“What the?” he muttered.
He knew it wasn’t down to his nerves; a couple of glasses of fine French wine had settled them. No, it was something else.
As he walked away, an unfamiliar thought gripped Reid.
He didn’t want to be with any other woman.
He wanted Lavinia Jones.
Chapter Fourteen
Mrs. Scott’s expected late-arriving guests finally managed to make it to the party just after midnight. When the butler tapped Reid on the shoulder and announced that their hostess was ready for them to perform, he didn’t know whether to thank the man or cry.
In the past hour, a bored Callum had embarked on an expedition to the bottom of a bottle of whisky. And while it made a welcome change from gin, it still had the same outcome: Callum was foxed.
Kendal, meanwhile, had commenced a long and loud argument with another guest over the merits of Mozart versus Bach. A dozen bemused-looking guests were crowded around watching the spectacle.
Owen was the only one apart from Reid who actually seemed to be taking the evening seriously. “I shall extract Callum from his liquid lover. You go and grab Kendal before he starts a war,” said Owen.
Reid nodded. “Done.”
Approaching Kendal when his gander was up took a delicate touch. He might not be the most muscular of men, but he was wiry and in possession of a devil of a temper.
“Mozart was a mama’s boy, indulged and cossetted from the day he was born. Bach had to work to develop his talent. Don’t talk to me about bloody Mozart!” bellowed Kendal.
Reid took a deep breath and stepped into the fray, narrowly avoiding being clocked by one of Kendal’s wildly swinging arms. Their gazes met and for a moment, he thought Kendal might actually try to land a punch on him. He held his hands up in surrender.
“Lord Kendal. Remember we are here to play for these people, not abuse them,” he said.
To his immense relief, the fire in Kendal’s eyes dimmed. His friend blinked. The mad look on his face disappeared.
“Yes, of course. Though you know how much it pains me to play anything written by that musical fraud,” replied Kendal. He turned to the guest he had just been arguing with and bowed to him. “May I offer you my most humble apologies? I sometimes get a little carried away. Music is my muse and she is the most demanding of lovers. I shall play Mozart for you this evening, and I promise you shall enjoy it.”
Reid followed Kendal to where their instruments and the other Noble Lords were. He chanced a look at Callum, who was slumped over his flute.
For fuck’s sake, Callum, not on our first night.
How were they going to perform if one of their group was in his cups? To Reid’s surprise, however, Callum lifted his head and brought the flute to his lips. A beautiful, melodic sound filled the room. A smattering of appreciative applause came from the gathering. Callum’s eyes were unfocused and partly bloodshot, but somehow, he could still play.
Reid had spent a sleepless night worrying about the concert, and his stomach ached from having constantly thrown up its contents. Yet Callum, foxed as he was, made it all look so easy. His friend could play drunk better than he could sing stone-cold sober.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kendal take his place at the piano, while to his left, Owen picked up his violin. Reid nodded. It was time for him to get over himself and work with his friends as they took to center stage.
Mrs. Scott walked to the front of the room and turned to address the gathering. She held her hands tightly together in front of her before suddenly flinging them wide open.
“Well . . . my darling friends, we have some very special guests here this evening. Not one but four gentlemen of noble birth who are going to entertain us. So, without further ado, I shall let Lord Follett introduce the members of his little band of players.”
Reid bowed low to her before turning to face the audience. Much as Mrs. Scott might well irk him at times, he was grateful that she had given them their first paid booking.
“My lords, ladies, and gentlemen. We are the Noble Lords. My friends and I have decided to come together over this summer to perform at select homes and venues. While we are receiving payment for our performances, all monies raised will go to help the widows and orphans of our brave war-dead.”
His words received the response he was hoping for from the gathering: applause and several loud cheers.
“Lord Kendal Grant is at the piano, with Sir Callum Sharp and Lord Morrison accompanying him on the flute and violin respectively. A little later in our performance, I shall be singing the Catalog Aria from Don Giovanni. We hope you will enjoy our performance. Thank you.”
He stepped back as the opening strains of a Vivaldi violin concerto filled the room. A ripple of applause was heard from the assembled guests. He bowed his head, and closing his eyes, turned his attention to concentrating on his breathing.
I can do this.
“…surprisingly good. The baritone could do with a different song, but still, they didn’t disgrace themselves. I would sit through another performance.”
Reid took the overheard comment from one of the audience members to heart. They had played quite well, better than in any of their rehearsals. Owen and Kendal shone, and the knowledgeable audience appreciated them. Callum managed to somehow stay upright on his chair as well as play the flute. His only fault of the night was the moment his fingers slipped in the middle of playing a sonata by Handel and a rough note broke the flow.
They would have to deal with the issue of Callum and his shortcomings at some point, no doubt, but not tonight. From the number of women who were casting encouraging glances Reid’s way, he knew he would soon have other more pleasant priorities than worrying about his fellow Noble Lord.
He had just refused the advances from one comely matron who had a reputation for being indiscreet, when someone tapped him on the shoulder. Turning, he came face-to-face with Marco Calvino.
“Congratulations on your group’s debut, Lord Follett. It’s a pity we missed the opening part of your performance,” said Marco.
Caught off guard, Reid could only manage a small “Thank you.” Having found no sign of the Italians during his earlier search that evening, he had assumed that Kendal had been uncharacteristically wrong in thinking that they were attending tonight.
And yet here Marco was, large as life, smiling and offering his congratulations. As Reid shook his hand, he wondered what the talented Italian had really thought of his singing, but he wasn’t game to ask.
While Lavinia had been blunt in her assessment of his abilities, he knew Marco would not be so ungracious. Reid had made it through the aria, and while his nerves had settled, he still wasn’t in the mood to be patronized.
He forced the thought to the back of his mind. It was thrilling to think that Marco had been interested enough in Reid and his friends to make the effort to watch their first performance.
“Your group did not play a concert anywhere earlier this evening?” asked Reid.
Marco smiled. “Yes, we’ve already played two concerts tonight. A bit of a rush between the engagements, but we fortunately made both on time. I have learned that the trick is to make sure you are not trying to travel between performances just after the theatre has ended at Drury Lane. The crush of carriages at that time around the west end is terrible.”
Two concerts. The Noble Lords had struggled to make it through one performance, and here was their competition, getting through two and then having enough time up their sleeves to watch Reid and his friends.
“So, what brings you here tonight?” asked Reid.
“Obligations, primarily. I promised Mrs. Scott I would attend. She has been very generous to my friends and I, so it seemed only right that I come. I must also confess I was interested to hear how your little group would go at its first outing. Mrs. Scott was quite thrilled to have four men of rank in her employ for the evening.”
Reid ignored the remark about being the hired help,
guessing that it was meant to get a rise out of him. He wasn’t that naïve when it came to wordplay in the social scene of London.
Marco leaned in. “Tell me, Lord Follett, are you planning more concerts? Or was this, as you English say, a once-off?”
If Marco had thought to ask about the Noble Lords and make it appear to be an off-the-cuff question, he’d failed. The Italians were not just at Mrs. Scott’s party this evening because she was their friend.
They were here to size up the opposition.
Reid gave an uncertain half shrug. “It was fun. I will talk to the others and see if they want to do it again sometime in the future. You never know,” he replied.
It was rather fortunate that Marco had missed the opening, so he wasn’t aware that the Noble Lords intended to play other venues.
Marco was going to have to work harder than that if he wanted to gain valuable intelligence. The two men held one another’s gaze for a long minute. Finally, Marco blinked.
“Who is thiss?” slurred Callum, throwing an arm around Reid.
Oh shit.
The inebriated Callum could not have made his appearance at a worse moment.
A smiling Marco thrust his hand out in greeting. “Marco Calvino. A pleasure to meet you, Sir Callum.”
Callum sloshed his drink on Reid’s boot as he shifted his glass to his left hand in order to take Marco’s offered hand. He swayed, unsteady on his feet. After the end of the performance, Callum had obviously continued on with his efforts at wiping himself out for the evening.
“Ah, you are one of those Italian chapssss. I hope you enjoyed the show this evening. We have plenty more of them planned. Sooo . . . don’t get too comfortable in London, ’cause the lads and I are going to kick your collective arses all the way back to sunny Venice.” He smiled drunkenly at Reid, seeking affirmation. “That’s what my friend Reid here says we are going to do. And he never fails to win when it comes to the ladies. Yooou, my friend, had better get used to going without sexxxx.”
Marco might not have been a military man, but Reid would have bet from the lack of emotion on his face that he was a skilled gambler. He barely blinked as Callum dug a deep hole and threw Reid and his friends into it.
“Is that so? Pity, because my friends and I do enjoy London and all it has to offer, especially the company of the ladies. And speaking of ladies, I see one of them is waiting for my attention, so I must bid you a good evening. Lord Follett, I look forward to your next performance.”
No amount of breathing exercises could have settled Reid’s temper as he watched Marco saunter over to a nearby pale-haired beauty who stood in the corner. The lady in question let Marco greet her with a kiss, smiling when he placed his hand ever so lightly on her waist.
Reid continued to watch Marco as he leaned in and whispered sweet nothings to the woman. When she batted her eyelids at him, Reid gritted his teeth.
Thanks to Callum and his drunken revelations, Marco now knew the Noble Lords fully intended to take him and his friends on at their own game. He could have strangled blasted Callum and his liquor-loosened lips.
Callum staggered back and looked at his shirt. He had managed to spill a good deal of his drink down the front of it. His shirt was soaking wet. “I seem to have made a bit of a mess. Silly me,” he said.
“Yes, Callum, you certainly have,” replied Reid.
Reid put an arm around his drunken friend, and they went in search of a footman and a towel. There was no point in getting angry with Callum. Sooner or later, Marco would have discovered that the Noble Lords were doing the full circuit of house parties and gatherings. The Italians were no fools. They would have quickly figured out that women were the real reason for the birth of the Noble Lords.
As of this evening, the battle lines had been officially drawn.
Chapter Fifteen
“I don’t know what your problem is,” said Eliza.
Reid’s sister was someone who after keeping late hours was still able to rise fresh and bright each morning. She was the one person he could confide in. His peaceful port in a storm.
Both of them were up early the morning following the debut of the Noble Lords. Reid was pacing up and down the ballroom. Kendal may have thought it small, but after a few turns of the room, Reid had built up quite a sweat.
“My problem is Marco and the Italians now know what we are up to. The element of surprise is gone,” replied Reid.
“From all accounts, you were not that bad last night. So, again, what is the problem?” she asked.
He stopped pacing when he reached Kendal’s piano, but his unsettled mood soon had him strumming his fingers on the top of the polished lid. Thrum. Thrum.
Something else had him rattled; he just couldn’t put his finger on what it was. The evening had been a success on the musical front, and by rights he should have celebrated in the bed of a luscious woman. Yet last night, he couldn’t bring himself to accept the less-than-subtle sexual overtures of the experienced matrons of the ton. He couldn’t remember a time when he had done that before.
“It is the principal of the thing, sister dearest. We need to be defending our territory,” he said.
The words sounded hollow even as he spoke them. He still wanted to beat Marco, but the reasons for him doing so were not as clear in his mind as they had once been. Last night had been most telling.
Several times, he had caught the glimpse of a woman’s dark hair in the crowded ballroom, and each time his heart had skipped a beat. His gaze had then gone searching, searching for the dark, alluring locks of Lavinia Jones. She had sat in the forefront of his mind for most of the evening. It was her voice he had heard whispering to him just before he began to sing. And it was her face that he’d longed to see in the crowd.
Eliza harrumphed, rousing him from his thoughts. “I understand fully that Marco and his friends are cutting the best fillies from the herd, and your collective pride won’t stand for it. You men are all the same, so territorial. Though I should have expected after last night’s performance that the ladies would once again be lining up to share their affections with you. But you were home earlier than everyone. I understand from Kendal’s valet that he and Callum took a long and somewhat wet way home,” she replied.
Eliza might have been an innocent, but she was no prude. Nor was she naïve when it came to the matter of what lay between a man and a woman. Reid wasn’t going to add to that corrupted education by explaining to her that he had somehow developed a small crush on his singing teacher. If his sister did know more than an unmarried woman of her station should know about sex, then he was mostly to blame.
Reid’s fingers tapped louder on the top of the piano. Eliza had taken in more than even he had thought from his legendary dinner parties. Damn.
“Whatever your motivation, brother dear, you need to go and get your coat if you are to make your singing lesson on time. As of this morning, I already have two further bookings for the Noble Lords to perform at private soirees later this week. You might want to tell your singing teacher that you need some new songs; we can’t have the repertoire getting stale,” she added.
The clock in the main hall chimed half past the hour of eight. Reid stopped his fidgeting and hurried over to his sister. He dropped a brotherly kiss on her cheek. “I haven’t told my singing teacher about the Noble Lords. At the moment, she thinks I am having lessons to be able to entertain my family and friends. I’m not sure she would take too kindly to the knowledge that I am doing it for less than purely altruistic motives.”
Eliza’s eyes danced with suppressed mirth. “Funny that. Women are such noble creatures. It’s just a pity that we think men should be the same.”
With a raise of an eyebrow, he waved her goodbye and went in search of his coat. As he closed the door of the ballroom, he was too busy thinking of his appointment with Lavinia to reply to Eliza’s comment.
“So, he is a she? That is a revelation.”
Lavinia’s morning had been going perfec
tly according to its usual pattern. Mrs. Dean had come and sat with Jonathan while she made her way over to nearby Covent Garden market to purchase some day-old bread and a small bag of apples. There was a piece of cheese left from earlier in the week which would make for a sensible breakfast for the three of them.
It was only after she had crossed over St Martin’s Lane, her breakfast things in a string bag, that she spotted the figure coming out of a shop. A familiar figure which had her stopping dead in the middle of the footpath.
At first glance she thought she was mistaken, but a second look confirmed it. Frederick was walking directly toward her. He was checking the book he held in his hand, but any second now when he raised his head, he would see her.
Years of painful emotions and memories roared to life, knocking the air from her lungs. She swayed on her feet, mesmerized by the sight of him.
He snapped closed the book in his hand and she stirred from her stupor. Turning, she dashed into the open doorway of the nearest shop. He passed within a few feet of her, but fortunately did not take note of Lavinia as she stood with her back to him. She waited, only venturing out into the street once he had gone on a yard or so more.
She watched his back as he continued on up St Martin’s Lane. If he turned left before Newport Street, then crossed over to Coventry and finally up Old Bond Street, her brother would soon be home. Home to their family.
The family who had disowned her.
When the tears started to fall, she brushed them away. Peter had always said they were wasted on a family who didn’t love her. But Peter was long dead, leaving her and Jonathan, to fend for themselves in a cruel and lonely world.
“You have a roof over your head and at least some way to support yourself. Come on, Lavinia, people are needing to be fed,” she muttered.
She pulled a handkerchief from out of her coat pocket and wiped her nose. Tears would not help her in any way. They wouldn’t bring Peter back, and they most certainly wouldn’t pay the rent.
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