And unless musical genius was contagious, she couldn’t imagine how he would accomplish this by forcing her to eat a jam tart.
She took another bite as they watched the crowds in companionable silence. Not that she particularly minded the tart.
In fact, this treat was the highlight of her week considering she’d eaten the last of the sweets she’d brought back with her from Miss Grayson’s ages ago, and her aunt’s idea of dessert was an extra serving of vegetables with her dinner.
“Mmm.” She let out an embarrassing little moan as she let the last bite melt in her mouth, her eyes closed to savor every last taste sensation. When the last of it was gone, she sighed and opened her eyes to find Damian staring at her.
Not just staring. His eyes were dark and heavy-lidded and so intently focused on her she found herself jerking back with a start, her hand coming up to her lips to ensure there were no embarrassing crumbs or smears of jam causing this sudden interest. “What is it?”
He cleared his throat and shook his head. “I have never seen anyone enjoy anything as much as you have that tart.”
She bit her lip, a blush threatening to make her face a mottled mess. “Oh, er…” She looked down at her lap, searching for an excuse for her unbridled joy that did not include explaining Aunt Eleanor’s strict diet.
“You should always be eating treats.”
“Pardon me?” She looked up in surprise to see him blinking as if coming out of a daze.
“It’s nice to see someone enjoy their food,” he said, but he wouldn’t quite look her way. Then he was dusting crumbs from his hands and standing. “Shall we?”
“Shall we...what?” she asked, still completely perplexed.
His smile was slow and...wicked. There was no other word for it. She no longer believed him to be wicked, but when he smiled like that…
A girl could forget.
He reached a hand down to her and after glancing over at her scowling chaperone who would report everything that happened today to Aunt Eleanor, she accepted. He helped her up and linked her arm through his so he was leading them away from the fair, toward the grove of trees on the neighboring farm.
“Where are we going?”
He glanced down at her. “I was not lying when I said we would have a lesson today.”
She bit her lip, stealing a glance back at her chaperone who was far enough away not to hear every word, and still… How much had she heard?
Her stomach toppled and turned at the thought.
“Pru?” He peered down at her. “Are you all right?”
She nodded. No. Not really. But right now was not the time to think about the world of trouble she would be in when she got home. Nor was it the time to lose focus of her goal.
To win over her new potential husband. True she did not know him, but that hardly mattered. She couldn’t exactly go through the rest of her life without a husband, now could she?
This was what she’d been telling herself for days now, ever since she’d arrived at her aunt’s and the reality of her situation had become clear. Mr. Benedict was her one chance to escape. To have a family of her own and a life that wasn’t under her aunt’s thumb.
She’d managed to forget all that in the safe harmony of Miss Grayson’s but being back with her aunt brought with it a stark reality. Being here today and dealing with unwanted childhood memories made that reality that much clearer.
She had been miserable as a child, but she did not wish that for her future. Marriage offered a way out. Her salvation. Her aunt would not pick a cruel man, and by all accounts he was a pleasant fellow.
And yes, she’d asked around. Delilah had met him a few times over the years and she’d said he’d seemed...nice.
On the old side, perhaps, but nice.
Older she could deal with. Nice was what mattered.
And if her nice salvation required that she be able to entertain and perform, why then she would do it. She straightened her shoulders and stiffened her spine. “All right, I am ready,” she said when they came to a stop. “Tell me where to begin.”
He let her arm go and turned to look at her as her chaperone found a seat nearby on a log and began to crochet. Damian looked too and then tugged her further away. So far they bordered on being out of sight as well as out of earshot.
He placed his hands on her shoulders. “First of all, this needs to go.”
She frowned. “What?”
“This…” He shook her shoulders gently and her whole body twisted and turned. “Why are you so stiff? It’s unnatural.” He pulled back to give her a meaningful look. “Tell me honestly, are you made of wood?”
A small laugh escaped before she could stop it. “I am determined, that’s all.”
“I see.” He eyed her curiously. “Well, you look rather like a soldier heading into battle, and that is not at all the right attitude for this occasion.”
“And what occasion is that?”
“My first opportunity to hear you sing.”
Her throat closed up entirely. She couldn’t have let out a squeak. Her eyes went wide and his did, too.
“What is it?” he asked.
She gave her head a little shake, but she knew her panic must have been written clearly across her face. She wasn’t certain how she’d thought he’d begin with her voice but she’d let herself hope they would ease into this. Her teacher at Miss Grayson’s had spent nearly a month just working on breathing exercises. Wasn’t that where he was supposed to start?
His brows came down as he crossed his arms. “You don’t wish to sing.”
She shook her head frantically.
“Why not?”
She had to swallow three times before she could get the words out. “Because I can’t.”
He frowned. “Of course you can. You sang carols along with all the rest of us as a child. I don’t recall a particularly lovely voice but I’m certain I would have remembered if you couldn’t even carry a tune.”
She shook her head again. But that was then, didn’t he see? That was back when singing had just been singing. That was before music lessons had become her own personal form of torture.
She shook her head yet again, so hard her teeth were rattling as she kept her lips pinched tightly together.
He stared at her in surprise as she kept her mouth mutinously shut. The stalemate might have gone on forever if he didn’t cave first. “Perhaps we should start with something simple. A hymn, perhaps?”
She glowered at him and his look of optimism.
“You cannot tell me you do not sing at church.”
She made a hmph noise while keeping her mouth shut.
He sighed and crossed his arms. “I thought you were serious about this.”
The gentle rebuke had her resolve fading fast. He was right. She’d been determined just a moment ago to make a go of this.
But that was before he’d suggested she sing. The mere thought made her throat feel tight and croaky like a frog. One bad memory after another reared up until she was shaking.
There was nothing more humiliating than her great aunt’s displeasure when she failed to hit the right note.
Whatever he saw on her face, Damian relented with another sigh. “All right, let’s take this even slower then, hmm?”
She nodded, finally able to take a deep breath. “Perhaps we should try another instrument. I heard the harp was not so difficult to….” Her voice trailed off pathetically at his knowing look.
That was right. She’d nearly forgotten. He’d heard her attempts with the harp. The poor instrument had barely survived the ordeal. “That harp wasn’t tuned correctly,” she muttered.
Though who she was trying to fool was anyone’s guess.
All at once, a wave of bitterness had her scuffing her toes into the dirt at her feet. “Silly music. If I don’t marry because of a ridiculous harp, I’ll...I’ll…” She blew out a long exhale in lieu of a threat.
They both knew it was baseless anyhow. If she did not
marry, she would have no power, no leverage, no status...no nothing.
“Silly music,” she muttered again, mostly because it felt good to say.
He was watching her closely, an odd mix of sympathy and determination on his face. “You don't have to take your displeasure out on music, you know. Music has no ill-will toward you.”
She arched her brows. “You think not? If music were a person, she would be my worst nemesis.”
“She, eh?” He moved closer and for a moment she thought he would try that trick again, pulling her into his arms to listen to some inaudible music. Her heart kicked in her chest but she couldn’t quite tell if it was excitement or anxiety at the thought.
“Perhaps that is your problem,” he continued.
“I do not have a problem.” She did. She very clearly did. But a gentleman would not point it out.
“You do have a problem,” he said. “And your problem is with music. I’d say you view music like some extension of your aunt.
She wrinkled her nose.
“Think about it.” His voice was insistent and when he reached a hand out to cover her eyes she instinctively pulled back. But he went with her, covering her eyes with his hand. “Picture music.”
“This is ridiculous.”
“Just do it, Pru.”
She sighed loudly, letting all the world know how silly this was, but she did it. She tried to imagine what music would look like as a person.
Her nose crinkled up again as the image came into focus. Oh dear. It did look startlingly similar to her great aunt.
He dropped his hand and when she opened her eyes he looked extraordinarily pleased with himself. “Well?”
She pursed her lips before giving in. “Fine. Music is a woman.”
“And?”
She rolled her eyes. “And she resembles my aunt.”
He nodded, flashing her that wicked lopsided grin that she knew for certain made young ladies of the ton swoon.
Not her, of course. Other ladies.
He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “You should think of music as a man.”
She blinked. “A gentleman?”
“A lover.”
Her gasp was so loud it startled the birds from the trees and she knew without a doubt that her aunt’s spy was watching her like a hawk. With that in mind she took a deep breath and fixed him with a glare. “You shouldn’t say such things.”
“Why not?” His tone was as smug as his smile. “It is the truth.” He moved, circling her until he was behind her, his hands on her shoulders. “If I recall, once upon a time you were well able to open your mouth and sing a melody. So what changed?”
Her brows went up. Honestly? What had changed? He knew very well what had changed. “It was no longer for fun. Learning to sing became a part of...lessons.”
Even she could hear the dread in her voice with that word. Lessons were the bane of her existence. Until Miss Grayson’s, that was, but there Miss Grayson had shown such leniency that her aunt wasn’t totally wrong.
Her instruction had been lacking when it came to music because Miss Grayson hadn’t had the heart to enforce it.
His hands on her shoulders were heavy. Warm. They were...calming. And also not at all calming. How he managed to put her muscles at ease while making her heart race was beyond her.
He shifted her slightly so the chaperone was out of her view, so all she could see was the thicket of trees before her and all she could hear was the sound of laughter and music and children shouting from the fair.
“The only way you can sing is if you relax,” he said. His hands moved on her shoulders, massaging the knots there as she tried valiantly not to worry about what the chaperone was thinking, what her aunt would say if she heard.
She jerked away from his touch so quickly she stumbled forward. “I, uh...I cannot relax.”
The minute the words were out, she knew how silly they sounded. His smile when she turned to face him was split between understanding and amusement. He glanced over toward the chaperone and turned back with a smile that made her feel like perhaps for once they were on the same side. That maybe they were in on the same joke.
“Perhaps it’s time to head back,” he said.
Was she imagining it or did he look as though he disliked the idea as much as she?
“We haven’t done any sort of lessons,” she felt compelled to point out.
He grinned as he helped her over a fallen branch. “Still, we accomplished what I set out to do.”
“And what was that?”
His grin was wicked and filled with laughter as he shot a sidelong glance toward the chaperone to ascertain she wasn’t close enough to hear. “Steal you away from the evil witch.”
Prudence opened her mouth to chide him. He really oughtn’t say such things.
But what came out...was a laugh.
Chapter Eight
The sound of Pru’s laughter was nice. Melodic and sweet and...lovely.
Now if only he could get her to sing, he had no doubt her voice would be just as sweet. Untrained, of course, and far from perfect. But perfect was overrated, particularly when it came to music.
That was the one lesson he wished to get across to Pru and he wasn’t sure how, not after a lifetime of hearing that her very happiness and the course of her life would be determined by whether or not she could achieve perfection.
“Shall we walk back?” he asked on impulse as they reached the carriage.
Pru looked surprised for only a moment before she nodded. “Oh, but Mrs. Hawkins.”
He arched his brows. “Who?”
The chaperone a few paces behind him cleared her throat.
Pru lowered her voice. “I am not certain she is fit to walk such a distance.”
“Ah,” he said. What he meant was, perfect. “Then by all means, Mrs. Hawkins shall ride in the carriage—”
He saw the older woman open her mouth to protest but he was already turning to the driver. “You wouldn’t mind riding slowly, would you, so as to keep Miss Pottermouth and I in view?”
“Of course not, my lord.”
“There you have it,” he said, already ushering Mrs. Hawkins toward the carriage as Prudence looked on with a look of alarm.
“Truly?” she asked once they were underway.
“What’s wrong?”
“Are you trying to get me killed?” she hissed.
It was official. He absolutely despised the fear he saw in her eyes.
“I told you, Pru.” He met her gaze evenly. “I will deal with your aunt.”
He’d never been a terribly protective sort. But then again, he’d never had much need to be. He had no younger siblings, no damsels in distress who would turn to him for aid. He eyed Prudence now…
Not that she qualified as a damsel in distress.
But somehow her strength and her forceful demeanor made him want to protect her that much more. He frowned at the ground as he tried to figure out why that was.
“Don’t you go getting all grim on me,” Prudence murmured beside him.
His head came up with a snap. “Excuse me?”
Her lips twitched upward. “Where will we be if we’re both too serious?”
He laughed. “Who said you’re too serious?”
She shrugged and he found he couldn’t look away from the small smile that hovered on her lips as if she’d forgotten it was there. “My best friend, Delilah. My other friends, Louisa and Addie…”
She looked over and caught his surprise before he could hide it. “Yes, Damian, I do have friends,” she said with a roll of her eyes that made him laugh.
“Of course you do,” he said.
“Don’t be condescending,” she said. “If a rakish rogue such as yourself can have some friends then surely a too-serious, sanctimonious goody-two-shoes like me can as well.”
He gasped and threw a hand over his heart, feigning shock. “Whoever called you such names?”
She glanced over at him and they both
burst out in a laugh that seemed to ease some of the heaviness that had been weighing on him ever since he’d seen that flicker of fear.
“Tell me honestly, Damian,” she said after they’d walked in companionable silence for a few moments. “Do you truly think you can make me decent enough of a pianist to be able to perform for my husband-to-be and his family next week without humiliating myself?”
“No,” he said promptly. Her face fell and he nudged her lightly. “You will be able to sing, however.”
She widened her eyes. “You haven’t even heard me sing.”
“I know you can carry a tune. I can work with that.”
She eyed him oddly. “You have a lot of confidence in your abilities.”
He shrugged. “Haven’t you ever found something you’re particularly good at?”
She tilted her head to the side in thought before nodding. He itched to ask what it was, to hear her talk about her accomplishments and her skills. But right now she needed his reassurance, and that he could give. “Well then, rest assured that my talents lie in music.”
She opened her mouth to protest but he cut her off.
“I realized that while I enjoy making music, I enjoy bringing it out in others even more.”
“Bringing it out,” she repeated quietly. “That’s an odd way of putting it.”
“It’s how I see it,” he said. “Everyone has music in them. Like I said the other day. It’s everywhere, all the time. It’s in us.” He clamped his mouth shut before he could say much more. Already he felt ridiculous for being so passionate about the topic, but these past two years he’d stopped trying to fight the pull toward this particular obsession.
Unlike drinking and gambling, his passion for music caused himself and others no harm. It was now his one vice, his only freedom in a life where words like obligation and duty were slowly starting to wear away at his soul.
“How did you become so interested in music?” she asked.
He hesitated, scuffing at the dirt beneath their feet. The farther they got from the center of town, the less crowded the road. It was almost possible to forget their escort which rode slowly behind them. For a moment he could actually pretend they were alone. Maybe that was why he let the truth slip out. “It is all I have left of my parents.”
The School of Charm: Books 1-5 Page 47