Kendal would no doubt consider himself far too talented to play for money.
Precious bloody petal.
“Yes, like hired musicians. That’s the secret of our Italian friends. They play at all the best homes and are getting first crack at the available women. The way things have been going lately, we are left with either the dregs or our own hands when we get home,” said Owen.
And while he intended at some future point to take Owen to task over the omission of himself as the singer, the longer Reid considered his friend’s plan, the more sense it made.
He nodded. “While forming a musical group is not the first thing I would have thought of, I must admit that it’s an insane enough idea that it might actually work. It has my vote.”
“Mine also. I say we give it a shot,” said Callum.
All eyes now turned to Kendal. He picked up his brandy glass, then swirled it slowly in his hand before downing the last of his drink. Reid gritted his teeth. Trust Kendal to feel the need to add a touch of dramatic effect while everyone waited on his answer.
“Well you won’t stand much of a chance at success unless you have me onboard, so I guess I am in,” said Kendal.
Owen grinned at Reid. They were all in agreement.
Reid felt his dark mood lift for the first time in days. Plans immediately began to form in his head. “We approach the hostesses of the ton, call upon their sense of patriotism, and snap up as many of the private musical bookings as we can,” he said, getting to his feet. He began to pace up and down the room, hands clasped behind his back. “What else do we know about these Italians?”
The others exchanged a knowing look. Reid had slipped comfortably into his old mode of being their senior officer. Owen, Callum, and Kendal were back to serving under Reid’s command in the Royal Dragoons.
Owen stood once more and stood stiffly to attention. Kendal and Callum stifled a laugh. “Sir. I undertook a sortie into enemy territory, sir. They have established camp at Stevens Hotel in Bond Street, sir,” he said.
Reid laughed and gave Owen a friendly slap on the back. “At ease, Captain Smart-arse.”
“They have a booking at the hotel for the next two months, which means they are not going anywhere anytime soon. If we are to stave off this attack, we need to do something about it now,” said Owen, resuming his seat.
Kendal fiddled with his empty glass of brandy, batting it from one hand to the other across the table. “Owen are you going to be able to handle rehearsals in amongst the rest of your commitments this summer?”
Owen shot him a dirty look before huffing loudly. “What Kendal here is trying to say, is that both of our fathers have decided it is high time we took on wives. The Duke of Banfield has given Kendal to the end of the year to find a suitable bride. While mine decided to save me the trouble and went and secured a fiancée for me. He sent a rather blunt letter to me informing me of my betrothal.”
Silence descended and settled heavily in the room.
Fiancées. Wives. Marriage.
War had been a dangerous enough endeavor, but marriage was the final battleground for all men. And unlike going to war, no man ever returned to his comrades once he had taken on a wife. There were no survivors from the kiss-strewn battlefields of wedded bliss. Poor Owen. Poor Kendal. Poor bastards.
“Fuck,” whispered Callum.
“Yes, fuck exactly.” Reid himself had the unfortunate luck of no longer being in possession of either of his parents, so there was no one pressuring him to marry. Callum’s father was a relatively young man in disgustingly good health who was seemingly content to indulge his son’s bachelor ways for some time to come.
But Owen and Kendal were both doomed.
“So, who is this fiancée who you have been saddled with?” asked Reid.
Owen drained his brandy glass, before reaching for the bottle and refilling it once more. “Lady Amelia Perry. Apparently, she fits the bill. All her own teeth and a decent dowry. Other than that, I don’t know anything about the chit. It was mentioned in the fifth paragraph of a long letter from my father. I thought he was in jest at first, but a second missive from the old codger cured me of that misconception. He expects me to be married no later than mid-September.”
There was genuine sadness in Owen’s voice; it would have been both amusing and slightly pathetic if the situation wasn’t so dire. With a wife would come duty and commitments. Then those dreaded creatures known as children. Reid felt nauseous at the mere thought of it all.
The days of the four of them hunting as a pack through the ballrooms of London in search of sexual conquests were coming to an end. He looked at his friends with unreserved pity, mourning for their soon-to-be-lost freedom.
There must be something a loyal chap could do for his friends before the end. To make sure that their last days of debauchery were unforgettable. To create memories which would bring them comfort in the long dark days of lace, drooling babies, and polite conversation that would soon stretch before them.
Shakespeare’s words from the Saint Crispin’s day speech immediately came to mind.
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered—
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers.
He had been their commanding officer, their leader. It was his duty to take decisive action. He would not stand by and let Owen and Kendal drift quietly into the arms of marriage. He would give them one last summer of wild drinking and wanton women if it killed him. Taking on the Italians and beating them at their own game was the perfect call to arms. Reid thumped the table hard. It was time to rally the troops.
“Gentlemen, I want all of you to go home and pack your things. We shall rendezvous back here this evening. In the meantime, I will have rooms prepared for each of you. We are going to take on the Italians, and we are going to live and fight as they do. All of us under the one roof. We shall share one last summer of music, vice, and unashamed lechery.”
“Yes!” cried Owen, punching his fist into the air.
Kendal nodded his approval. Callum raised his brandy glass in a silent salute.
Picking up the half-empty brandy bottle, Reid marched solemnly around the table, filling every man’s glass to the brim. When he reached his seat once more, the others got to their feet. Four brandy glasses were raised.
“To one last summer of freedom, gentlemen, and to victory against the Italians,” he said.
Owen lowered his glass. “We need a name. A banner under which we can live and die.”
“Simple. The Noble Lords,” replied Callum. His suggestion was greeted with a hum of approval.
“To one last summer!” Kendal cried.
“To victory!” Owen yelled.
Reid beamed as the rally cry echoed in the room. These men were his brothers—they would stand shoulder to shoulder until the bitter end.
“To the Noble Lords!”
Chapter Three
“You did what?”
Reid faced down his younger sister, Eliza. She glared back at him, hands on hips. Eliza had the looks of a brown-haired angel, but she had a devil of a temper. Woe betide any man who tried to cross her. Reid made a mental note to warn the others.
“I invited Callum, Owen, and Kendal to live here at Windmill Street for the rest of the summer. This is my house, and I make the rules.” He nodded agreement to his own words, hoping that it would add weight.
The dry look he got in return informed him he may have shot a little wide of the mark. So much for his grand plans.
“Your own behavior is bad enough, Reid, but now you have asked three more drinking and whoring nobles to live under the same roof as me. For the next ten weeks. Please tell me, dear brother, that I misheard you,” she ground out.
“I would prefer it if you would kindly refer to them as being my musical brothers in arms, but in a nutshell, yes.”
There were few women Reid was genuinely afraid of, and unfortunately, the one currently staring sharp dag
gers at him was the one he feared most. It took almost all his strength to hold her gaze. Her sharp blue eyes threatened to cut him in two. She blinked slowly as a soft smile crept to her lips. “My apologies, Reid, but if you expect the house to run smoothly while they are here, it is going to cost you,” she said.
His heart sank. He had heard those words too many times before to know that they didn’t auger well for the health of his purse.
“How much?” he ventured.
She chuckled. He noted the evil tone to her laugh and a chill ran down his spine. Why, oh, why hadn’t he yet managed to find her a nice and pliable husband?
Because she is stubborn and self-opinionated.
She was also his beloved sister. His Eliza. If Reid had one weakness, it was her.
Her silent regard for his question about money made him uneasy. Little wonder every time he set foot in any of London’s major shops he was greeted with deep bows and the gleeful wringing of hands. He suspected the various shopkeepers said a special prayer for the health of Viscount Follett’s bank account every night before they went to bed. But Reid could not begrudge Eliza anything; she was his touchstone.
She kept the servants of the house in line, the wine cellar well stocked, and his clothes clean and waiting for him whenever he needed them. She did everything that a wife would do when it came to the managing of a house, and the Follett estate. If she were ever to marry, he would be left in a bind.
Good lord, if she did leave him, he might have to get serious about finding himself a wi . . .
Reid could not even bring himself to think the word, let alone say it.
Eliza reached out and patted him gently on the cheek. “I shall let you know at the end of the first week. Who knows how many of your musical brothers will still be in residence under this roof come then?” she said ominously.
Eliza’s comment echoed his own misgivings. After the others had left the house that morning, Reid had taken a moment to reflect on his decision to make his home the base for the campaign against the Italians.
There was a generous amount of masculine pride within each member of the Noble Lords, himself included. The fact that all four men were used to getting their own way had Reid wondering whether he had been a little too hasty with his offer. The battle speech from Shakespeare’s Henry V had caused a rush of blood to his head.
Kendal, Owen, and Callum all living under his roof could well be a recipe for disaster. A powder keg of unchecked male egos, waiting to explode at any moment.
It was all too late for second thoughts. He had already given his word, and the others were at their various homes, making good to decamp to Windmill Street.
And if the price he had to pay for winning back the sexual attentions of various luscious and generous women was him having a house full of his friends for the duration of the summer, coupled with Eliza going on one of her spending sprees, then it would be a worthwhile investment.
“You cannot put a price on my happiness, Reid, but to help smooth over the moving period, I did see a new fabric the other day which I thought might look a treat on the sofas in my private sitting room,” replied Eliza.
Reid groaned. “Could you show some fiscal restraint? I do have . . .”
He was about to caution Eliza regarding her improvident nature, but he caught the eye of a footman entering the room and stopped. It was never a good idea to conduct a row in front of the servants, especially not when it came to money. And especially not when it involved his hot-tempered sister.
Knowing his well-paid staff, they would be handing in their notices at the first sniff of any tightening of the purse strings. Good servants were hard to find and even harder to keep.
“My lord, Lord Grant has arrived and is asking where the piano is to be situated,” announced the footman.
Reid ignored the hint of a knowing smile on Eliza’s lips. Kendal Grant was always going to be the toughest new inhabitant of Follett House. He was pernickety about everything. So, of course, he had brought his own piano with him. Reid could only pray that it was the sole piece of furniture his footmen would be hauling up the rear stairs at Kendal’s command.
“The ballroom will be the rehearsal space for us, so put the piano in there,” he instructed the footman.
As soon as the footman had gone, he ventured another look at his sister. Eliza was busy staring at her hands, her fingernails clearly holding endless fascination.
“And, pray tell, what are you going to rehearse?” she said. She was not going to give him an inch.
“Music. The others and I are going to form a musical group and play at people’s homes over the remainder of the summer,” he replied.
“Why?”
“Well because Kendal and Owen have both been ordered by their respective sires to settle down and take wives. I thought it a good idea for us to have one long, grand farewell to the two of them. What better way to enjoy the time than to play music?” he replied.
Eliza picked at one of her fingernails. “Oh. And here was me thinking it was just another one of your harebrained schemes to pick up loose women for sex.” She smiled sweetly at him, but Reid was not foolish enough to rise to the bait.
“That sort of thinking is not becoming of an unwed young woman,” he replied.
A look of sudden seriousness appeared on her face, and for a moment Reid thought she was going to say something of importance, but the expression quickly disappeared. “Back to the topic at hand: music. The only time I have seen you near a musical instrument was when I found you in a drunken stupor under the piano last Christmas. So, what exactly are you going to contribute to this little musical group? Sorry, your musical brothers in arms.”
Eliza held his gaze.
She was good. His sister knew exactly the right question in order to put him on the spot.
Kendal could play the piano perfectly. He had years of formal training under his belt. Owen had taken violin and viola lessons with Eliza when they were younger. And Callum had played the flute in a military band. All three of them were accomplished musicians.
“I suppose you could conduct the group. Not that any of them really need much more than someone to count them in,” she added.
Eliza’s words cut deep. Reid would be nothing more than an afterthought in the Noble Lords. Someone who would introduce the music, then graciously step aside, and let the others play.
His pride would not stand for it.
“Actually, I am going to sing.”
Chapter Four
With his sister’s peals of laughter ringing in his ears, Reid went in search of his first houseguest.
He was still quietly nursing his bruised ego as he stepped into the downstairs ballroom. The sight which met his eyes had him whispering, “For fuck’s sake.”
Kendal was standing in the middle of the room, one hand on his hip, the other directing a group of servants as to where he wished the piano to be placed.
“A foot or two nearer to the window will do. No, actually move it back. Right there. No. A foot to the right. No.”
He raised an eyebrow as Reid came and stood beside him. Kendal continued to wave his hand and the servants moved the piano yet again. Sweat beaded the servants’ foreheads. Eliza would be fielding complaints from the household staff before the day was over.
“I hadn’t realized how small your ballroom was, Reid. It’s really just an oversized sitting room, isn’t it?” noted Kendal.
The footmen lifted the piano one more time and then set it down again. Reid knew Kendal well enough to appreciate that if he took one bite of the first complaint which was offered, he would never finish chewing it.
“At least I own a ballroom. Tell me when you get your own and we can then compare sizes,” he replied.
Kendal chuckled. “Touché.”
Reid didn’t particularly like having to remind his friend that he would not be inheriting his father’s title or property, but just occasionally, Kendal needed trimming down to size.
�
��Any sign of the other two?” asked Kendal.
“Owen sent some things over an hour or so ago. I expect Callum is having to convince his father that he is a big enough lad to be allowed to leave home, even if it is only for the rest of the summer,” replied Reid.
Callum and his father were close, and it had taken a concerted effort by Reid and his friends to get Baron Sharp’s blessing for his only son to board the ship to Belgium in order to fight in the final campaign against Napoleon.
“Afternoon, fellow players.” Owen strode into the room, violin case in hand. Behind him trailed several servants carrying various other instruments.
“Violin and viola. Is that a cello?” said Kendal pointing at the largest of the cases.
Owen nodded. “Yes, thought I should bring the full arsenal with me. Can’t leave anything in reserve when it comes to the ladies. From what I hear, the Italians don’t have a cello. It could be our secret weapon.”
Reid was up for any sort of edge that they had over their opponents. He secretly doubted that the cello would have any effect on winning women into his bed, but he was willing to be shown otherwise.
“My lords,” said a female voice.
Eliza sauntered into the ballroom and came to stand next to Reid. She greeted Kendal and Owen with a brief nod of the head, but it was the gentle smile which she reserved for the fourth gentleman who had followed her into the room that had Reid gritting his teeth.
Eliza had a soft spot for Callum which she failed to hide. And Reid had a suspicion that the next month or so would result in either one of two things: Eliza would finally see Callum for the loose cannon that he was and look to place her heart elsewhere, or he would find himself holding a pistol to the head of his friend threatening blue murder over the heartbreak he had caused his only sister. Where those two were concerned, there could not be a happy middle ground. A quiet word with both Eliza and Callum would be one of the first orders of the day once everyone had settled in.
The piano was dropped heavily on the floor.
Reid: A Regency Rockstars Book Page 2
