His bit on his bottom lip. Self-doubt pulled at him. That voice in the back of his head, which had been whispering to him for days, now spoke loudly. Don’t be a fool; you cannot sing. You will be the laughingstock of the ton. Look what happened when you tried to sing as a tenor.
Last time he had been reckless and arrogant. He had deserved to fall into the trap of a young player. And Marco had been right to show him the folly of his pride. But last time he hadn’t had Lavinia to support him. She knew what it would take to succeed. Together, they would make certain that his first and last performance on the stage was a triumph.
“Yes, let us do it. I promise I won’t fail you. I won’t fail us.” He reached for her hand, but Lavinia pulled away.
“I hope you make good on your promise, Reid, because you hurt me when you didn’t bother to arrive for your lesson the other morning. Was I a fool to think that I deserved more from you? That I somehow mattered?” she asked.
Reid hung his head in shame. He had been blind to her pain, thinking only of his need to prove himself. Their gazes met as he held out his hand once more. He silently implored her to take it. She stared at it for a moment, and he sensed her reluctance. When she did finally take his hand, Reid gave her a hesitant smile.
“You do matter to me, more than I dare to say.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
There was a rare moment of alone time for Lavinia once Reid had left. Jonathan was still with Mrs. Dean, more than likely finishing off the last of the fruit tart.
She smiled, grateful for the daily offerings of cake that Reid brought to them. It was nice for her son to have a positive interaction with a male. It was a rare occurrence; most of her students barely took note of the small boy. Times like this, she keenly felt the loss of her husband, mostly for Jonathan’s sake. He had no memory of his father
With a fresh cup of weak tea in hand, she resumed her seat at the table and slowly picked at the remains of the fruit bun. Reid’s visit had been full of surprises. She had always suspected he had more in mind for his singing than just performing for friends and family, but the revelation about Marco had been most unexpected.
She now had a clear understanding as to why a certain Italian gentleman had taken up her eleven o’clock appointment for a short period before suddenly canceling the rest of his sessions. Somehow, Marco had discovered Reid was having lessons and had seen her as his weak point.
Any wonder Marco had been so interested in her other students. He wasn’t checking on her credentials; he was spying.
“Slimy piece of . . .” she muttered.
He had used her in order to get to Reid. Then, once he was certain Reid had failed, he no longer had any need for her.
Men and their bloody manipulations.
She popped the last of the bun into her mouth, and sat, chewing it. Her conscience pricked at her, concerned that she had pushed Reid into performing at the theatre in order to help exact her own revenge against Marco. If that was the case, then she was no better than the Italian. Reid, for all his failings, did not deserve to suffer public humiliation.
There was also the indisputable fact that she liked Reid. More than liked him, if she was truthful about it. His presence stirred emotions within her that she thought had died with Peter. Falling in love with Reid was foolish, and she promised herself it was only a small tendre. A little crush that she could nurture and tend would make watching Reid succeed on the stage all that more special.
“He can do it. He just has to overcome his nerves and let the music guide him.”
Lavinia was torn. Did she tell Reid the truth about Marco, or did she continue to let him think it was all about him? The look on his face when she’d mentioned the Sans Pareil had initially been one of surprise, but it had quickly turned to one of hope. If Reid felt he could do it, then wasn’t that half the battle?
She had to make certain that he was ready when the time came. What had he said? ‘I won’t fail you; I won’t fail us.’
It was a lovely sentiment. Though there wasn’t really an ‘us’ in all of this. They had shared a brief, but passionate encounter. And while she had thoroughly enjoyed every moment of it, she was not foolish enough to think anything real could happen between them. Their discussion this morning had touched only on Reid’s singing; the question she had posed to him regarding his motives toward her had been neatly sidestepped.
No. That wasn’t fair. He had laid bare his soul to her about his humiliation at the hands of Marco, and in the aftermath of that he could hardly be expected to have a rational discussion about them. Her private affection for him would have to be enough. He was, after all, a viscount. And noblemen didn’t offer up their hearts to widowed singing teachers.
She ate the last piece of the bun and smiled. It was delicious. The soft fruit dotted throughout gave a sweet highlight to the dough. Closing her eyes, she sat back, her head resting against the wall which separated the kitchen space from the piano studio. Her mind filled with memories of tea parties, and thin crust-less sandwiches. Of servants pouring long, hot drinks of tea into fine china cups.
“Oh,” she sighed.
Salmon and cucumber sandwiches had always been her favorite. The sharp taste of the salmon when it met the cool, sweet cucumber, a heavenly match. And butter. Oh.
“Mama!”
The door of the apartment opened; and Jonathan raced inside, closely followed by Mrs. Dean. In his hand he held a small sliver of the fruit tart. He bowed low as he placed the fruit tart on the table before her. “My lady, I saved you a piece.”
Lavinia’s eyes welled with tears at hearing the words ‘my lady.’ She rose quickly from her seat and made a dash for her bedroom. She stopped long enough to close the door behind her before throwing herself onto the bed.
In between her sobs, she could hear Mrs. Dean comforting an obviously confused Jonathan. “It is alright. Your mama is just feeling a little off this morning. I expect she had too much fruit bun.”
Clutching her pillow tight to her chest, Lavinia fought against the tears, but to no avail. Like a river bursting its banks, she was powerless over the rising tide of her emotion. It swept her along in its powerful current.
She had knowingly sacrificed a life of privilege and comfort all in the name of love, but within a year, she had lost Peter. Jonathan was the only thing she had left to remind her of that brief time of happiness. Sometimes he was so like his father, it nearly brought her undone.
She clenched her fists. “Stop it. Stop it now. You made your choice and you knew the price you had to pay.”
Being with Reid had brought her back to the edge of a world she once knew. People who had been her friends were related to friends that were his. She should have expected it; the ton wasn’t that big. The musical elite of London society was composed of an even smaller group.
“You know you cannot be this close to him and not be effected,” she chided herself. Suggesting that she help Reid to master the stage was a flight of fancy at best, a recipe for heartbreak more than likely.
She sat and pulled a handkerchief from her skirts. She blew her nose, then wiped away the tears with the back of her hand. Sucking in deep breaths, she opened the bedroom door. She held out her hands and Jonathan came to her before wrapping his short arms as best he could around her waist. Over her son’s head, she met Mrs. Dean’s gaze and nodded. “Thank you, Mrs. Dean. I’m sorry; I am just feeling a little poorly. Perhaps a slice of fruit tart will perk me up.”
Jonathan lifted his head and smiled at her. Lavinia bent and placed a tender kiss on the top of his forehead.
“Come on. You can share that last piece with me.”
Chapter Thirty
Silence sat heavy in the ballroom. The revelation that his singing teacher was a woman had been met with mercifully little reaction. The fact that she now wanted Reid to perform as a tenor on the stage was greeted with an odd mixture of responses. The other members of the Noble Lords, along with Eliza, looked at one another. Heads
turned left and right. Some shook. Some nodded. There was a smattering of swearing and the scraping of chair legs on the floor.
Reid waited, determined to hold his nerve.
While he hadn’t expected a glowing endorsement of his and Lavinia’s idea, he was hoping for at least a spirited discussion. Something on which he could build and argue his case.
Kendal rose from his chair and wandered over to the piano. He seemed more at home on the piano stool. He tinkered with the keys for a minute, then softly closed the lid. Reid was grateful for his discretion in keeping his mouth shut about already knowing the existence of Lavinia.
“So, she thinks you can do it?” he asked.
“Yes. She seems to think that Marco pulled a fast one on me and that is why I choked during the aria,” replied Reid.
“It’s a risk, but if you pull it off, we will be the toast of the ton,” said Owen.
Callum, who was seated on the floor nursing the mother of all hangovers, lifted two fingers in what Reid hoped was his agreement with Owen’s words. He wanted all of them to support his plan. But after his disastrous first attempt at singing tenor, he could understand if some of his fellow Noble Lords were reluctant to take a second, riskier, chance on him. It wasn’t just his musical reputation on the line if he failed.
“It’s a decent-sized theatre. How are you, I mean we, going to fill it?” asked Eliza.
On the walk home from Lavinia’s apartment, a number of things had flitted through Reid’s mind. One of them being the expense of hosting the event. The estate coffers were already strained. His tenants were unlikely to be able to pay him anything until the harvest came in next year. He wasn’t comfortable in asking his fellow Noble Lords to underwrite the concert.
“I could take an advance on my dowry,” Eliza offered.
“No,” said Callum firmly.
All heads turned in his direction, then down to where he sat on the floor. He had been found asleep in the ballroom while Reid was out this morning, and it had taken two burly footmen to get him seated in an upright position against the wall. The large cup of tea which sat next to him remained untouched.
“Lady Eliza has been paying for our indulgences all summer with her time and efforts. I say the four of us underwrite the whole thing. We offer tickets for sale to members of the public, with all proceeds going to the war veterans and widows’ funds. It will add to the money we have already raised.” For a man who was currently steeped in the pain of the morning after a night on the tiles, Callum was surprisingly clearheaded. And, to Reid’s private relief, very generous.
“Can you raise that sort of money from your dearest papa for your portion of the underwriting, Callum, or will you have to tell him some lie about it being for treatment for your addictions?” said Kendal.
Reid sighed. He didn’t need this to become a spat about money or personal issues.
“I will have my own money shortly. Though you might need to go running to your mama in order to get a handout from your tightfisted father,” Callum bit back.
“Fuck off, Callum.” Kendal’s gaze locked on Eliza’s shocked face for a moment before he sheepishly looked away.
“Gentlemen. Can we please concentrate on the matter at hand? Kendal, an apology is in order to Lady Eliza right this minute,” said Reid.
“Sorry, Eliza,” mumbled Kendal.
Reid was sorely tempted to walk over and give Kendal a hard slap around the head, and on his way back, he would stop by Callum and give him one too. He dearly loved his fellow Noble Lords, but at times they behaved like spoiled children.
“I call for a vote; a simple majority carries it,” said Owen.
Reid would have preferred the unanimous support of his musical brothers, but a vote was the next best thing. “All those in favor raise your right hand.”
Callum put his hand up, along with Reid. Two votes.
Owen stared at the floor, while Kendal went back to tinkering with the piano keys. Neither man said anything. The vote was tied.
“Do I get a vote? I know women don’t normally get one, but this isn’t the House of Commons. I have undertaken a lot of work this summer to arrange performances for you all, and if the vote gets passed, I expect to be pressganged into selling tickets. I should, therefore, have a say,” said Eliza.
Callum lifted his hand, followed by Reid. Kendal lifted three fingers from the keyboard. Only Owen abstained.
“Motion carried. Eliza gets a vote in the concert bill before the house. We vote again,” said Reid.
Callum put his hand up and got a smile from Eliza for his troubles. Reid put his hand up. All gazes were now locked on Eliza and her deciding vote.
“I shall speak to Jane Scott who is the proprietor of the Sans Pareil and ask that a portion of any sales of ices, cakes, and liquor also goes toward the Waterloo Fund,” she said. A triumphant grin spread across her face as she raised her hand.
Reid had his concert.
Chapter Thirty-One
Reid spent many hours sending thanks to the heavens for his sister’s timely intervention on the locked vote. Trying to convince either Owen or Kendal in private would have wasted valuable time. He was still smarting over the fact that neither of them had supported him, but his concerns were somewhat mollified by their assurances that they would honor the outcome.
It was with a light heart that he set out from home the following morning, headed for Craven Street. He was a man on a mission. A mission to show the world that he could sing as a tenor, wrapped up with a small piece of cold revenge. Marco had it coming.
“And you won the vote; that is marvelous,” said Lavinia.
“Eliza spoke late yesterday to Jane Scott, who manages the theatre, and she said we can have it on Friday night, two weeks from now,” he said.
The Scotts had also generously offered to supply some support acts for the concert, as well as sell tickets to the general public. Eliza had a great way with people.
Lavinia had moved the two chairs from the kitchen and placed them in the center of the main room of her apartment. She and Reid were seated face-to-face. Jonathan, having received his daily offering of cake and bread from Reid, had happily left them to it and gone upstairs to Mrs. Dean.
Seated as they were, Reid was puzzled. This wasn’t the singing lesson he had been anticipating this morning.
“Give me your hands,” said Lavinia.
He placed his hands in hers.
“This is a lesson in trust. We shall practice your singing in the second hour, but first, we need to work on your stage presence. Close your eyes.”
A slightly perplexed, but intrigued Reid did as he was told.
“I want you to listen to my voice. Concentrate on it. If you hear anything from out in the street, I want you to try and block it from your mind.”
“Alright.”
Lavinia began to talk. At first, he was able to follow what she was saying. She was telling him about a set of stone steps which she wanted him to follow her down. At the bottom of the steps was a green meadow with a carpet of flowering daffodils. There was a stream flowing through the meadow.
His head grew heavy, and he no longer felt his hands.
Watching as he fell into the temple sleep, Lavinia smiled at Reid. She was caught up in his excitement over the upcoming concert, but she had also sensed his apprehension. Being able to offer him support and encouragement beyond just giving him singing lessons filled her with pride.
My Reid.
She should set aside all romantic notions of him. Even the idea of a small crush had shown itself to be a dangerous one. He was a constant reminder of her old life. His presence stirred up painful memories she had hoped were dead and buried. Yet every moment she was with him, Lavinia knew she was falling deeper under Reid’s spell. It was a story she knew only too well.
You don’t get to choose who you give your heart to—that’s part of the magic of love.
His chest rose and fell in a strong, steady rhythm as she continued to sp
eak softly to him. If not for the clock on the wall, she could imagine that time was standing still.
“When you see Marco from the stage, you will feel only joy,” she said.
Reid didn’t move a muscle.
Lavinia glanced at the clock. Time had not stilled. Reid had been under for some thirty minutes. It was time to bring him back.
“Reid. I want you to open your eyes.”
She watched him stir from the hypnotic sleep. He took in a deep breath as he lifted his head and opened his eyes. When he turned his face away from the window and blinked rapidly, Lavinia made a mental note to close the curtain next time.
She handed him a glass of water. “You might find you are a little parched after your sleep.”
“When was I asleep?”
“You have been in what the Indians call a temple sleep for the past half hour. You went under not long after my story reached the bottom of the stone steps.”
He frowned.
She met his gaze and nodded. “I can see you are not impressed. This is what a lot of performers use to overcome their issues with stage fright. Stage fright does not mean that you are afraid of the stage; it means you are unable to overcome your own self-doubt. This technique will help you to block everything else out and focus on your singing. You have to trust me,” she said.
“I do trust you. It’s just I don’t hold with all that eastern mysticism. I am Church of England,” he replied.
She softly chortled. “Then you would know the story of Doubting Thomas from the bible. In this case, you don’t need to walk down the stone steps or into the sunlit valley for it to have an impact on your mind.” She rose from the chair and picked it up before carrying it back into the kitchen.
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