Heart Strings (Music of the Heart Book 1)

by Donna Hatch

  Nora nodded sympathetically. “Are you new to London, then?”

  “Yes, I arrived from the country only two days ago. I suppose I’m pretty green.” Susanna ran her fingers along the harp’s curved neck, similar to her harp back home but with different carvings, and made with dark wood.

  Did she dare confide in these young women? If so, perhaps they could recommend a boarding house who might take her. Still, they were strangers. And Martha’s warnings of the jealous and competitive nature of professional musicians were fresh in her mind. Nora and Jane seemed friendly enough, not the type to poison a competitor, but Susanna vowed to be careful, regardless.

  Nora slid her cello off her shoulders and opened the case. “I never sleep well in a new place, either. Everything sounds and smells and feels different, it does.”

  “You brought your bag with you?” pressed Jane, glancing at Susanna’s portmanteau.

  Susanna flushed. “Yes, I always bring it.” She could think of no reasonable explanation so she gave none. “It was a pleasure to meet you both.” She picked up her tuner.

  “You, too,” Jane said. “I suppose as the only female members of the orchestra, we girls must stick together.”

  Susanna smiled, searching for the courage to ask if they knew of a place to stay. Other musicians filed in, talking and laughing. Jane and Nora chatted as they unpacked their instruments and warmed up. Susanna bit her lip. She had missed her chance. Perhaps after the performance.

  Covertly, she slid the items making up her makeshift bed under the harp bench before she began the lengthy process of tuning.

  “Are you feeling better, Miss Susanna?”

  She glanced up at a pair of warm brown eyes and her heart did several flips. Truly her angels must have guided her to such a kind and handsome gentleman. “Mr. Anson.”

  He smiled. “Kit, please.”

  She got so lost in his handsome face that she almost forgot to answer his question. “I am feeling better, thank you. And thank you again for your assistance today.”

  “My pleasure.” He shifted his grip on his violin case. “You mentioned you were new in town. If I can be of any assistance getting you settled, you have only to ask.”

  If he knew she had run away from home with little to her name and had slept last night in the streets next to a heap of refuse, he probably would not be so generous with his time. She dare not ask a man for recommendations for a woman’s boarding house. That simply wasn’t done.

  “Thank you, er, Kit.”

  He studied her a moment longer, offered a brief bow, and moved up front to speak with the conductor, Alex. Susanna allowed herself the luxury of admiring Kit, his striking face, his lean, almost graceful form, his confident stance but without the swagger of an arrogant womanizer, like Percy. Kit certainly had been kind to her, more so than other men of her limited acquaintance.

  Who was he? He spoke like a high born gentleman, and clearly had the benefit of an education. Of course, she daren’t ask such personal questions.

  “He’s certainly a feast for the eyes, isn’t he?” Jane smiled at her.

  Susanna didn’t know whether to be ashamed she had been caught mooning over him or relieved Jane shared her opinion. She settled for a guilty smile and a nod.

  Jane continued, “I declare the first time I played with the orchestra, I was so distracted by looking at him that I could hardly pay attention to the music. Too bad I’m not right next to him where I can see him better. Then again, maybe it’s just as well. I am married. Still, I have a good view from here.” She let out a lusty sigh.

  Susanna almost allowed herself a giggle before she stopped herself. Kit glanced back just then. Her face flamed at having been caught and she pretended to be absorbed in tuning.

  He picked his way back to her. She considered whether she could truly sink into the floor but didn’t know how to go about it.

  When Kit reached her side, he said, “Alex said to tell you that the principal harpist is not expected to be healed enough to return for another few days, so if your performance is as good tonight, you have the job—temporarily.”

  “I do? Oh!” She clasped her hands together so she wouldn’t embarrass herself by throwing her arms around him and hugging him. As it was, she barely managed to refrain from hopping up and down. “I’m ever so glad to hear it. I hope I will prove myself to Alex’s satisfaction, then. And yours.”

  “You have nothing to fear.”

  “Thank you,” she gushed. “Thank you again.”

  He nodded and returned to his seat. How wonderful! She had a position for the present time.

  The performance went even better that night than the first, and Susanna immersed herself in the music. When the score called for rests for the harp, she watched Alex’s animated gestures as he conducted. Once or twice—oh, very well, much more than that—she let her gaze stray to Kit. He swayed slightly as he played, and much of the time he closed his eyes as he poured his soul into his craft. Near the end of the first act, he played a solo. Susanna had never heard such beauty as Kit playing his violin. Such power and passion. The candlelit chandelier hanging from the domed ceiling shone on his dark hair, and the far chandelier backlit him, giving the illusion that he was some kind of heavenly being. Her father used to say angels played harps in heaven, and even called her ‘his little angel.’ Susanna was pretty sure they also played violins.

  Pity no one in the audience could have the pleasure of watching Kit perform. The male singers on stage couldn’t hold a candle to his masculine beauty.

  When the score called for the harp, she joined in, blending her notes with the orchestra, and at the right moments, playing her glissandi. Then it was time for the harp and violin duet. She let her heart guide her, soaring with him as he soared, slowing and softening with him as if they performed an intricate dance with music instead of feet. A heavy weight lifted from her heart and dissipated like so much mist, carried away by the hauntingly beautiful pleasure of playing with Kit. A glorious sensation of being connected to him filled her, giving further emotion to her music.

  By the time the last note faded away, a hush had fallen over the audience before thunderous applause nearly shook the theatre. He glanced back at her. She smiled and wiped tears from her cheeks.

  With admiration shining in his eyes, he inclined his head in an abbreviated bow. If only she could always be so connected.

  Alex broke the spell, cueing the prima donna who sang from stage and bringing in the orchestra. Still, a version of that wondrous sense of belonging lingered in Susanna’s heart until after the performance.

  As the final curtain fell and the orchestra packed up to leave, Susanna deliberated. Could she dawdle and then slip into the shadows so she could sleep in the orchestra pit, or did she dare ask Nora and Jane for their advice? She couldn’t bring herself to face another night sleeping in an alley. The danger alone declared that a foolhardy plan.

  Kit approached her, grinning. “I hope you will forgive me for saying so, but I’m glad the principal harpist was unable to perform. I never would have had the pleasure of playing with you. Don’t get me wrong—he is a very skilled musician, but you play with more feeling than I’ve ever heard from a harpist. That duet we played…” he trailed off and shook his head.

  She shrugged, warming all over that he’d felt that same connection she had. “I merely followed your lead.”

  He smiled and a soft light entered his eyes. “Please allow me to buy you dinner at my favorite tavern. I’d really like to become better acquainted with you.”

  He wanted to become better acquainted with her? He couldn’t mean that the way she thought. If only he did….

  She held up both hands in an attempt to ward off temptation. “Oh, no. I couldn’t impose.”

  “It would only be imposing if you refuse.” He smiled disarmingly, a friendly, slightly teasing glint brightening his eye.

  Still, she hesitated. How well, really, did she know him? Sure, he had helped her acquire th
e position as temporary opera harpist, he had come to her aid when she’d fainted, and he played the violin beautifully, but dare she trust him enough to go somewhere with him? Alone? All her life, she’d been cautioned to have a chaperone with her on the rare occasion she left home or if she ever were to entertain a male visitor.

  Of course, she was no longer the cloistered daughter of a gentleman whose every move fell under public scrutiny.

  Kit’s demeanor changed, light in his eyes softened and turned almost pleading. Very gently, he said, “I realize you don’t know me at all, but I give you my word as a gentleman that I will not allow any harm to come to you.”

  Her stomach chose that moment to growl.

  He grinned. “You can’t expect me to believe you aren’t hungry.”

  Heat raced to her cheeks and she laughed softly. “I won’t bother.”

  His grin widened. “I don’t recall ever meeting anyone who blushed so easily.”

  She held her portmanteau in front of her with both hands. “It’s my complexion. My mother used to say that people as fair as she and I are, are blessed with the gift of honesty—we can’t tell a lie or even hide our feelings without turning red.”

  “She is as fair-skinned as you are?”

  “Yes, she was.” She let out a little sigh. “She was a great beauty.” Rousing herself lest she fall into doldrums, she found a smile from somewhere inside her. “At least you won’t have to worry if I’m being truthful with you.”

  “I wasn’t worried. A late super then? With me?”

  She glanced around. Nora and Jane were gone. So much for her plan to ask for their help. Her weakness and hunger warred with her hope to sleep safely inside the theatre. At the moment, her hunger won. She’d probably regret her choice later. Perhaps she could somehow get back inside tonight.

  “Very well, I accept.” She slid the cover over the harp and picked up her portmanteau.

  He lifted a brow. “Do you carry that thing everywhere you go?”

  “Of course.” She lifted her head as if his had been a silly question, as if everyone carried baggage everywhere they went. He probably thought her odd.

  “Then please allow me to carry it for you.” He reached for her portmanteau.

  She hesitated again. Everything she owned was in that bag, but if she could trust him enough to go somewhere with him, surely she could trust him with her bag and its meager contents. She surrendered her portmanteau.

  With her bag in one hand, and his violin in the other, Kit wound through the orchestra pit to the stairs. Susanna followed him. As they reached backstage, he slowed his pace until she caught up with him. Then he matched his longer strides to her smaller steps. Jane and Nora stood in the wings, flirting with a pair of stage hands. They glanced at her as she walked past them next to Kit. Jane’s mouth dropped open before curving into a delighted smile, and Nora’s sentence trailed off.

  Susanna walked a little taller next to Kit. It was silly, of course. He clearly had no real interest in her. No matter. Just being seen with such an admired—and admirable—man sent a flutter of wild tingles all over her. This would be one of the sweetest of Sweet Moments she could take out later to savour when she needed to buoy her spirits.

  Chapter Seven

  Unwholesomely pleased with herself at that moment, Susanna put her hand on Kit’s arm as they worked their way to the exit. She had sacrificed another opportunity to ask Jane and Nora about lodging, but on Kit’s arm, she couldn’t muster up any regret. Besides, she would eat a full meal soon. Her mouth watered.

  Kit called out a farewell to Bert at the door, and tucked the violin under the same arm that carried Susanna’s portmanteau. As if it were second-nature, Kit opened the door and stepped back. He glanced expectantly at Susanna. She almost missed her cue. When was the last time a man had held a door for her? Her father, probably, had been the last, just as he always did for her mother.

  To Kit, she murmured a breathless, “Thank you.”

  When they stepped outside into the cool London fog, Kit again offered her his free arm. Speechless at his thoughtfulness, she slipped a hand around his elbow and looked up at him. He stood a full head taller than she, and at that moment, appeared more knight than angel.

  “Are you blushing again?” his amused voice rumbled softly.

  She looked down. “This isn’t a ballroom. You don’t have to treat me like a fine lady, offering your arm and opening doors.”

  “Of course I do. The streets of London are almost as dangerous as ballrooms, you know.” He grinned.

  “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been to a ball.”

  “Outdoor country dances, then?”

  “No, never.” He must think her a backwards bumpkin.

  “Really?” His brows lifted and a delighted smile brightened his already stunning face. “We must remedy that.”

  “Oh no, I haven’t danced in so long, I doubt I remember how.”

  Her dance master had only worked with her for a few months before her parents both succumbed to influenza. Aunt Uriana, viewed Susanna’s dance master an unnecessary expense and dismissed him. Later, Aunt hired a dance master for her daughter but forbade Susanna to participate.

  Kit’s voice drew her gaze. “Dancing is one of those delights in which everyone should have an opportunity to indulge. One can always learn—or relearn—the steps. Here we are.” He led her to a tavern named the Silver Duck and held the door open. The Silver Duck. This was the same place with the pump in back where she’d been getting her water.

  Inside, Susanna paused, breathing in the aroma of bread and beef stew. A few men clustered around tables drinking and talking. Some laughed raucously and others murmured, their heads close together. Tallow candles sputtered on the tables and in sconces on the walls but failed to provide more than tiny circles of light amid the darkness.

  They found an unoccupied table and, always the gentleman, Kit held her chair out for her. After scooting her in and placing her portmanteau and his violin on an empty chair between him and the wall, he sat and turned a curious gaze upon her.

  “May I ask you an impertinent question?”

  She folded her hands in her lap. “You can ask, but I do not promise I will answer it.”

  “Fair enough. How does a gently-bred lady from the country end up in London playing for an orchestra?”

  She opened her mouth, then closed it. How much to reveal? She tilted her head. “How does a gentleman with enough town polish who, if he wore the right clothes, could impress even the dragons who run Almack’s, end up playing for an orchestra?” Of course, having never left her town until now, she knew little about such things except what she read in the gossip columns of her uncle’s cast off newspapers.

  He laughed uneasily. “Touché. Very well, I’ll tell you; I had a falling out with my father over a moral dilemma, and I left hearth and home to make my own way in the world—to prove to myself and to him that I am my own man and need not live under his tyranny.”

  Who was his father? A country squire? A distant relation to a lord? The more time she spent in his company, the less likely it seemed that he could be the son of a merchant or factory owner. From what she’d seen of society in her hometown and her aunt’s guests, Kit had the kind of inherited polish of ancient gentry that families of new money never managed to capture.

  Continuing his story, he said, “I needed a way of supporting myself so I auditioned for the opera orchestra.”

  “I see our stories and reasons are similar,” she said.

  Interest sparked in his eyes. “Have you been on your own long, then?”

  “Not long.”

  His brow lifted as if he’d expected a different answer but he nodded. He laced his fingers in front of himself on the table top, his eyes searching hers. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”

  “No. I merely…had to get away from my aunt’s tyranny.” Hopefully using his own words would stop the questions.

  “It’s one thing for a man to be on
his own. It’s another matter entirely for a lady to do so.”

  “A great number of women are alone.”

  “Not daughters of gentlemen.”

  She blinked.

  He offered an apologetic smile. “Your manners and the quality of your speech give you away. When ladies fall on hard times, they usually find work as a lady’s companion or governess so they are still under someone’s care.”

  She weighed the wisdom of confiding in him. He seemed so kind, but he might think her wicked for refusing to marry the man of her guardian’s choice and running away from home. The idea of losing his good opinion of her tied her tongue.

  Finally, she managed, “I have had quite enough of being under someone’s care.”

  “Ah, Kit.” A rotund, rosy-cheeked man wearing an apron and wiping his hands on a towel emerged. “I wondered when you were going to show up. You brought a friend.” His gaze flitted to Susanna. He looked her over curiously as if he couldn’t imagine why such a plain little ragamuffin would be in Kit’s company.

  Addressing Susanna, Kit gestured to the man. “This is Ol’ Joe. He and his wife own the place.”

  Ol’ Joe’s wife must have been the woman who allowed her to wash using their water pump behind the building.

  “Ol’ Joe, this is Susanna. She’s new to the orchestra. Plays the harp.”

  Ol’ Joe lifted his brows. “Harp, eh? Never seen one of those up close. Bet it sounds like a little slice of heaven.”

  She smiled. “My father always thought so.” A Sweet Memory returned, one of Papa sitting nearby, smiling, eyes closed, as he listened to her play, and Mama next to him, working on her sewing, also smiling. Fortunately for her, Uncle enjoyed it as well or her harp playing days would have ended years ago. Bless him, it was the one time he’d spoken up against his wife. He even had kept her supplied with a steady supply of new music.

  “Are you hungry, too, miss?” Ol’ Joe asked. “You could use some food, by the looks of you.”

  Heat crawled up her neck to her cheeks, and she lowered her gaze, nodding. Someday soon she’d find steady work and would eat on a more regular basis—enough to fill out like a woman instead of a scrawny little boy.