When there was no reply, she turned to the butler. He was not the stuffy gentleman who’d first greeted her but the younger man who’d shadowed him. Foster. “Do you have a key to this room?”
“My aunt, the new housekeeper does, Miss St. James,” he said and waved to one of the footmen to fetch her. He didn’t have to go far. The newly hired housekeeper had apparently been listening at the door along with a bevy of kitchen girls and parlor maids. She came bustling in, key at the ready.
“Here you are, Miss,” she said and bobbed a curtsy.
Callie didn’t bother correcting her that she did not need to curtsy to another servant. There were more important matters to deal with. Fitting the key into the lock, she turned it and pushed the door open. Claudia was seated at the pianoforte, her face red and wet with tears. Her hands were placed on the keys and a heavy board was strapped across them, holding them in position there so that she wouldn’t be able to withdraw them even if she wanted to.
“You will get your things and leave this house immediately,” Callie said.
“By whose authority?” the man sneered. “That of a mere governess? I should think not!”
Callie drew in a deep, fortifying breath and then, with all the haughty dignity she could muster, she said, “I am not merely a governess, Monsieur Dumont. I am the governess. I am a graduate of the Darrow School… one of the most highly sought after governesses in all of England. It will take but a whispered word into the ear of my mentor, Miss Euphemia Darrow, and you will find yourself without any employment whatsoever. Is that really what you wish to do?”
“You wouldn’t dare,” he said, stepping forward until he loomed over her.
Callie squared her shoulders and met his gaze steadily. “I would. I most certainly would! Now, remove whatever barbaric contraption that is from this child and remove yourself from this house immediately. I will not tolerate bullies and abusers!”
He raised the cane high. Callie braced herself for the blow. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d been struck with one. But the blow never fell. Instead, Monsieur Dumont tumbled backward, propelled by the violent blow struck by Lord Montgomery.
“Get out,” the earl growled. “And if you ever darken my door again, so help me, you will not live to regret it.”
“My lord,” the man began, all but groveling, “This is the only way a child can learn. They must fear consequences for misbehavior!”
“Misbehavior? This child has never played an instrument before in her life!” Callie shouted. “And you feel that warrants you striking her every time she plays a wrong chord? You are worse than despicable! I do not possess the vocabulary to adequately describe you!”
“Get out,” the earl repeated. “If I look at you for a moment longer, I will not wait until you darken my door again.”
Monsieur Dumont scrambled to his feet. He didn’t bother to gather his items, but left them as he scurried from the house.
Callie immediately went to the pianoforte and began unbuckling the heavy straps that held the board to Claudia’s arms. Once she’d managed to free the restraints from the terrible device, Callie tossed it aside and hugged the little girl to her. “I would never have let him hurt you if I’d known!”
“It’s my fault.”
Callie looked back to see the earl standing there, his face dark with guilt and anger, much of it self-directed. “It is not your fault. It is mine.”
He shook his head. “The children are my responsibility, Miss St. James. Anything that befalls them is my responsibility, as well.”
Rubbing her hand soothingly over Claudia’s back while the child leaned against her, Callie stated as reasonably as possible, “I daresay when he was interviewed that Monsieur Dumont never stated that beating children was part of his teaching methods.” The words weren’t just absolution for him but for herself, as well. No one knew better than she did the kind of wickedness men such as Dumont, men with power and no conscience, could indulge in.
“Of course, he didn’t… but I didn’t like him from the start and I should have trusted my judgment.”
“Not liking someone is hardly grounds for thinking they are the devil incarnate,” she said. “He is a monster and monsters always hide their faces until they have an opportunity to inflict pain on someone weaker and less powerful than they are.”
Something in her tone must have given away that she was speaking from experience. His eyes narrowed as he looked at her. Their gazes locked. She could see the questions in his expression, but she had no intention of answering them. Not today and likely not ever. There were parts of her story, of all the things she’d endured before Effie had taken her in, that she would not share with anyone.
“Where did he strike you?” Callie asked, turning her attention back to Claudia. The earl needed comfort, of course, but he was not alone in that. It was clear that the earl needed reassurance, as well. But for the moment, she had to focus on the child.
Claudia held up her hands. Her palms were blood red and there were other welts across the backs of her hands and her knuckles.
“You’re to go to the kitchen and let the cook put something on them for you. She’ll have a salve that will make them feel better and while you’re there, perhaps she can give you a cup of hot chocolate? Would you like that?” Callie asked.
Claudia nodded but still wasn’t talking. It was obvious that the little girl was struggling not to cry, not to show how much pain she was in and how frightened she must have been. Claudia hadn’t even made it to the door when the new housekeeper, Mrs. Marler, rushed forward, wrapped her arm around the little girl’s shoulders and whisked her toward the kitchen.
When the servants had gone, amid lots of whispers and head shaking, Callie looked back at the earl. He had crossed the room and was standing at the window, staring out at the street beyond. His hands were on his hips and he’d ducked his head. But it wasn’t defeat. She knew that. It was temper. He was furious with Monsieur Dumont, with himself, and quite possibly with her. She had insisted, after all, that Claudia needed music lessons.
“It wasn’t your fault,” she said softly.
“Wasn’t it? I took an instant dislike to the man, but I hired him anyway… because it was expedient. Because I wouldn’t have to spend any further time looking for a music teacher for her. I put her in jeopardy, Miss St. James. I placed that child directly in the path of a man who clearly glories in inflicting pain and torment upon others… all because I couldn’t be bothered,” he stated.
“Then it’s my fault, as well. Because I insisted that she had to have lessons and that they needed to begin as soon as possible,” Callie stated.
“These children are your charges but, ultimately, they are my responsibility,” he stated. “I shoulder the blame alone.”
“And what of Monsieur Dumont? Does he not shoulder any of this blame? What of your neighbor who wrote him such a glowing letter of recommendation, or the other letters of recommendation that he had? Do they not shoulder the blame as well?”
He looked back at her then, his eyes still glittering with fury. “You will not let this be, will you?”
“No. I will not. You cannot take it all upon yourself, my lord.”
“Why not?”
Callie smiled sadly. “Because you cannot control everything… no matter how much you like to believe that you can. He was a highly respected, highly recommended music instructor and we had no reason to suppose that he was cruel and wicked enough to willfully abuse a child in her own home. It is an unfortunate way to learn a lesson, but it is a lesson learned nonetheless. We will both be more careful going forward.”
“There is no going forward. I will never entrust these children to anyone in such a manner again.”
“Claudia must learn an instrument, my lord. I know it seems silly to you, but she will be in society in a very short number of years. To not have such an accomplishment would place her at a disadvantage. And I cannot teach the other children and her what they require acad
emically and teach music, as well.”
“Then I will teach her,” he said.
“You play?”
“Yes… and rather well,” he said, crossing the room to the pianoforte.
Callie was rather surprised when he walked toward her and seated himself on the bench next to her. He was close enough that she could feel the heat of him. When he placed his hands on the keys, she could see blood on his knuckles where he’d struck the worthless Monsieur Dumont. Then his fingers began to fly over the keys, playing a tune she’d never heard before. And she was simply spellbound by it. The notes surrounded her, transported her, and the very complicated man who played them… well, he held her spellbound as much as the music did. He filled her senses and left her reeling. She was treading in very deep waters that she had no notion of how to navigate.
“I need to go,” Callie finally managed.
His hands stilled on the keys and then he turned to her. It wasn’t regret that she saw in his expression. In fact, it was so guarded that it was entirely unreadable.
“You don’t have to fear me,” he said. “I know my behavior yesterday was inappropriate, Miss St. James. I cannot and will not deny that I find you very appealing… more so than any woman I have encountered in years.”
Callie’s heart thundered in her chest. Those words pierced her deep and made her long for things she had never thought she wanted. “You should not say such things to me, my lord.”
“No. I shouldn’t. But I—it doesn’t matter. Go back to William and Charlotte. I’ll take Claudia to Gunter’s for an ice. She certainly deserves it after the experience of this morning and I have amends to make.”
“It was a mistake, my lord… nothing more than that. Luckily, we were here to intervene and halt his abuse of her. She will recover.”
“Will she?” he asked. “Did you?”
Callie looked away. “It was very different for me, my lord. When I was a child, there was no one to intervene. Not until Effie discovered me. But we all survive terrible things, do we not? Claudia will be fine once she feels secure again.”
She rose and turned to walk away, but his hand closed over her wrist and held her there for a moment. “Thank you,” he murmured softly.
“For what?”
“For being willing to risk everything for a child that you barely know. For being you, Miss St. James. Thank you simply for being you.”
Chapter Nine
Averston paused outside the door to the set of rooms he kept above the coffee house. Glancing to the right and then the left, certain he wasn’t being observed, he fitted the key into the lock and then entered. Lamps had already been lit and coals glowed warmly in the grate. Burney was there already, seated at the small table before the fire enjoying a glass of brandy.
“I’d rather thought you might not show,” Burney said, his expression clearly displaying his surprise.
“It’s not outside the realm of possibility. I had second thoughts, obviously. There are always second thoughts about these sorts of things. Don’t you find that to be the case?”
Burney shrugged, obviously attempting to appear casual. “I wouldn’t really know. I haven’t indulged in these sorts of assignations before.”
Averston was somewhat surprised by that. Stepping deeper into the room, he shrugged out of his heavy redingote and settled himself on the chair opposite Burney. “How did you know?”
There was no real question of what they were talking about it. The unspoken thing hovered in the air between them. The tension was palpable and yet strangely comfortable.
“How did I know that I was different?” Burney asked.
Averston wasn’t about to let him get away with being so vague. It needed to be spoken and plainly. “How did you know that you preferred men to women? Was it just something that you were always aware of or was there some great epiphany for you?”
Burney settled back, suddenly at ease now that things were so very much out in the open. “A bit of both, I suspect. I always felt different, I suppose. When I was growing up in the countryside, all the boys were taking bets on who could kiss a girl first. I won the bet, but I hated all of it. She was a lovely girl… baker’s daughter.” The last was offered with a self-deprecating laugh. “But it didn’t feel right to me. Then I was sent away to school. And if there is one thing that you can count on occurring at a boy’s boarding school, it’s a certain degree of… let’s call it experimentation, shall we?”
“And that did feel natural to you?” Averston questioned.
“Yes,” Burney replied. “And you… how did you know?”
“I’ve always known,” Averston said. “From the moment I understood that one day I would be expected to marry a woman and produce an heir, I’ve known.”
Burney placed his glass on the table. “Do you ever think a time will come when we’re not persecuted for not loving at the direction of others?”
“Is that what this is? Love?” Averston asked, his lips quirking in a sardonic half-smile. His grandmother’s words returned to him, taunting him from the darkest and deepest shadows of his mind.
“Lust, then. But surely two men can love one another, or two women, just as easily as a man and woman can love one another. Can’t they?”
Averston shrugged. “Love is hardly something I’d hazard to have an opinion on as it is not something I have ever experienced.”
“Never?” Burney asked. “You’ve really never fancied yourself in love with anyone… man or woman?”
“No,” Averston said. “I don’t think love exists. I think it’s a pretty word people wrap around the dirty things they want to do in private so they don’t have to feel guilt or shame.”
Burney shook his head. “That’s a very sad way of looking at things.”
“Perhaps. But it is a realistic one… don’t fancy us in love, Mr. Burney. I’m not even certain I like you yet,” Averston stated. “But you are remarkably handsome and you remind me what it felt like to be a younger man, not quite so burdened with bitterness.”
“Then how do I make you like me? For that’s a start, isn’t it?”
Averston smiled. “So it is.” But he said nothing further, he simply rose to his feet and grasped the other man’s hand, pulling him to standing as well. They were of similar height, so much so that they were nose to nose and only the space of a breath separated their lips. “I find that a kiss is usually a good way to start.”
“Come to my sister’s debut tomorrow night,” Burney said. From the widening of his eyes, it was quite apparent that it had been an impulsive invitation.
Averston cocked one eyebrow. “Why would I do that?”
“Because we are friends,” Burney said. “Because we might be able to slip away for a moment alone together.”
“And because having a duke in attendance, even one on a tight string such as I am, would cement your sister’s success?” Averston suggested.
“I won’t deny that it would help Amelia… but that isn’t why I asked,” Burney said. “It is possible that I like you just for you.”
Averston’s smile had chilled. “We shall see about that, Charles Burney. We shall see. Tell me, how are you managing this great expense when we both know you’ve pockets to let?”
“How else? Credit, of course,” Burney admitted.
Averston clucked his tongue. “You’ve overextended yourself.”
“My father did. I inherited more debt than funds,” Burney admitted. “But that isn’t Amelia’s fault. If I can keep up appearances just long enough for her to find a husband—I just need a little time.”
“And the ability to claim a friendly connection to a powerful duke would only aid her chances. Wouldn’t it?” Averston demanded.
“It would,” Burney said. “What do you want from me? Do you want me to beg?”
Averston pulled him closer. “No. You’ve pleaded your case well enough. I’ll consider it. But I’m done talking about your sister, Charles Burney. I’ve other plans for you.”
It was late. The wee hours of the morning, in fact. Burney rolled over in the bed and found it not only empty but cold. Averston was long gone and had been for hours. He tried not to be disappointed, not to feel used by the other man. But he did regardless. And the truth was that he had been used. Averston wasn’t the sort for sentimental attachments. They could share pleasure, had shared it and likely would again, but it would never be more than that. It was impossible anyway. He’d stated it very clearly. The man would have to find a wife and produce an heir. Burney was in much the same boat, assuming there was anything left in the family coffers for any would-be children to inherit.
Getting up from the bed, Burney began to gather his clothes, dressing quickly and quietly in the dim light that filtered in through the colored glass panes of the window. It was as discreet a location for a molly-house as one could ever hope for. Well protected, invisible to the outside world, the rooms all sealed behind locked doors. For men of their persuasion, that kind of security was hard to come by. He wondered if perhaps he’d ever be in that room again, or if having had his fill, the Duke of Averston was now done with him.
He sincerely hoped not. Cold, yes. Enigmatic, of a certain. But there was something compelling about the duke, something he couldn’t quite resist. Wanting a memento, something to remind him of the man and the hours they’d spent together, Burney moved toward the small desk that occupied one corner of the room. It contained a small writing box. Lifting the lid, he saw that the paper was of fine quality but lacked any distinguishing marks. Disappointment filled him. It was not Averston’s personal stationery but something discreet, intended for arranging assignations and communicating with lovers without risk of discovery.
Muttering a soft curse, Burney settled back in the chair once more. His eyes drifted to that discreet stationery as he wondered how many men Averston had entertained in that room. More than he wanted to consider, certainly. And when he was rotting in debtor’s prison, someone else would most assuredly be enjoying his attentions there in that lovely bower. He had to find a way to pay off the debts quickly and getting people to invest in his cousin’s scheme was clearly not going to do the trick.
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