is helping me.”
Royston found it hard to believe that.
“Pianists, even pianists as famous as I am, don’t earn much. I live in a small room above a tailor shop in Bloomsbury. I have barely enough money to pay for food and coal.” Wright fiddled with the handkerchief. “I love playing. Music is my life. I wouldn’t need the money if not for the fact I wish to marry the woman I love. She’s the daughter of a viscount, and I can’t afford to give her the type of life she’s used to. Mrs. Haywood is generous enough to help me.”
Miss Georgiana Taylor, as Royston had suspected.
Wright took a few more deep breaths. “I hope to marry her and move to Paris where musicians receive better salaries, and thanks to Mrs. Haywood, I’m putting aside a decent sum.”
That fit the frantic conversation between Mrs. Haywood and Mr. Wright Royston had witnessed.
“What does Mrs. Haywood ask in exchange for her help?” He couldn’t believe Mrs. Haywood helped Wright out of her good heart.
Wright shrugged. “Nothing really. Small favours. She asks me to bring her pouches of herbs from the market. She gives me a list, and I buy the items.”
“Why doesn’t she get them herself?”
“I haven’t the foggiest. To be honest, I’m happy to receive her help without asking questions.”
Royston helped him up. “Thank you.”
After attendingan endless stream of parties and balls, for the first time, Angeline was glad she’d never had a Season.
It wasn’t only about the money spent on gowns, shoes, and accessories, but all the energy and effort put into chatting and being pleasant with everyone, even when her mood was forlorn.
Also, if she was completely honest, after what happened at Lord Fountaine’s ball, she wasn’t so keen to mix with the upper echelons of society again. Her last conversation with Royston had left her shaken, but he didn’t deserve to be mocked for his past.
She was ashamed of how others had reacted to Mr. North’s accusations. Miss Taylor had been the only decent person.
If anything, she should think of how to talk to Royston. Maybe she should write a letter. His face had been absolutely dejected; her heart had broken.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?” Mama asked as Bassett helped her slide into her evening cloak.
Angeline handed her the bag. “Yes, don’t worry about me. A soirée is the last thing I’m interested in tonight.”
Bassett draped Mama’s cloak nicely over the bustle. “If your shoulder is still sore, you should apply that numbing poultice your mother prepared. I tried on my aching fingers. It worked.”
