“I might do the same. My piano tuner will be there early in the morning and I mustn’t be late,” replied Kendal.
Reid stifled a snort. Kendal’s getting out of bed had nothing to do with his piano, but everything to do with the rather fetching raven-haired piano tuner’s daughter, Mercy. Kendal was at the beck and call of a woman. The world had officially tilted on its axis, and any minute now they were all going to slide off into oblivion.
He looked to Owen, expecting a smart retort in response to Kendal’s plans for the morning. Instead he got nothing. Owen’s face remained implacable. Reid shook his head.
“Who the devil are you people and what the fuck have you done with my friends?”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Reid was busy working through more estate paperwork when there came a knock at his study door.
Kendal stepped inside the room. “Sorry to disturb you, but I was heading out and won’t be back until later. I was hoping to catch you for a few minutes.”
Reid waved him in. “Have a seat. Coffee?”
Kendal shook his head. “I have already eaten, and if I drink any more tea or coffee this morning I will slosh as I walk. Your sister manages a very good breakfast table; no one ever leaves it hungry.”
Eliza was a dab hand at making sure the whole house ran like clockwork. Whomever eventually married her would be getting himself a first-class home manager. Her leaving Follett House would be Reid’s loss.
Reid rose from his desk and took a seat in one of the deep burgundy leather couches opposite to the one in which Kendal was now making himself comfortable. “What’s on your mind?”
“Do you remember how you asked me a few days ago to enquire about your singing teacher and her background? Well, I paid an overdue visit home yesterday and fortunately managed to catch hold of my sister, Ophelia, for a few minutes while I was there. What she told me casts your Mrs. Jones in a whole new light,” he replied.
“Go on.” Reid straightened his back and did his best not to appear too nervous. He had been meaning to ask Kendal to follow up on the matter of Lavinia with his sister but knowing how tense things had been between the members of the Noble Lords over the past week, he had been giving them all a bit of space.
“Lavinia Jones is the youngest daughter of the Earl of Bray. A few years back, she fell in love with her singing tutor and ran off with him. Her father is, as you probably know, not a pleasant man, and so he cut her off without a penny. From what Ophelia tells me, there has been no contact between Lavinia and her family for nigh on seven years. So, your singing teacher is not some lowborn widow, but rather Lady Lavinia—or at least, she was.”
Reid considered Kendal’s words. “It makes sense of a lot of things. She certainly sounds like someone who has lived and moved among the ton. I had always thought that perhaps her manner of speech came from having to enunciate words clearly when singing. But if she is an earl’s daughter, then that would be her natural way of speaking.”
He had also suspected that she had come from a good home, but his imagination had stopped somewhere around her being the daughter of a country squire or even a clergyman. To discover that she was a nobleman’s daughter came as a bit of a shock. Lavinia was not who he thought she was.
“Of course, Ophelia was interested in my asking about Lavinia, but I managed to give her a vague story and she agreed to keep quiet. There is enough drama happening at home at the moment without adding a missing noblewoman into the mix,” said Kendal.
He didn’t elaborate on the goings on at Banfield House, so Reid thought it best to leave it alone. If and when Kendal wanted to tell him anything further, he would be ready to listen. “Thank you. I appreciate your efforts and also your sister’s discretion. Let me know if there is anything, I can do for you.”
“I will,” said Kendal. He sat back on the couch and looked at Reid over steepled fingers. Reid knew that expression only too well. He was being studied closely for his reaction to the news about Lavinia.
Kendal’s favorite role during their time in the military had been to lob small incendiaries and then stand to watch the impact as they exploded. He had kept up the habit upon his return to civilian life, now using words as his weapons. “What are you going to do?” Kendal finally asked.
Reid wasn’t sure. He had already been seriously considering the idea of making her his viscountess no matter her station in life. As far as he was concerned, men like him were the ones to break society’s rules, not adhere to them. But he was prepared to admit to being relieved to discover that she was of the same social class as him.
This revelation now opened up a whole raft of questions about her, and them. The first, of course, being, why hadn’t she told him who she was? Did she not trust him, or was there something else at play that she was hiding? Reid’s mind began to whir with these questions at an ever-increasing rate.
“I will, of course, confront her. But considering how close we are to the concert; I think it might be a good idea to wait until afterwards. She and I have enough things to worry about at the moment,” he replied.
“That’s probably a sensible way of handling it. You don’t want to go marching over there accusing her of keeping a secret life from you. She is, after all, just your singing teacher.” With that, he rose from his seat and headed for the door. Just before he opened it, he turned and smiled at Reid.
“It’s not as if you are planning to marry her.”
Later that evening, Reid was dressed and ready to head out to yet another Noble Lords performance where he would be watching from the side of the room.
Callum passed him on the stairs in a hurry. “I won’t be long. I need to shave and change. Go on ahead of me but tell the others I am coming.”
After the bollocking he had received from the others following his no show earlier in the week, Callum had managed to stay sober enough to play at the past few concerts. Reid wondered how long he would be able to keep up his sobriety. Callum was a high-functioning drunkard some of the time, the rest an unfortunate cautionary tale.
Eliza appeared from the nearby sitting room and greeted Reid with barely a smile. His sister had slowly withdrawn from spending time with the others over recent days. The dark circles under her eyes spoke of sleepless nights. Reid had his own problems, but Eliza seemed to be sinking deeper into a state of permanent melancholy.
“Was that Callum?” she asked.
“Yes. He is getting changed and will be joining us at the performance shortly,” he replied.
“Was he drunk?”
“I don’t know. He seemed reasonably lucid,” replied Reid.
“I am worried about him. Something is going on, but of course he won’t tell me. Has he confided anything in you?” she asked.
“No. I’ll try to talk to him. Though I don’t know if it will do any good. He is, like the rest of us, a stubborn bastard.” He put an arm around her, pulling her into a hug. His cheek rested against the topknot of her hair as she cried.
The heart was a strong but foolish thing.
Chapter Thirty-Five
This evening’s concert was part of the sixtieth birthday celebrations for one of England’s most senior politicians. Performances by both the Noble Lords and Marco and the Italians had been arranged.
Reid trudged up the front steps of the enormous mansion and through the front door. He barely acknowledged any of the other guests. He was tired both in body and spirit. Early morning rehearsals with Lavinia and attendance at late night concerts had him burning the candle at both ends. He consoled himself with the fact that the summer would soon be over.
Then he could rid his house of his friends and finally sort out his future. A future he was now certain included Lavinia.
What he wished for right at this very minute, however, was the ability to walk into an event and not be greeted by the tall Italian gentleman who appeared to have a sixth sense for whenever Reid had arrived.
Across the crowded room, Marco lifted a hand and waved.
“I’ve been here two fucking minutes. I don’t even have a drink yet,” Reid muttered.
Marco sauntered over to him, wearing a grin which had Reid wanting to turn on his heel and walk straight back out the front door. He was suddenly in desperate need of one of Lavinia’s temple sleep sessions.
“Lord Follett, how are you this evening? Still not singing?”
Reid rolled his eyes. “Go fuck yourself, Marco, or whatever word you use in Italian for the same sentiment. I don’t need you in my face all evening. I am past being bored with you.” He gritted his teeth, frustrated at being back in familiar territory. Tomorrow morning, he would ask Lavinia to work her magic on him again.
Marco placed a hand on Reid’s shoulder and gave him a friendly pat. “It is a good thing that you do not know the words in Italian. Lesser men have died for using them in my presence.”
Reid snorted. Marco fancied himself as many things, but a cold-blooded killer he could never be. Those delicate hands of his had likely never held a pistol, nor a real sword. And someone like Marco would consider bare-knuckled boxing to be beneath him.
“I have heard an outrageous rumor and wanted to give you the opportunity to tell me it is wrong. Someone told me that you are going to sing on the stage. At a proper theater. The Sans Pareil—is this correct?” asked Marco
Reid had been waiting for the moment when Marco raised the subject of the Noble Lords’ upcoming concert. He had put far too much thought into composing witty retorts to deflect the expected comments from his sharp-tongued adversary. Now he simply wished to be rid of him.
“Yes, it is at the Sans Pareil. Tickets are available to the general public, with all proceeds to go to the Waterloo widows and orphans fund. I trust, being charitable men, that you and your friends will reach into your pockets.”
A slow, sly grin appeared on Marco’s face. Whatever Marco was about to say, he obviously thought it magnificent. “So, she convinced you that you might have what it takes to be able to perform on the stage. And you believed her. Oh, Lord Follett. And here was I thinking you were an intelligent man. Tell me, did Mrs. Jones let you touch her?”
Reid released the breath he had been holding. Marco knew about Lavinia.
“If I were you, I would choose my next words very carefully, Signore Calvino,” he replied slowly.
Marco blinked and the smile returned to his mouth.
Reid turned away, taking in all the other guests who were assembled for the party. Nobles, as well as members of parliament, were in attendance tonight. The room was a sea of familiar faces. Marco had chosen his field of battle well. He knew full well Reid would not dare to lay a hand on him in such a public place. Especially not if he was hoping to sell tickets to the concert.
“Come now. Mrs. Jones is a beautiful woman. A woman who, no doubt, enjoys the pleasures of the flesh. Any warm-blooded man would want to set his hands on those full, plump breasts of hers. I know I did,” replied Marco.
A flicker in the corner of Reid’s left eye had him rubbing at it. Marco watched intently. Reid sensed he was looking for the slightest hint of a reaction. But Reid would poke out his left eye before he gave Marco that sort of satisfaction. “Mrs. Jones is an accomplished singing teacher. I trust her judgement of my abilities,” he ground out.
“Yes, she had kind words to say of my singing as well. Well, actually, she was a little overcome by my work. She got all flustered. That is the right word to use, is it not, when a lady’s nipples are hard enough to be seen through her gown?”
“And when exactly was this?” replied Reid.
“Oh, some time ago at her apartment in Craven Street. She was a little embarrassed over her response to me, but I made sure to comfort her. I let her know that as a gentleman, I knew exactly how to relax an over-excited lady. From her soft sighs and groans, I gather she appreciated it.”
Reid began to count the number of bullets he had in the wooden box in his top drawer at Windmill Street. How many would it take to shut Marco up for good? And then how many more he would need to fire into Marco’s dead body before he would be fully satisfied.
He had reached a number well into double figures when, to Reid’s relief, Owen appeared in the doorway of the ballroom and quickly made his way over. Owen was a man who loved a fight. If Marco decided to repeat his disgusting comments about Lavinia, he may eventually find himself regaining consciousness outside in the street. Unlike himself, Owen couldn’t give a damn about brawling in public. He wouldn’t hesitate to defend the honor of a humble singing teacher who he had never met. If you insulted even an acquaintance of one of Owen’s friends, he would take you on.
“Calvino,” he nodded to Marco, then turned to Reid. “A word, if you wouldn’t mind.”
With a barely perceptible nod, Reid took his leave. He fell into step with Owen as they crossed the floor and headed out into the foyer. “What is the problem?”
“Two problems. One, I could see from the look on your face that you were about to murder our Italian friend, and not before time. And two, I might well be joining you on the hangman’s scaffold if you do.”
He pointed in the direction of the young woman who was talking to one of Marco’s cousins, Antonio. Antonio was showing her particular attention, while in return she was giving him an enticing smile. Antonio leaned in and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
Reid frowned. “Isn’t that the beauty with the bounty of breasts that you have been cultivating. The one whose husband is conveniently working in Sweden?”
“Yes. And I thought she and I had an understanding. It would appear I was mistaken,” replied Owen.
Reid winced. Antonio did not know the danger he was in. Owen Morrison could be deadly territorial when it came to his sexual conquests. From the way his fists were tightly clenched, it was clear he was already in a fighting mood.
“The fucking nerve of these chaps. The only reason I haven’t marched over and had a crack is because I don’t want to frighten her by beating the blackguard to a pulp, but I am not sure how much more I can take,” said Owen.
The young woman was a fresh-faced beauty with pale hair. From the way her curves filled out both the bustline and the hips of her gown, he could see why Owen was carefully cultivating a relationship with her.
The minor detail of him already having a fiancée somewhere in the countryside didn’t seem to factor into Owen’s concerted efforts to bed this particular lady.
“I don’t know what the Italians are up to tonight. Marco has just told me that he knows Lavinia. He also intimated that their connection was more than just a professional one,” said Reid.
Owen nodded, but kept his gaze fixed on Antonio and the young woman. “Do you think we are being played? That this is another of their Machiavellian efforts?”
His theory made some sense. Marco having been at pains to disclose his connection with Lavinia smacked of a secret agenda. One to throw Reid off his game, yet again. “I don’t know, but I am going to get to the bottom of it as soon as we are finished here tonight. If Lavinia is somehow mixed up with Marco, then I need to know. Preferably before I get up on that stage and make a bloody fool of myself in front of the whole of London.”
It was too much of a coincidence that Marco knew Lavinia for Reid to let it rest. He could wait until the morning, but he knew sleep would not come if he didn’t confront her tonight. She had two secrets which she was keeping from him, and that was two too many for his liking.
“But she is just your singing teacher is she not?” replied Owen.
Reid knew the next few hours would drag on seemingly forever with his mind focused on nothing, but the dread of what Lavinia might reveal. He didn’t want to consider what he might say or do if she had been duplicitous with him and had also given favors to Marco. It would be a cruel end to his grand plans if the woman who had captured his soul was in league with his enemy. The thought pulled him up so sharply that he put a hand over his heart.
He was in love with Lavinia.
Owen met Reid’s gaze. “Don’t do anything rash or foolish.”
Reid had already fallen in love with Lavinia. What more of a rash or foolish thing could a man do?
Chapter Thirty-Six
Reid left the party and once outside, he hailed a hack. A crush of carriages on St Martin’s Lane had them making slow progress. While he waited, he used the time to practice his deep-breathing exercises, praying they would take the edge off his simmering temper.
Once out of the carriage, he paid the driver, then stood on the pavement outside Lavinia’s building, staring at her window. Now that he was here, he found himself at a loss as to what he was going to say to her.
Marching up to her doorstep and accusing her of lying to him was a recipe for disaster. She would think it odd enough that he was paying her a visit in the middle of the night. There was every chance that if he made a complete mess of things, she would refuse to ever speak to him again. No amount of sitting outside her apartment would fix that.
He turned and was halfway back to Windmill Street when he stopped. Going home would do no good either. He wouldn’t get any sleep and that would mean he would arrive back here tomorrow morning in an even worse mental state than he was already in. He had to talk to her tonight.
She didn’t open the door to her apartment the first time he knocked, which made sense. It was close to nine o’clock—most decent working people would be at home and not making calls at this hour. After he knocked a second time, he heard the shuffling of feet on the other side of the door.
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