Page 2 of The Duke’s Duet

"What of him?"

"I encountered him in the park yesterday. Despite his injury, he refuses assistance, insisting that he can rebuild his family's fortunes himself. His pride does him credit, but pride will not feed his younger siblings or repair their home." She set her cup down with a decisive clink. "He is but one of hundreds in similar circumstances. These men deserve more than our pity — they deserve our respect and our practical assistance."

Harper's resistance wavered. He had been fortunate to avoid military service himself, his responsibilities as heir having kept him at home while other men fought and died. The guilt of that privilege weighed on him at times.

"Brightwood," his mother continued softly, "you hold influence that could genuinely help these men. The concerts would attract those with both means and connections. Patrons who might offer positions, investments, or other opportunities."

Harper sighed, recognising the subtle manipulation but acknowledging the worthy cause.

"And I suppose that you have already begun planning these concerts?"

A smile of triumph flashed across the Dowager Duchess's face.

"I have made inquiries regarding suitable venues and potential performers. Brightwood House would serve admirably for the first and last concerts, with perhaps Lord Pembroke's music room for one of the others."

"Pembroke? You've discussed this with him already?"

"Merely in passing." Her innocent tone fooled neither of them. "He seemed quite enthusiastic about the prospect."

Harper closed his eyes briefly. The Earl of Pembroke had been his closest friend since their days at Eton. If he too supported this scheme, resistance would be twice as difficult.

"I presume that you have performers in mind as well?"

"Several. There is a soprano who has been causing quite a stir in more refined circles — a Miss Piper. Her father is a respected music master, and she has a voice that reportedly brings listeners to tears. She would be the featured performer, with a pianist to accompany her."

Harper tapped his fingers against the arm of his chair, weighing his options. He could refuse, but his mother would simply find another avenue to pursue her objective. Better to maintain some control over the proceedings.

"Five concerts seems excessive," he countered. "Three would surely suffice."

"Five allows us to build momentum throughout the Season. The first to introduce the cause, the last as a grand finale, with three between to maintain interest." She paused, studying him. "You need not attend every rehearsal or manage every detail. Your name and occasional presence would be sufficient."

Harper recognised that he was being offered a compromise.

"And the proceeds would go directly to a fund for veterans? No diversion to other charitable causes, no matter how worthy?"

"Exclusively to veterans. I give you my word."

He drummed his fingers once more, then nodded curtly.

"Very well. I will sponsor these concerts, but I expect to approve all arrangements before they are finalised."

The Dowager Duchess beamed with satisfaction.

"Excellent! I shall begin making formal arrangements immediately. You will not regret this, Brightwood."

Harper rather thought that he already did, but kept the observation to himself.

"If that is all, Mother, I have correspondence to attend to."

Taking the hint, she rose gracefully.

"I shall leave you to your work. We will discuss the details further at dinner."

After she departed, Harper remained seated, staring into the cold hearth. The prospect of organising these concerts — of being the centre of attention, even for a worthy cause — filled him with a familiar discomfort. He had spent years cultivating a reputation for dignified reserve, for impeccable management of his affairs without drawing undue notice. These concerts would thrust him into precisely the sort of scrutiny he preferred to avoid.

With a sigh, he moved to his desk, intending to review the estate reports that had arrived that morning. Instead, his gaze drifted to the door that connected his study to a smaller chamber beyond. After a moment's hesitation, he crossed the room and unlocked the door.

The private music room was modest compared to the grand music salon on the first floor. A single pianoforte stood in the centre, its polished surface gleaming in the late afternoon light. Harper closed the door behind him and settled onto the bench, running his fingers lightly over the keys without pressing them.