Kendal stalked toward the piano. When he reached it, Reid saw his posture visibly soften. The musical genius gently lay his head on the top of the piano and began to whisper softly to it. All the while, his hand stroked its highly polished surface like it was a lover.
“If he tries to fuck it, I am out of here,” muttered Owen.
Kendal lifted his head, and even at this distance Reid could see that he was trembling. His fellow Noble Lord righted himself, cleared his throat, and took a deep breath. He faced down the gathered servants. “Gentlemen, this is a Cristofori piano. It is nearly one hundred years old. It was made in Italy by the inventor himself. Which makes it a priceless piece of musical heritage.”
The footmen all looked at the floor, and Reid was tempted to follow suit and avert his gaze—anything to avoid capturing Kendal’s eye.
“AND THAT MEANS YOU DON’T DROP THE BLOODY THING!” he bellowed.
His voice echoed around the room before silence descended once more. Eliza gave Reid a sideways ‘I told you so’ look then headed over to where a red-faced Kendal stood.
“Kendal, darling, where would you like our highly skilled staff to place your piano?” she asked.
He silently pointed to a spot on the floor a foot or so closer to the window than where the piano sat.
“Very good,” she said.
She took him firmly by the arm and led him over to where the others stood, while the servants picked up the precious piano one last time and moved it. After her nod of approval, the Follett household staff hurried from the room.
Eliza let go of Kendal’s arm and turned to face them all. She held her hands gently within one another. She looked for all the world like she was about to be presented to the queen. “My lords, and gentleman, let me make things clear. While my brother here has invited you all to live under his roof for the next ten weeks, you must understand that I act as chatelaine of this house. The servants, therefore, are within my command, as is the rest of the house. If you have brought any servants with you, they shall also fall under my office.”
Reid bit his cheek and tried not to show any emotion. If Kendal thought he had the market cornered in foul tempers, he had nothing on Eliza when she was in full flight.
“Which means that there will be no changes made to household routines without my say so. There will be no stray women wandering the floors. If you do happen to bring home a lady friend, I expect her to be out of this house before dawn and her presence not felt.” Her gaze settled on Callum whose cheeks suddenly reddened. He looked away, muttering something inaudible under his breath.
“Finally, and on pain of death, there is to be no yelling at the staff. I don’t give a rat’s arse if you have a priceless antique piano. If you raise your voice to the servants, I will take an axe to all of your musical instruments and turn them into kindling. Have I made myself clear?”
If Reid was the captain of this company, Eliza was his sergeant at arms. He might not agree with everything she said or did, but he would never dare to countermand any of her orders in front of the others.
“Yes, of course,” they all replied.
She gave them a cheerful smile. “Good. I shall let you all get settled, and in the meantime go and see about arrangements for this evening’s supper.”
Reid received a social smile for his trouble as she passed him by. Once she was gone, the only sound that could be heard in the room was the quiet click of teeth being ground.
It was going to be an interesting summer.
Chapter Five
“No,” said Kendal.
“What now?” replied Owen, flustered.
Kendal sat back from the piano and stared hard at the violinist. “The tempo is not right. You start out fine, then go and up down like a whore’s skirts.”
Reid picked up his brandy and took a large gulp. He made a mental note to ask Eliza to place an additional order for spirits and wine. The way the first rehearsal session was going, they would need a lot more alcohol in the house to avoid killing each other this summer.
“Kendal, much as you might love this piece, we can’t play it for our audience. It’s a fucking dirge. We are supposed to be entertaining people, not putting them to sleep,” replied Owen.
Kendal sighed loudly. “It’s Beethoven’s Sonata for piano and violin in E-flat major. It’s one of his best pieces you bloody philistine.”
Reid blinked hard. He was struggling to stay awake while listening to it. Owen was right. The piece was beautiful, but it didn’t set his pulse racing. Nor would it heat the loins of any potential lover. He wanted music that would lure a woman to his bed, not make her want to sleep as soon as she got there.
“If we want women falling at our feet, we need something a little livelier, something with some spark. How about Mozart?” said Callum.
Reid vehemently shook his head, as did Owen. If there was one thing Kendal hated it was Mozart. It was fortunate for the famous composer that he’d had the good sense to die long before Kendal had discovered the depth of his enmity toward him and his music.
“What’s wrong with Mozart?” asked Callum.
‘Everything. I am not playing his shit,” ground out Kendal.
Reid got to his feet. Now seemed the best time for him to make his own announcement, while the others were at an impasse. “I have had a think about the group, and especially what we should be offering in order to entertain people. We need to approach this like it is a war, and that means getting the audience on our side. I want to call on the patriotism of the ton, especially the ladies. England versus Europe. Or in this case, the Noble Lords versus the Italians, or something to that effect. And if we are going to succeed, we shall need a singer. I will take on that role.”
Kendal looked to Owen, who looked to Callum. No one spoke for a time, during which Reid quietly stood his ground. He was ready to go into battle against anyone who thought he didn’t deserve a full place within the group.
“About time,” said Callum.
Owen nodded. “Yes.”
“Well now that we have the issue of a singer sorted, can I suggest we take this time to address the problem of what we should be playing? If the Italians are making sexual conquests, we need to know to which tune. They are scheduled to play at Lord and Lady Martin’s home tonight, so let’s get our coats and do a spot of intelligence gathering,” said Reid.
“Just like the old days,” said Kendal
“Except that the enemy here won’t send you to the guillotine if you get caught,” replied Callum.
“True,” quipped Owen.
Heads turned as Reid and the others stepped into the main foyer of Lord and Lady Martin’s house a little while later. Being men of noble birth, Reid and his friends had little difficulty in striding in the front door without an invitation.
Upon seeing Reid, their hostess rushed to his side, gushing, and fawning all over him like a young girl. Lady Martin was actually a middle-aged matron whom Reid had known in the biblical sense more than once.
“Lord Follett, such a wonderful surprise to see you this evening,” she exclaimed.
Reid gifted her with a bright smile. “Lady Martin. When we heard you were hosting such an event, my friends and I cancelled our other plans and headed straight here.”
As the others moved into the main room and began to circulate, Reid put the Follett Plan into action. He paid his respects to some guests, noting two ladies of whom he had personal, intimate connections. Unfortunately, neither lady was attending on her own this evening. Blasted husbands and their territorial tendencies over their wives.
His gaze roamed over the rest of the gathering and he frowned. Slim pickings were to be had. He sighed. He desperately needed a sexually available woman. Even a luscious and discreet widow would do, but he didn’t know of any such woman in his social circle.
Get a hold of yourself, man. Next you will be checking the funeral notices and marking out mourning periods on your calendar.
Stalking widows would
be a low point, even for him, though Owen had claimed particular success in that sphere over the years. His friend was, at times, less than choosey when it came to his sexual conquests.
After they had taken their seats at the back of the room, Callum summoned a footman over and ordered drinks. “May as well enjoy ourselves while we listen to the competition.”
At the front of the room, four dark-haired figures were seated in a semi-circle facing the gathered guests. A first and second violin, a pianist, and a fourth gentleman who sat to one side of the group. It was the first time Reid had seen all of their musical counterparts in the one place.
While the others had their gazes locked on the musicians, Reid found himself drawn to the one man not sitting with an instrument. There was something about his manner which set him apart from his companions—a certain air that Reid recognized as the sign of leadership.
This particular gentleman’s gaze roamed the room, returning every so often to his musical comrades. At one point, he waved to Lady Martin. When she returned his wave in much the same way she had greeted Reid earlier, Reid nudged Callum who was seated beside him. “I would bet five pounds that he has already got a leg over Lady Martin,” he said.
Callum leaned in to Reid without taking his eye off the performers. “The pianist has three ladies he has been making eyes at since we arrived. The first violinist licked his lips when the woman in the front row waved her fan at him. The second violinist looks like he is having some problem with his instrument, so he hasn’t paid much attention to anyone else, but I expect he has his own group of admirers.”
“Bloody bastards,” muttered Reid.
If he had any say in it, all of them would be having problems with their instruments, and he wasn’t thinking of the ones in their hands.
A well-dressed gentleman stepped forward and the Italians all rose from their chairs and bowed to him. Lord Martin, as well as his wife, appeared to have fallen under the spell of the recent arrivals.
“My lords, ladies, and gentlemen, may I have your attention,” Lord Martin said.
The four friends sat forward in their seats; Reid listened intently. He waved away the footman who offered him a brandy. He was here to listen and learn all he could about the enemy. He could drink at home.
“My wife and I are delighted to welcome Signore Marco Calvino and his friends here tonight. Our musical guests hail from Venice where I understand they are quite famous. Before we hear a selection of musical pieces from Vivaldi, Signore Calvino will delight us with an aria from the famous Italian composer.”
An enthusiastic round of applause greeted Marco Calvino as he strode to the front and bowed low to the crowd. A soft sigh was heard from several of the women in the room. Reid bit his bottom lip in an effort to suppress his simmering anger.
“For crying out loud, get on with it. I have drinking to do,” grumbled Owen.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I present for your listening pleasure Vivaldi’s Vedro con mio diletto, sung by countertenor,” announced Marco.
The audience applauded yet again. Expectations were high. Reid found himself silently praying that Marco’s singing abilities did not live up to their hype.
But from the moment Marco opened his mouth and began to sing, Reid was rooted to the spot. It was as if the gates of heaven had been unlocked and a choir of angels had flooded through gifting him their voice. A chill of fear ran down Reid’s spine. This was an enemy possessed with skills far exceeding his own.
“Fuck me, he is good,” whispered Callum.
Apart from the musicians and Marco, no one in the crowded room moved a muscle. The guests and even the servants appeared to be utterly spellbound.
At the end of the short aria, the audience rose to their feet as one. Rapturous applause filled the room.
Reid stirred from his stupor and stood. He looked across at his companions and his heart sank. Callum stood, mouth agape, while Owen and Kendal both joined the rest of the gathering and clapped loudly in appreciation. Finally, reluctantly, Reid put his hands together and added his applause.
Marco and his friends were not just some random group of musicians working their way through the bedrooms of the ton; they were gifted masters.
When Owen finally turned to him, Reid saw fear written all over his friend’s face. Little wonder they were struggling to win the attention of the most beautiful women at parties, if this was the competition they were up against.
“And not one of them has the decency to have an ugly face or be a hunchback,” Callum complained. He had to yell over the continued applause.
Callum was right. Every single one of the Italians looked like they had just stepped out of a Renaissance painting. Black hair, dark brown eyes, and jaws so chiseled they could probably cut through oak.
This was far worse than Reid had imagined. And to top it all off, they could speak English. Or at least Marco could, and he was clearly the biggest danger.
Reid motioned to a nearby footman. “A large brandy, if you would be so kind.”
Callum held up two fingers. “Make that two large brandies.” When the footman demurred at the order, Callum huffed. “Fill two large glasses and bring them back here. And make it quick.”
Kendal leaned over, waving to get Reid’s attention. “Apparently Marco studied under Domenico Mombelli, so he knows his stuff.”
Kendal might have been impressed with that piece of knowledge, but it gave Reid no comfort whatsoever. They all sat once more and watched as Marco then took on the role of conductor. When the first strains of Vivaldi’s famous “Spring” violin concerto filled the room to even more rapturous applause, Reid speared his fingers through his hair and groaned.
“I am never going to get sex from any of these women ever again.”
Chapter Six
Facedown on his bed, still fully dressed, Reid woke as the early morning sunlight streamed in through his window. The brightness hurt his eyes, but he was in no condition to move and close the curtains.
After returning to Windmill Street following the performance of Marco and the Italians as he had dubbed them, he and Callum had sat up and drunk themselves through to the early hours of the morning. Owen had cried off earlier in the evening citing paperwork he had to attend to at Lowe House as his father was still home in the country.
An enraptured Kendal had followed the crowd to the next performance, telling Reid he needed to hear more before he could formulate a suitable musical response to their problem. The look of joy on his face belied his words. Marco and the Italians had gained themselves yet another fan.
Reid rolled over on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Why, oh why, couldn’t the Italians have stayed in Venice? Surely there were plenty of willing Italian ladies they could practice their skills of seduction upon. They didn’t need to come and sew their wild oats in London.
And to top it all off, Marco could sing. Really sing. His voice had all the markings of having received the very best training. He made it look so effortless.
“What am I going to do?” he muttered.
Reid’s own baritone voice was at best pleasing, but would not stand up against the clear, measured tone of Marco’s countertenor.
“Fuck Domenico Mombelli and fuck Marco.”
Why had he been so reckless in deciding he could be the singer for the Noble Lords? Only a day ago he had been ready to take on anyone who questioned his claim to that role. Now he was gripped with self-doubt. How was he going to be able to compete against Marco and not make a fool of himself and his friends?
The answer was a bitter pill to swallow. He couldn’t. He was not the group’s leader; he was their weakness.
The other Noble Lords could play musical instruments. They had a degree of competency with which they could compete. Kendal could, of course, hold his own against their pianist—the same with Owen. Callum and his wind instruments were a point of difference they could possibly exploit, though it remained to be seen as to whether he could hold his liquor habit in c
heck to actually make it through a whole evening’s performance.
That left just Reid.
With no time to suddenly take up an instrument, he was going to have to work with what he had. Or get someone to help develop his voice.
He slowly sat up, grateful that the room had stopped spinning. He would never be as good as Marco, who had all those years of training under his belt, but at least he could try and improve his own voice.
Any sort of singing lessons would help to lift his performance. He would do anything not to be an embarrassment to his friends.
He threw his legs over the side of the bed, took a deep breath, and rang the bell for his valet. Before he could think about singing lessons, he had an early morning riding session with the other Noble Lords in Hyde Park to attend.
Reid checked the street one last time before stepping into the doorway of the building. The chances of him actually encountering anyone he knew in this part of London at this time of day were slight, but he wasn’t any taking any risks. There were a number of well-known brothels in the same street. He would hate for any gentleman of his acquaintance to think he had visited one of those establishments. He would join a monastery before he ever stooped to paying for sex.
After scanning The Times newspaper earlier in the morning, he had found an advertisement for a singing teacher under the Want Places section of the paper. He was particularly drawn to the fact that it offered private lessons, with the promise of discretion. That was exactly what he needed: someone who could help to train his voice without his fellow musical enthusiasts knowing about it. His pride could only handle so much. He did not need Kendal et al adding their tuppence worth of advice. Not telling them of his plans to take singing lessons was only a small white lie in his book.
Eliza had, of course, been taken into his confidence. His sister had kindly offered to give various alibis to the others as to what her brother was doing each day while he was out having singing lessons on the sly. To her credit, she had also apologized for laughing at him when he’d mentioned his role as baritone in the quartet.
Reid Page 3
