Reid

by Sasha Cottman

  When Lavinia came out with Jonathan just before ten o’clock, she stopped and frowned at him. Jonathan gave a little wave. Reid waited until Lavinia was not looking and waved back.

  On the second day, Reid stopped at the market on his way to Craven Street and bought a bag of grapes. After being given his marching orders, he sat on the floor in the hallway and ate his grapes while reading a book.

  When Lavinia appeared at five minutes to ten, Jonathan in hand, Reid looked up. He stifled a grin at her huff of indignation. Jonathan waved; Reid waved back.

  By day three, he was getting settled into a nice routine. Stop at the market on the way for a nice piece of fruit and a butter bun. Nine o’clock, door open, one minute past nine, door closed. Fifty-five minutes of peaceful solitude in the hall outside the apartment, followed by Lavinia appearing and taking Jonathan to sit with Mrs. Dean.

  Today it was three minutes to ten when Lavinia appeared with Jonathan in tow. She was a minute late.

  “Oh, bother, I forgot your jacket. Jonathan, wait here,” she said, darting back inside the apartment.

  Jonathan scurried across to where Reid sat. “She says you are an overgrown rat,” he whispered.

  Reid raised an eyebrow. “Am I annoying her?”

  Jonathan nodded, then scurried back to the other side of the hallway just as Lavinia reappeared. Reid sat enjoying the view as she lifted her skirts and headed upstairs. The gentle sway of her hips and the occasional glimpse of a shapely leg made this his favorite part of the morning.

  Day four of the siege saw Jonathan breaking ranks with his mother and slipping out into the hallway just after half past nine. He came and sat beside Reid on the floor.

  Reid offered him some fruitcake. “What is she up to this morning?”

  “She is tuning the piano, but she keeps getting it wrong and saying rude words. Her eleven o’clock student sent word last night that he is sick and won’t be coming for the rest of the week. I think it made her sad,” replied Jonathan.

  Cancelled lessons meant time which went unpaid; he could understand why Lavinia would be worried.

  “This cake is good. How much longer are you going to keep coming and sitting out here?” said Jonathan.

  Reid ruffled the young lad’s hair and smiled. It was sad to think of Jonathan growing up without a father, of he and Lavinia having an uncertain future.

  The door to the apartment opened and Lavinia appeared. She met Reid’s gaze over the head of her son. He lifted a hand and gave her a small wave.

  “Jonathan, please say goodbye to Lord Follett and come inside,” she said.

  The boy scampered to his feet; cake still clutched in his hand. He turned and bowed to Reid. “Thank you for the cake, Reid. I hope to see you tomorrow.”

  “Jonathan tells me your eleven o’clock has cancelled for the rest of the week. I’m sorry,” said Reid.

  “It happens. Students come and go. He is not that interested in having singing lessons anyway. He has more than enough talent already, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t return,” she replied.

  Reid heard the subtle rebuke to himself in her words, but let it pass. Today’s conversation was progress.

  “Thank you for the cake. Jonathan doesn’t get treats very often. Good day to you, Reid. Will we see you here again tomorrow?”

  As she went back inside the apartment and quietly began to close the door, he nodded. “As sure as the sun rises, I will be here at nine o’clock tomorrow morning.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Reid had to break into a run to make it by nine the following morning. He had overslept and then his valet had nicked him on the side of the neck while shaving, which resulted in another ten minutes wasted while they tried to stem the bleeding.

  To top it off, the baker at the market had not baked any fruitcake and Reid was left with the quandary of deciding between a fruit bun or a jam tart for Jonathan. After several minutes trying to decide, he purchased both and raced at breakneck speed toward Craven Street.

  At one minute past nine, he knocked on Lavinia’s door.

  “You are late,” she said, opening the door.

  He went to move away and take up his usual spot on the floor on the landing, but to his surprise, she stepped back and motioned for him to come in.

  Finally. Thank you, Kendal.

  “Take off your hat, coat, and jacket please,” she said.

  Reid crossed the threshold, and awkwardly handed over the bun and tart. “The tart is for Jonathan. I thought you and I could share the bun,” he said.

  Lavinia accepted them with a smile. Her smile was the second welcome surprise for the morning.

  Jonathan appeared from the other room and, gave Reid a wave. The little boy’s eyes lit up when he saw the baked goods in his mother’s hands.

  “Go and get your shoes. Mrs. Dean is expecting you. Lord Follett bought you a tart this morning. What do you say?” she said.

  “Thank you, Reid,” said Jonathan.

  She shook her head as he went and picked up his shoes. “Cheeky thing. Just promise me that if you ever meet the king, you don’t call him George to his face.”

  Mrs. Dean appeared in the doorway, and after helping Jonathan with his shoes, took him and the fruit tart away.

  Reid and Lavinia were finally alone.

  “Thank you for bringing him sweet treats. You spoil him,” she said.

  “Small boys should be spoiled. Once he gets old enough for school, he will learn how harsh the real world is. Schoolboys are terrible creatures,” replied Reid.

  “He is old enough for school, but there is no money for a formal education. I am educating Jonathan myself as best I can,” she said.

  Reid winced, then silently berated himself for his careless words. Of course, there wouldn’t be money for school. She had been a widow for five years.

  They stood for a moment in awkward silence.

  “You are persistent, I will grant you that. Most other men would have given up after the first day and gone and found themselves another singing teacher,” she said.

  He shrugged. “Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

  “Desperate?”

  There wasn’t a sofa or couch in the small apartment, so Reid motioned to the kitchen table and chairs. “Could we sit for a moment? I need to tell you the truth of things.”

  Lavinia busied herself in the kitchen, making them tea. Reid found a knife and cut them both a piece of the fruit bun and placed them on some plates.

  As he set the plates down, he considered the size of the table. It was not much bigger than the one he had by his bed at Follett House. There was just enough room to hold two plates and cups. Lavinia took a seat opposite him and sipped her tea.

  Reid took it as his cue. “I haven’t been entirely honest with you about why I wanted to learn to sing. Actually, truth be told, I lied to you.”

  He had practiced the speech quite a few times, polishing it as he sat outside her apartment each day. But, like his singing, when the time came to deliver the set piece, his nerves got the better of him. He hadn’t planned to confess his deception right at the outset. He had rather hoped that it would be rolled up with everything else—a bit like the pieces of fruit in the bun. But it was not to be.

  “Go on.”

  “My friends and I were vying for the attention of the fairer sex at parties and a group of musicians came along and began to make that difficult for us. We decided to form our own quartet to be able to reclaim the favor of the ladies,” he said.

  Lavinia picked up her slice of the fruit bun and pulled off a piece, before popping it into her mouth. After chewing it, she washed it down with a mouthful of tea. She then slowly put the teacup down.

  Reid watched her, searching for any sign of her mood, but she was giving nothing away.

  “Keep going.”

  This was like having a bad tooth pulled. Lavinia was going to make him suffer and feel every moment of it.

  “My friend
s are quite talented musicians. And as you know, I am a passable baritone at best. I must confess, being treated as the weak link in the group was not something that sat well with me. Hence why I decided to get some singing lessons.”

  “And did the lessons work? Did you manage to seduce some willing women with your vocal talent?” she replied, not looking up from her piece of bun.

  Reid could have sworn he caught the edge of jealousy in her words. “At first, yes. But after you and I began to work together every day, I . . .”

  She met his gaze. “You what?”

  Reid hadn’t figured on the discussion taking this unexpected side road. He had the whole ‘I need you to help me sing’ speech down pat. Lavinia’s question about other women threw him. “I don’t honestly know. I just lost interest in that aspect of things. I mean, I obviously haven’t lost interest in sex. But no, I haven’t spent time with anyone else.”

  The conversation he’d had with Kendal had been tough. This, however, was something else. The need to convince Lavinia that he had not laid hands on another woman, especially since their heated encounter in her bedroom, suddenly became paramount in his mind. He knew it should make no difference to this discussion, but it did.

  “So why are you here? Are you looking to continue with your singing lessons, or are you trying to bed me?” she asked.

  He snorted in surprise. She was just like Eliza: blunt, to the point of making a man blush. There was no dancing around with pretty words like with the complicated women of the ton.

  Reid studied her long brown hair while he considered his response. Lavinia had left it down again this morning. Soft, enticing curls framed her face. Without thinking, he reached out and tucked a wayward curl behind her ear. It gave him a better view of her stunning green eyes. It was a crying shame that such a magnificent woman as she was wasted on widowhood. If any of her other students had half a brain, they would have snapped her up and married her.

  “I want you to teach me how to sing in front of a group of people. I tried Vedro con mio diletto at a recent performance, and to say it was a disaster would be a gross understatement,” he said.

  Lavinia frowned. “But you were doing so well with that piece. What happened?”

  “This other group. They are Italian, and they are very talented.” He gritted his teeth as an image of the smug Marco settled uncomfortably in his mind.

  “Tell me about their singer. Is he a tenor?”

  Reid shook his head. “No, he is a countertenor, and a seriously good one at that. To be honest with you, he is brilliant. I have never heard anyone sing like he does. He lives the music.”

  Her eyes suddenly lit up. “And this singer, was he there when you attempted the new piece?”

  “Yes.”

  A look of understanding appeared on her face. She reached out and placed a hand over his. “He was watching you as you sang, and you watched him. Then you felt your throat begin to close up and you wanted the earth to open and swallow you. Oh, Reid.”

  He screwed his eyes shut. The memory of Marco’s face threatened to overwhelm him. Tears of shame and humiliation rolled down his cheeks. “Bloody hell. I am crying like a child.”

  Lavinia rose from the table and came around to Reid’s side. She knelt on the floor in front of him and took hold of his hands. He hung his head, ashamed to be weeping in front of her. He wanted to pull his hands away but hadn’t the strength. His shoulders slumped; the humiliation only alleviated by the gentle rubbing of her fingers over the back of his hands.

  “Don’t think for one minute that you are the first to have fallen foul of professional jealousy. And you won’t be the last,” she said.

  “I know. I was so jealous of him that I let it blind me to my own inadequate abilities,” he replied.

  She brushed a hand on his cheek, wiping away a tear. “I don’t mean you were jealous. I mean him.”

  What? He blinked back the tears. “What did you say?”

  The warm smile which met his gaze almost held him stupefied. She was so much more complex and appealing than any woman he had ever encountered before. “The other singer. What is his name?”

  “Marco. Marco Calvino. He is from Venice. He has the looks and voice of an angel.”

  Even he, a red-blooded male, could see that Marco was cut from fine cloth. Little wonder women swooned over him and offered him a place in their bed.

  “Reid, Marco played one of the oldest tricks in the book on you. As soon as he realized that you were beginning to understand the truth of the music, he saw you as a potential threat. He stared you down until you wilted. Don’t feel ashamed about it. It happens to the best of performers,” she said.

  He sat back in the chair. Lavinia released his hands and got to her feet. Reid wiped his tears away with the heel of his hand. He felt a fool. If Lavinia was right, then he had been played for a green boy. “F . . .”

  She snorted. “Fuck. I think that’s the word you were looking for, wasn’t it? Don’t confuse me with one of your ladies of the ton. We have a brothel for a neighbor.”

  “Kendal said he could see what was happening. Marco played me. I feel such an ass.”

  Lavinia leaned against the kitchen bench; arms crossed. She stared long at the floor, then finally nodded. “This Kendal, is he one of your musician friends?”

  “Yes. He is our pianist. Lord Kendal Grant. His father is the Duke of Banfield,” replied Reid.

  “Ah, yes. I knew his sister . . . I mean, I have heard of her.” A patch of red appeared on her cheeks, but before Reid could get a better look, Lavinia had hurried back to the table and picked up her cup of tea. She walked over to the washbowl and, keeping her back to him, tipped the rest of the tea out. “Kendal sounds like someone who knows what he is talking about. Was it his idea for you to come back and keep haunting my doorstep until I finally capitulated?”

  “Yes,” replied Reid.

  Lavinia was far more perceptive than he had first given her credit for. In fact, there was a lot about her that indicated an intelligent mind which had seen much beyond the world of a mere singing teacher. He longed to know more about her. Several slips of the tongue had hinted at a past different to the life she now led. A life before becoming a wife and mother.

  She was like a puzzle; he had only seen glimpses of the pieces which formed the edge of it. And then there were a number of pieces which did not seem to logically fit anywhere. He would have to discover more about Lavinia. Only then would he see the whole picture.

  She turned back to him, her emotional mask once more in place. “Enough of the whys and wherefores. We need to concentrate on what we are going to do about Marco. And, more specifically, what you are prepared to do to get even with him.”

  Revenge hadn’t been on Reid’s list, but now that Lavinia had mentioned it, there was a certain appeal to the notion which he could not deny. He would never be able to sing as well as Marco; he wasn’t fooling himself over his modicum of talent. But if he could manage being able to deliver a full aria in front of the Italians without choking, it would be a significant victory.

  With Lavinia’s guidance and training, he knew he could do it. “I have five days before our next concert. Some of the other patrons cancelled their bookings after word got out about my less-than-stellar performance.”

  She frowned. Not a good sign.

  “That is not enough time. Could your friends possibly play without you singing? I know that might be hard on your pride, but as a former military man, you must have an understanding of long-term strategy. If you try again and you are not ready, then Marco will have beaten you.”

  Reid knew only too well the price of going into battle early and unprepared. A good officer always stood back and surveyed the field. Timing was the difference between making steady but strong headway against the enemy, and watching your men get cut down around you.

  If he failed a second time, he doubted Kendal and the others would be so magnanimous toward him. At summer’s end, the battle against M
arco and the Italians would be over. He did not want it to have cost him his friendship with Callum, Owen, and Kendal. To take Marco on at his game, Reid would have to sacrifice his pride. “I can speak to the other Noble Lords and get their agreement.”

  “The Noble Lords—is that what you call yourselves? Are you serious?” She put a hand over her mouth, but mirth glittered in her eyes.

  At her laugh, Reid felt a great weight lift off his shoulders. He had taken the whole matter seriously and still did, but somewhere along the way he had lost the joy of it. The smile which now sat wide on Lavinia’s face brought some of it back.

  God, she was beautiful. And feisty, and clever. He wanted to kiss her. To take her in his arms and carry her back to her bedroom before picking up where they had left off.

  “We chose it for publicity purposes. My sister, Eliza, uses it to secure us bookings,” he replied, still enjoying her wicked grin.

  “It does have a certain appeal to it, and I’m sure it makes the ladies of London society weak at the knees.” She resumed her seat opposite him. With her back ramrod straight and determination etched on her face, she held his gaze. “This is what we are going to do. Every day you will come here for two hours. We must work on your technique as well as your stage presence. In the meantime, you will speak to the other Noble Lords and get their agreement that you shall attend performances, but not sing. As for a venue where you can showcase your singing and put Marco firmly in his place, I suggest the Sans Pareil theater on the Strand.”

  Reid frowned, unsure if he had heard her correctly. The Sans Pareil was a proper theater. Not a grand one such as those in Drury Lane, but a theater, nonetheless.

  “If you are going to go out, then go with a bang. Saving your voice for your stage debut also gives you a valid excuse for not singing in any private homes. But you have to be sure of this, and you must commit,” she said.

  Hiring the theater would cost him a pretty penny, but if he and his friends could pull off a grand performance, it would silence the naysayers forever. Reid Follett would be able to prove to the rest of London that he could indeed sing. His mouth went dry at the thought of standing on a stage in front of hundreds of people. Could he actually do it?