Knowing the minister, he would take them both in hand and have the first of the wedding banns read on the next Sunday morning. She could only hope that the minister was in a hurry today and not interested in having a chat.
“Good morning, Miss Wood. We haven’t seen you at church the past two Sundays. I trust we will be graced with your presence this week,” said the minister.
Damn. Blast. There goes my sleep-in.
“Yes, of course,” she replied.
The minister took his purchases and bade them both a good morning, after which Anthony stepped out from behind the counter and came to Mercy’s side. She fiddled nervously with the basket in her hands. Anthony always stood too close for her comfort.
“I have some sea trout in this morning if you would like some,” he said.
“Oh, yes please. Salted fish is good over winter, but I love a fresh piece of fish and some boiled potatoes if I can get them,” she replied.
He lingered, a whisper of a breath away. Mercy turned her head, doing her best to remain calm. Their affair had been over for almost a year now, but he had made it clear that given half the chance, Anthony would take her back to his bed. He would even make her his wife if she asked him.
It made standing this close to him torture. She had been the one to end their relationship and the guilt still weighed heavily on her mind.
The tinkle of the shop doorbell saved her. As another customer entered the shop, Anthony silently moved away. His fingers brushed over the sleeve of her coat. “I shall get you that piece of fish, Miss Wood. Will there be anything else this morning?”
“Two large potatoes, Mister Sperry,” she replied. As he made his way toward the back of the shop, she softly sighed.
Will it ever get any easier? I just wish you would settle down with a nice girl who makes you happy, Anthony, I cannot be what you want me to be.
At first blush, he was exactly the sort of man she should gift her heart to—the kind of man she should marry. Mercy had once thought he was, had given herself to him in expectation of them building a life together. But the more she learned about him and his true nature, the more certain she became that they were not meant for one another. That no matter how much she tried to love him; he could never own her heart.
Because while Anthony Sperry was a decent enough man, he had no passion in his soul. He didn’t care for laughter, nor even love. Once he’d turned his nose up at Mercy’s attempts to create her own music, she’d known she had to end their affair.
A life with someone who didn’t understand the soul of music was a life she couldn’t live.
Chapter Five
Kendal checked himself in the mirror. His long, fair hair hung around his shoulders. It gleamed in the light of the afternoon sun. Some people may have considered it a foolish notion for someone to brush their hair one hundred times in order to make it shine, but Kendal could attest to the truth of it. So, could his long-serving valet, Nigel.
“Is this the usual way to tie my cravat?” he asked.
Nigel clicked his tongue against his teeth. Kendal caught his valet’s reflection in the mirror and raised an eyebrow at the look of displeasure on his face.
“My lord, this is the standard musical knot that you always adopt when you perform. One would not be wishing to make changes to your routine on such a night,” he replied.
Kendal nodded. Of course, Nigel was right. Tonight, was the debut performance of the Noble Lords. Only a damn fool would look to make any sort of amendments at the last minute, even minor ones. Tempting the gods of music was a reckless and dangerous thing.
“Thank you. Do you have my cloak?”
Nigel lifted the scarlet cloak from the nearby chair and handed it to Kendal, who swirled it around with great flourish, before draping it over his arm. The silk fabric added the right amount of dramatic effect to his mood.
He turned and grinned at his valet; Nigel was beaming. The red cloak had been his idea. “You are a bright star, my lord. London is not worthy of your talent.”
“I know,” replied Kendal.
He headed downstairs to meet his fellow Noble Lords. It was time the ton saw just how talented Lord Kendal Grant was.
Mrs. Scott, the Noble Lords’ first patron, was a slender woman in her early fifties. Her husband was a powerful man with connections in many high places. He was also rumored to demand that his wife reveal every intimate detail of her sordid liaisons to him while he took his pleasures with her. After having spent that one night in Mrs. Scott’s bed, Kendal had made it his business to avoid both Mister and Mrs. Scott at all social events.
Standing alongside the other Noble Lords as they waited to make their polite greetings to Mrs. Scott, he quietly practiced the last piece of music he had added to the set earlier this morning.
Their patroness finally turned from her other guests and gave them all a warm smile. “Ah, my Noble Lords. What a delight.”
Her gaze shifted from Reid to Owen, then to Kendal. His suspicions about Reid having graced Mrs. Scott’s bed as well as Owen and himself were confirmed by the way she licked her lips when her gaze fell on his friend. She batted her eyelids, then looked pointedly at his crotch. The woman had not an ounce of discretion about her.
She then turned her attention to Callum, who appeared to be giving her a wide berth. His friend might well be half-foxed, but he was showing a definite display of discomfort at being on the receiving end of her attention.
He took her hand. Owen, who was standing behind Mrs. Scott, kept giving Callum warning looks, for which Kendal was grateful. He didn’t actually want his friend to suffer the indignity of spending the evening with her. Callum had enough troubles to deal with; he certainly did not need anymore. When Callum beat a hasty retreat to the garden, the remaining Noble Lords all sighed with relief.
Mrs. Scott’s gaze followed Callum’s departure before she turned her attention back to Kendal. “Now, dearest Lord Grant, Lady Eliza has promised me that you and your friends will play Mozart this evening. I just want to make it clear that I expect you to make good on that undertaking. No Mozart, no payment,” she said.
He gritted his teeth. With their rival musicians, Marco Calvino, and his cousins, playing Mozart, he had little choice but to concede and agree to perform the composer’s music.
Just remember it is all for charity. Think of the Waterloo widows and orphans who will be getting the proceeds from the booking.
“Of course, Mrs. Scott. We will play all the music that you love.” He forced a smile to his lips; it was a brittle one. It was only a matter of days ago that he had fought his latest duel over Johannes Chrysostomus Wolfgangus Theophilus Mozart.
I am a fucking fraud. The next time I fight a duel, I will save time and shoot myself.
“Very good. Don’t forget you promised you would come and see me again. And, Kendal darling, I always hold my friends to their promises,” said Mrs. Scott.
“Another evening perhaps,” he replied.
She dismissed him with a wave of her hand, before turning to Reid. The look on her face was far less friendly than the one she had graced Kendal with. Something told him Reid had not been gracious when it came to be refusing some of Mrs. Scott’s bedroom demands.
“Now, Lord Follett, I have some other friends arriving a little later, so once they are here you gentlemen may play for us. Until then, I suggest you make yourselves useful and mingle with my guests. Since I am paying for your services this evening, I am sure you can find amusing ways to earn your keep.” And with that, the Noble Lords were dismissed.
Kendal’s heart sank as Mrs. Scott headed toward the door which led out to the garden.
“That woman is determined to make Callum her prey for the evening,” said Reid.
“Yes, and for once we can only hope that he is either too drunk or too high to take her up on her offer,” replied Kendal.
By the time Kendal and the other Noble Lords were ready to make their debut later that evening, he was in the middle
of a heated argument with another guest over which composer was the greatest of them all. Only the timely intervention of Reid stopped him from starting an all-out brawl.
He was ready to start throwing punches when Reid took him firmly by the arm and looked him squarely in the eye. “Lord Kendal. Remember we are here to play for these people, not abuse them.”
The red dragon of rage which had filled Kendal’s vision over the past few minutes dissipated at his friend’s words. When a chorus of relieved sighs came from the other guests, Kendal silently chided himself. Once again, he had let his anger get the best of him.
He bowed to the gentleman with whom he had been arguing. “May I offer you my most humble apologies? I sometimes get a little carried away. Music is my mistress, and she is the most demanding of lovers. I shall play Mozart for you this evening, and I promise you shall enjoy it.”
With peace once more restored, Reid slung an arm around his shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get you over to your piano and you can be ready to play.”
Once seated, Kendal let his head fall forward. His long blond locks covered his burning cheeks. So much for showing London his magnificent talent. One day, he would have to learn to control his temper.
“You are going to have to set aside your hatred of Mozart for the time being. We cannot have you brawling or shooting every guest who happens to like his music,” said Reid.
Kendal righted himself and nodded. “Yes. Yes, I expect you are right. There is only so much one can do when it comes to dealing with the idiocy of the masses.”
Reid frowned. “Not quite the answer I was looking for, but if it stops you fighting a bloody duel every second day, I will take it. Though I’ve instructed Mister Green to have the pistols removed from your room. Better safe than sorry.”
Kendal wasn’t in a position to argue the point. Eliza had removed all the alcohol from the bedrooms and been forced to deal with Callum’s wrath over that, so he could understand not being allowed to keep loaded weapons in his room.
His temper cooled and he began to tinker with the piano keys, checking that Mrs. Scott had made certain to have the instrument tuned.
I wonder if Mercy and her father worked on this instrument?
The red dragon slowly retreated to the background. Music always provided a focal point for his mind. It was his passion, but it was also the balm to cool his frantic brain.
The truth was, he didn’t actually hate Mozart the man. What made his blood boil was his bone-deep belief that the Austrian had not used his full potential. Kendal was convinced that Mozart had succumbed to the popularist dictates of his time. When, in his opinion, the master composer should and could have been making groundbreaking music such as Beethoven had created.
But no one wanted to hear this.
Am I the only one who understands the heart of the music? Will I ever find a soul mate who feels the same as I do?
As he looked around the gathering and saw the usual familiar faces, he quietly despaired. He didn’t know any women who played the piano and truly loved it. Most girls were taught to play, but only as part of their training to become accomplished ladies of society. Scales and a polite level of proficiency were often all they were permitted to learn. Passion and the joy of music were more often than not stifled by overbearing mothers and poorly paid music teachers.
He may well spend the rest of his days searching for a woman amongst London’s elite who felt the same burning need to create and perform music as he did. That one perfect pearl in a sea of imperfection.
And what if you never find her? What if such a woman does not exist?
“Then I shall never marry,” he muttered.
Chapter Six
“Don’t make me go to Windmill Street on my own. Lord Grant stares at me.”
Mercy’s father huffed. “You are in a house full of people; he wouldn’t dare try anything if he even thought about you in such a way. Mercy, you are a beautiful girl. You have always captured men’s gazes. Lord Kendal Grant is nothing new.”
“But I am not a piano tuner,” she said.
She had accompanied her father to Windmill Street over the past few days, content to assist him while staying out of the way of Lord Kendal Grant. Dealing with him on her own was not something she wanted.
“You know more than most professional piano tuners—enough to be able to undertake the task and complete it. All you have to do is mess about with it, play a few notes, and for added effect, put your head inside the lid and tap the hammer gently on the wood. It’s the height of summer; I have work coming out of my ears. I need you to take on this task. The money is easy and good.”
Mercy glared at her father. Much as it seemed that she was being offered up for coin, there was no way she could win this battle. Money was always in short supply. She was going to have to endure the stares of Lord Grant. “Alright. But if he tries anything frisky with me, I want your permission to give him a kiss with my fist.”
Her father gave her a disapproving look.
“A slap?” she ventured.
“I would rather you didn’t go assaulting the son of a duke. If Lord Grant is foolish enough to try getting bold with you, then all you have to do is to simply walk out the door of the ballroom and speak to the butler, Mister Green. You inform him that a footman must be present at all times during your visits. That should suffice.”
So, I am to do this again? Place my trust in a stranger. You don’t know what it is like for a young woman. And especially not when it comes to some clients.
She silently cursed her father for having come up with a sensible solution. And while it wasn’t the first time a client had shown an uncomfortable level of interest in her, Kendal was something different from the usual run-of-the-mill lecherous, creepy noble.
For a start, he was drop-dead gorgeous. His long, blond hair and piercing grey-green eyes made him look like a sexy version of the poet Shelley. That man’s wicked words . . . Her heart beat a little faster. He was a man who could heat her blood.
When Kendal had stood unashamedly ogling her that first morning, she had done her best to ignore him. Her own study of the tall, handsome second son of the Duke of Banfield had been conducted mostly out of the corner of her eye—darting glances in his direction during the rare moments when he had been distracted.
This little game of hide and peek had gone on each morning since. He would look at her; she would look elsewhere. Then, while Kendal was otherwise engaged, she would take the opportunity to steal her own glimpse of him. It was a risky game. Only this morning he had caught her watching him, winking as he turned away and pretended not to notice.
Mercy stood and picked up the supper plates, ready to carry them out to the yard and wash them at the communal handpump. The small blister on the back of her heel protested as she took a step toward the door. “I will tune Lord Grant’s piano, but I want the coin. I need new boots and if I am going to cripple myself by walking over to Windmill Street and back every day, I should have something to show for it.”
“Agreed. You tune Lord Grant’s piano for the rest of the summer, and you can keep the coins. But I want to see them lined up on the table each day,” replied her father.
Mercy scowled. “Are you saying you don’t trust me to get paid properly?”
He rose from his chair and opened the door for her, smiling as she stepped through it and headed toward the stairs.
“Actually, it’s more that I know you don’t want to do the job, and being the stubborn young woman, you are, you will find new and inventive ways of avoiding it if you can. If I see the coins, I will know Lord Grant is happy with your work.”
As Henry Wood closed the door behind her, Mercy grumbled, “Stubborn? I’m not stubborn.” Her boots echoed in the empty stairwell as she made her way down.
Tomorrow morning, she would be making the long trek to Windmill Street and Lord Kendal Grant would be getting his piano tuned.
Now she just had to find a way to stop constantly thinking abou
t him.
“So, whereabouts in London do you live?” asked Kendal.
Mercy pretended not to hear him and stuck her head inside the open lid of the piano. She was doing exactly as her father had instructed and was busy tapping on the side of the wood, while making the occasional professional-sounding “hmm.”
“Did you hear me?” he said, placing his hand on her back.
She jumped, banging her head hard on the inside lid of the piano. While Mercy had been busy pretending to tune it, Kendal had risen from his seat and come to stand next to her.
“Owww!” she exclaimed.
Strong hands wrapped about her waist and pulled her away from the piano. “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to cause you alarm.” Kendal kept his hold on her.
Mercy held her breath, the pain of her head momentarily forgotten as the scent of Kendal’s cologne filled her senses. He smelled of clean male with a trace of intoxicating spice.
Kendal gently released his hands and at the break in the physical connection, Mercy snapped back to reality. “Keep your distance.”
He frowned. “Why?”
“Because I don’t like you being so close to me. You are all up in my business and there is no need for it,” she replied.
I knew coming here on my own was a mistake.
She steadied herself, taking in a deep breath. He was pure temptation. A shiver slid down her spine. “I . . . I need to check that the instrument is in tune,” she stammered.
It wasn’t so much that Kendal was making her uncomfortable. It was more that he created feelings within her that she found hard to put her finger on—sensations in her body she hadn’t known before. And looking into his eyes was like seeing into her own soul.
Kendal held his hands up in surrender and stepped away from her. “I am sorry. Please continue with your work. You just . . .” His brow furrowed as he shook his head. Kendal seemed to be struggling with the same odd emotions as she was. Could she be having an effect on him? Was a mutual infatuation stirring to life?
Kendal Page 3
