Mistress of Melody

by Anthea Lawson

  Once again he glanced at his desk. How soon until he received a blackmail letter from Mr. Z? He rather hoped it would arrive quickly. The sooner he was able to put Jessamyn Lovell out of his life, the better.

  CHAPTER NINE

  A happy day for Lady Anne Percival, Lord Dearborn’s eldest daughter! The lovely young lady appears to be the object of Lord Silverton’s affections. Alas, the unchosen hopefuls must turn their eyes to a new prospect. Viscount Cottering, perhaps?

  -Tilly’s Mayfair Tattler, July 5

  Jessa sat across from Louisa in the threadbare armchairs drawn before Mr. Burke’s hearth. She was darning a hole in her stocking, while her sister stared dreamily into the flames. Louisa’s mending lay abandoned on her lap, and the lamplight picked out the amber highlights in her dark brown braid.

  “Six days!” Mr. Burke paced angrily back and forth. “Six days, and not a single inquiry for a performance. Jessamyn, your fame is fading.”

  She darted a glance at him. “It is the end of the Season. Surely that has some bearing.”

  “Yes—and you ought to be busier than ever. Parties, picnics, musicales.” He halted and gave her a venomous look. “Did you play poorly at Lord Silverton’s?”

  “Of course not.” She straightened her back. “Had you been present, you would’ve heard the excellence of my performance.” Especially how she had lifted the somber mood of the room, so that the event might not end in gloom and regret.

  “There must be a reason. Perhaps you displeased his bride-to-be.”

  Jessa’s needle slipped and she pricked her thumb, but dared make no sound. Surely the earl had not mentioned their kiss to anyone in Society? But what other explanation could there be? Heat, then chills coursed over her, and she set her darning aside.

  “I’m certain more requests for performances will come in,” she said, trying to keep her tone even, while her mind darted frantically.

  “They had better,” Mr. Burke’s said. “If your run as the Gypsy Violinist has ended, I’ll have to find a new financial solution for the burden the two of you represent. Luckily, I have a plan easily set in motion.”

  His gaze slipped from Jessa to the pensive form of Louisa, and the look on his face stopped Jessa’s breath in her throat. He couldn’t be thinking of using Louisa for something dreadful! Oh, but the cold trickle of premonition down her back knew that Mr. Burke had no scruples whatsoever.

  Jessa drew in a shaky breath.

  There was only one person she could think of to go to, one man who might provide her some assistance. And an explanation for why no more performances were forthcoming.

  The Earl of Silverton. Surely he would not be entirely insensible to her pleas, especially if he’d contributed to the ruin of her career.

  The rest of the evening wore away at an excruciating pace. Jessa dared not excuse them early from the parlor and risk raising Mr. Burke’s suspicions. At last, the clock on the mantel chimed nine.

  Louisa looked up. “The birds are chirping,” she said.

  “They’re telling you it’s time to make ready for bed,” Jessa said. “Gather up your sewing.”

  She looked over at Mr. Burke, who had settled at his desk and was scribbling furiously, ink spattering from the pen.

  “Good night, sir,” she called.

  He grunted acknowledgement and did not lift his head from his work. Jessa folded her newly darned stocking into her mending basket, lit a candle at the hearth, then led the way upstairs.

  “Jessa,” her sister said, as soon as the door closed. “Why don’t we use the talisman? I am ready to leave here, and the Silver Lord owes us a boon. You said so.”

  Jessa set the candle on the bedside table, the single flame sending long fingers of shadow up into the corners of the room.

  “I’ve told you before”—every evening since the musicale, in fact—“the talisman is too small for such a great favor as taking us under his roof.”

  “I was thinking, tonight. The fire dreamed me a story.” Louisa began unbraiding her hair. “You must use the boon to get another talisman. Then another. The third one will be powerful enough to make everything come out right.”

  It made sense, in the odd logic of fairytales. And it would provide an excuse for what Jessa must do that night.

  “You are right,” she said. “I will go this very evening to the earl’s.”

  “You will?” Louisa clasped her hands together. “Oh, be brave! Beware his beastly form.”

  Ah, yes—Jessa had nearly forgotten her fabrication that Lord Silverton transformed into a ravening beast after dark.

  “The glass teardrop will protect me,” she said. “But you must promise to stay here. It will not be safe for you.”

  Louisa nodded, her eyes wide. “Don’t forget to find the second talisman. And hurry back.”

  “I’m not leaving yet, love. I must wait until Mr. Burke is fast asleep.”

  Indeed, it was well after midnight when Mr. Burke’s snores finally resounded through the upper floor of the house. Louisa had long since fallen into slumber, her faith in her sister leaving her to dream untroubled.

  Jessa had not bothered to don her nightdress, but spent the time perched on the edge of her bed, planning the best way to reach Trevethwick House.

  She could not walk. Not only was it some distance from Westminster to Mayfair, but a woman alone at night was far too vulnerable. From the questionable residents of the neighborhood surrounding Mr. Burke’s lodging to the drunken dandies of the ton, she would face danger on all sides.

  The only solution was to take a hackney. And the only way to pay for the fare was the Venetian teardrop. She prayed it would be enough.

  The fog-shrouded night air lay clammy against her skin as she stepped out of Mr. Burke’s house. She glanced over her shoulder, but no lights kindled in the windows to signal that her absence had been detected.

  Gathering her cloak tightly about herself, Jessa made her way down the street. It was only three blocks to a busier thoroughfare, and even at this late hour she could hear the clatter of carriage wheels over the stones.

  Despite the prickling between her shoulder blades, she reached the busy street without incident, and within five minutes had hailed a hackney.

  “Where to?” the driver asked, peering down at her from his seat.

  “Mayfair.” Jessa gave him the address of Trevethwick House.

  He grunted. “Show your fare.”

  Carefully, Jessa extended her gloved hand to reveal the teardrop resting in her palm.

  “What’s this?” The driver squinted at it.

  “Enough to pay the fare ten times over,” she answered. “Will you accept it?”

  “Steal it, did you?” He shook his head. “Silly chit.”

  “No—it was given to me.”

  “By a stupid lordling, no doubt. Next time, make him pay for your favors in coin.”

  She did not argue with his assumption that she was a woman of light reputation. The circumstances spoke for themselves.

  “Please?” She lifted her hand even higher.

  The driver plucked the bauble from her palm, his grubby fingertips poking out of his fingerless gloves. He held it up a moment to the thin flame of the carriage lamp, then tucked it away.

  “Get in.” He nodded for her to enter the hackney. “I’ll take you, but it’s only enough for a single fare. Don’t ’spect me to wait about while you do your business.”

  She climbed in quickly, before he could change his mind. Her heart raced with relief, then fear as a host of new challenges presented themselves. Still, she would risk everything to keep Louisa safe.

  The interior of the carriage smelled dank, with an undertone of vomit. Jessa wrestled the window down and tried to calm the thoughts whirling through her mind. What if she arrived in Mayfair and could find no way to enter Trevethwick House, or rouse the earl? What would she do, sleep under a rosebush in the garden?

  Yes, then wait until dawn and tread the miles back to Mr. Bur
ke’s, hoping he would choose to lie abed that morning.

  She threaded her fingers together and hoped desperately her errand would not meet with failure.

  All too soon, the carriage halted before Trevethwick House. Jessa descended from the hackney. It was not too late—the driver might still return her to Westminster if she begged him.

  But no. She shut the door on the dim, squalid refuge, then turned to face the earl’s mansion. It looked enormous in the dark, and even more intimidating.

  “Remember,” the driver said. “Coin, this time.”

  He slapped the reins, and the carriage clattered away, leaving her standing alone on the cobbles. No light shone in the windows of the mansion, but she knew her way to the servants’ entrance on the side. It would be too much to hope that door was unlocked, but she must try.

  Dew wet her skirts as she made her way through the shadowy front garden and around the corner. A hawthorn bush snagged her cloak, and she stumbled painfully into a wrought iron bench. Shins stinging, she paused a moment to gather her bearings.

  The house remained still and unlit. And, to her regret, the servants’ entrance was bolted up tight.

  Bitter disappointment squeezed her throat. She had wasted the glass teardrop, and come for nothing. What a hopeless fool.

  Then light bloomed at the back of the mansion, shedding a soft glow over the rear lawn and garden. Jessa squeezed her eyes closed. When she opened them, the light remained. Carefully, she rounded the corner, to see that a room was illuminated. Someone was still awake. If it was a servant, might they let her in?

  Pulse beating in her throat, she crept up to the light. The ground-floor windows were just at eye level. Fingers clinging to the sill, she rose on tiptoe to peek into the lit room.

  It appeared to be a study. And—thank all the stars—the Earl of Silverton was within, seated at a wide desk. As she watched, he ran a hand through his hair. Instead of his usual mask of cool indifference, his face showed regret and weariness and frustration. It made him seem more human, and even more handsome.

  Jessa knocked on the glass, and he lifted his head. She rapped again, and he stood, his gaze going to the window.

  When he strode forward, she took a few steps back, so that he might see her in the light falling from the room. When he caught sight of her, his gaze hardened.

  “Let me in,” she whispered, exaggeratedly mouthing the words. As he continued to regard her, she added, “Please.”

  His mouth firmed into a line. He gave her a sharp nod, then pointed to his left.

  Navigating around another mass of shrubbery, Jessa came to a patio with French doors leading into the mansion. She climbed over the small balustrade and watched as the earl’s candle bobbed toward her through the darkened room.

  He opened one of the doors and slipped out, then set his small lantern on the flagstones. The single flame cast his face in forbidding shadows, and sudden fear snagged her breath. Here she was—alone at midnight, and utterly at this man’s mercy.

  “Miss Lovell,” he said, folding his arms, “what are you doing here?”

  “I must know what you have been saying about me.” She lifted her chin, trying to push back the knowledge of her own vulnerability. “Ever since I played your musicale, not a single person has approached Mr. Burke to schedule a new concert.”

  One of his brows lifted slightly. “I’ve nothing to do with that, I assure you.”

  “Haven’t you?” She took a step toward him, righteous anger warming her. “I know how men gossip about their conquests, and how women listen to what is both said and unsaid. No one will want to hire me if it is suspected I am a seductress, leading gentlemen astray.”

  “Not a soul knows that we kissed.” His gaze fell to her lips, and the memory of his embrace trembled through her. “Believe me, Miss Lovell, one kiss does not a seduction make. It is hardly worth troubling yourself over.”

  “Yet I am troubled. And my guardian even more so.”

  “Did he hit you again? Does he know of this indiscretion?” He stepped forward and took her chin, then gently turned her face to either side, inspecting it in the dim light.

  His fingers were warm on her night-cooled skin, and she fought the urge to lean into the solid warmth of his body. Instead, she took his hand and drew it away from her face.

  “No. Mr. Burke does not know we kissed. But I fear the lack of interest in my performances will drive him to some unpleasant action.”

  “Mr. Burke does not strike me as a particularly pleasant person to begin with. How did you come to be under his protection?”

  Jessa swallowed and glanced away. Dew glistened on the shadowed lawn, and distant shouts of laughter drifted through the dark air.

  “When my father died,” she said, “there was no one else to take me and my younger sister in. He is one of our only relatives on our mother’s side.”

  “The Gypsies would not keep you?”

  “Do not call them that, they are the Rom. And no. Our ties of blood were too weak.”

  “Too weak? Are you not half Gyps—Rom?”

  She shook her head. “Father was. My sister and I are only quarter-blood. But none of that matters now. We are beholden to Mr. Burke.”

  The earl’s lips firmed, and his hand tightened around hers. She had forgotten that their fingers were still clasped together.

  “I will engage you for my upcoming garden party,” he said. “And encourage my acquaintances to consider doing the same.”

  “Thank you.” She hoped it would sufficiently placate Mr. Burke. “I must go.”

  She slipped her hand from his and turned away.

  “Wait.” He caught up the lantern and strode to her side. “I doubt you have a carriage waiting at the curb. How do you intend to return home?”

  “I hired a hackney to bring me here.” Let him think she would do the same again for her return journey.

  “I’ll escort you.”

  “My lord, that’s completely unnecessary. It’s late, and—”

  “Precisely. This is no hour for a woman to be going about the streets.” They rounded the corner of Trevethwick House, and he frowned. “Did the cab not wait?”

  “I did not know how long I might be.”

  “I will take you home, then.”

  She shook her head. “It will hardly do my reputation any good for you to rouse your driver to convey me home after an illicit night visit. Do not concern yourself, sir.”

  “We shall ride.” He gave her a close look. “Do you know how to ride, Miss Lovell?”

  “I do.”

  And how she missed the nimble ponies of the clan, the wild bareback rides across fields and over low stone walls. But that part of her life was gone—and had never truly been hers to begin with.

  The earl regarded her a moment more. “A woman of surprises. Pull up your hood.”

  Jessa drew the cloth up about her face. It was essential she not be recognized. What the servants might think of their master taking a midnight ride with a mysterious woman was the earl’s concern, not hers.

  In the stables, the smell of hay and manure and warm animal wrapped about Jessa, more comforting than her cloak. She inhaled deeply, careful to keep her face concealed from the sleepy stable lad who sprang to assist them.

  As soon as two horses were saddled, the earl gestured for her to take the chestnut. It did not surprise her that he would ride the larger gray.

  The stablehand led her horse to the mounting block. Jessa tried not to frown as she glanced up at the sidesaddle. Her plain dark skirts were no riding habit, but voluminous enough that she could hook her leg about the high, curved pommel. How foolish the gentry were, with their notions of what was proper for a lady. She was far more accustomed to riding astride. Not that she imagined the earl would countenance her even suggesting it: he seemed such a rigid paragon of propriety.

  Though she did find it ironically amusing that his honor demanded he ride with her through the streets of London in the dead of night.
It reeked of illicit scandal.

  A pity the only scandalous thing between them was a single kiss.

  “Might I assist you?” Lord Silverton asked, coming to stand beside her.

  She nodded and stepped onto the mounting block. One hand on the saddle, the other grasping her skirts, she set her foot into the low stirrup. The earl clasped her waist and boosted her up, the warm print of his hands lingering as she settled herself. It felt awkward to be perched all on one side of the horse, but secure enough.

  Without a word, he adjusted her stirrup, then swung up onto his horse. The stable hand led Jessa’s horse out, and she bit back her frustration. Truly, she was capable of guiding her mount out of the building—but the less she said that might reveal her identity, the better.

  The fog still cast a haze over the night, but the moon had broken free of the clouds and was sending tilted silver light over the sleeping city. Jessa lifted her head, and her mount’s ears pricked up when the lad handed her the reins.

  “Come,” the earl said, and urged his horse into the quiet street.

  The clop of hooves over cobbles seemed loud in Jessa’s ears, but the rumble of a carriage’s metal-bound wheels would have been worse. Gas lamps shed pools of light, the illumination much more regularly spaced than in Mr. Burke’s neighborhood. She leaned forward and let her mount draw even with the earl’s. He glanced over at her.

  “What is the gelding’s name?” she asked, patting her mount’s neck.

  “Mayberry.” There was a note of approval in his voice. “Tell me, Miss Lovell, where are we bound?”

  “Westminster.” It was not the poorest or most dangerous area of London, but shabby gentility was quickly giving way to less savory elements in certain quarters.

  “We’ll cut through Green Park and St. James’s, then,” he said.

  She nodded. It would shorten the distance, and she felt safe enough in his company.

  They rode past furled gardens and splendid townhouses. Some were dark and slumberous, while others shone with light and merriment, and likely would until dawn. What a strange life the ton led. And how odd that, had she a different father, she might even now be attending one of those parties. Not as a performer, but as a guest.