by Jane Charles
Blast. He couldn’t call there. He’d known Felding since he was a child. Their fathers were friends at one time. “I will make the necessary arrangements.”
“If you are new to London, how did you learn about the school?”
There was no description in the advertisement so she knew he had to have spoken to someone. “Mr. David Thorn.”
Her back stiffened and Lady Acker’s eyes bore into his. Should he have kept Thorn out of this? The man said he knew the family.
“How well do you know, Thorn?”
“We were friends when we were children. I recently crossed paths with Thorn, right after my return. When I explained I was looking for a position, he gave me your direction.” It was the truth. A very watered down version of the truth, but nothing that would make her question his identity.
“The two of you are close?”
“I had not seen him in five years.” Damn, he shouldn’t have put a time on how long he had been gone from England. What if Lady Acker realized that he left the same time Roxburg did?
“That is good.”
What did being an acquaintance of Thorns’ have to do with anything?
“Mr. Thorn has a certain reputation and if you and he are close, or of a like mind, I would need to reconsider whether it is wise for you to be teaching impressionable debutantes.”
Thorn may have directed him to this position but the gentleman’s reputation could easily lose it for Mark. “I can assure you that Thorn and I are nothing alike.” At least no longer since Thorn was happily married and Mark wished he could carry on with his debauched life instead of taking a wife.
“I’m glad to know we are of a same mind.”
Mark inwardly blew out a breath of relief. Now, he just needed to put his plan in action and hopefully, before the first ball was ever held he’d have already chosen his wife from Society and not have to engage a matchmaking mama or her daughter in discussion.
Lady Acker opened a drawer in her desk and took out a stack of letters, handing them to him. “These are all the mothers who have written me thus far this year. I suggest you contact them to begin the lessons. If anyone else inquires, I will direct them to you. What direction shall I give them?”
He couldn’t very well tell her he currently lived above a pub along the docks. “I am in the process of looking for more permanent lodgings, at least until the Season opens. I’m in a rented room that I hope to vacate soon, so I do not wish to have anyone contact me there.”
Lady Acker leaned back in her chair and studied him. “Where will you be looking?”
“I’d hoped to find a place in Covent Garden as I will now be working here.”
She studied him for a moment. “I shouldn’t but it would solve your problem,” she mussed quietly.
“Shouldn’t what?”
“There is a house, behind the school, which I own and stands vacant. It’s fully furnished and you can stay there, since it is only temporary, for the short time you will teach.”
“You do not visit there? Or, your husband?” He couldn’t risk running into Acker either. Even though he hadn’t seen the gentleman in several years, they’d still recognize one another and Mark wasn’t so sure he wished to risk discovery.
“No. We have no need. There are a few servants, but you will need to see to their additional wages if you are going to require anything cleaned or meals prepared.”
The situation just became perfect. He had a home to hide in and would have no need of a carriage if he was living this close to the school. It was perfect for keeping out of sight.
“My friend, Lord Samuel Storm, traveled with me. He was searching for lodgings as well. Would it accommodate us both?”
She frowned. “Storm? Why might that name be familiar?” Her eyes brightened and she looked up. “I’d forgotten. You’re from Barbados.”
“Yes.” What had he given away? How could Lady Acker know Sam?
“My brother-in-law’s sister recently married a Storm, Earl of Kenley. He has a brother living in Barbados.”
Bloody hell. He should have lied about his friend’s name as well. If she made the connections, he’d be ruined and all of London would know he arrived before the week was out.
“My friend wished to keep his presence a secret until the beginning of the Season,” Mark implored.
Lady Acker settled back and studied him while she tapped a fingernail against the top of her desk. A small smile curved on her lips. “And you, Mr. East? Are you keeping your presence a secret as well?”
Did she know? Why wasn’t she asking more pointed questions if she suspected? “Yes.”
“And, I also suspect your name isn’t Mr. East either.”
His face grew warm. “There are reasons why Lord Samuel and myself wish our affairs to remain private.”
Her smile was calculating. Lady Acker knew exactly who he was. “I can understand why most people would. An example would be the Duke of Roxburg. I understand he hasn’t been seen in a number of years because he resides in Barbados. London is already all atwitter about his arrival and His Grace won’t get a moment’s peace once the vultures are aware of his arrival.”
“Vultures?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Match making mothers and debutants, such as the ones who will be taking lessons.”
He swallowed and resisted the urge to pull at his cravat.
“One such as he might sneak into London and hide before the opening ball, just so he is not bothered.”
“He might,” Mark said.
“Though I can’t imagine he’d go so far as you, and becoming a dancing master.” Her eyes bore into his. “Unless….”
“He wished to meet the young ladies in an environment where they were themselves instead of on their best behavior while out in Society for the purpose of meeting potential husbands.”
Her grin widened and then she chuckled. “That could cause quite a stir, perhaps even anger the ton. Should that occur, I could imagine any number of people would be quite displeased.”
“As he is a duke, I don’t believe he’d care whose feathers he ruffled.” Mark leaned forward. “Of course, these are suppositions.”
Lady’s Acker’s face sobered, though there was still a hint of a smile in her eyes. “Yes. Of course.”
“And you would surely not discuss this theoretical idea with anyone.”
“Other than my husband?”
“Of course.” He smiled.
She relaxed back in her seat. “If those mothers and daughters are foolish enough to believe that a ballet school equals waltzing and country dance lessons, then they deserve to be fooled about who is conducting those lessons. Hypothetically, of course.”
The relief was so great he blew out a sigh. “Thank you.”
“It’s my pleasure as you are solving a significant problem for me.”
“The house is still available for my use.”
“Of course.” She stood hand stuck out her hand. “I look forward to working with you Mr. East.”
* * *
Bianca arrived early to practice. At least that was her excuse. In truth, she wanted to play the lovely instrument again. The piano she had learned on was old, but well-loved. The one in Felding’s townhouse was nice. But, the new six-octave grand built by Messrs. John Broadwood and Sons currently sitting in the school was perfection. She’d never played on such a fine instrument before and ever since she interviewed for the position, her fingers had itched to play it again. The keys were smooth, effortless and in such fine tune. Bianca didn’t even want to guess the cost of such an elegant instrument, but was honored to have a chance to play it at all.
There was a time she could sit at the piano for hours, playing from the music before her, before she began composing her own. No matter what she was doing, music played in her head and she was compelled to chart the notes. It was her passion and she even toyed with the idea of having it published. That was, until June of 1815, when her younger sibling, Bertram, lost his life at Wa
terloo. When word of his death came, all passion for composing died. She still enjoyed playing and did at every possible moment. But it was Bertram who had encouraged her to write her own songs and often asked her to play. When they were little, he used to sit beside her and peck at the keys. He was only a year younger and she’d always been closest to him.
She had begged Bertram not to join the Foot Guards but he wanted to be part of Wellington’s army. If only she had begged harder, or forbidden him somehow, then he’d be with her today. Alive. He was such a gentle soul and had no business becoming a soldier.
Even though she continued to play, she’d been unable to create a new composition. The new notes were not in her any longer because they always belonged to Bertram.
A handkerchief being waved in front of her face pulled Bianca out of her thoughts. To the side of her stood the dancing master. Or, she assumed he had been hired. Otherwise, why would he be here? The man was frowning at her with concern. A tear dropped on the back of her hand.
She was crying? Hastily she took the handkerchief and dabbed her eyes. This was rather embarrassing. She hadn’t even been aware that tears were flowing down her face. She had been playing Bert’s song, her eyes closed, remembering the young boy.
More tears welled and she blinked them away, quickly.
“Why are you so distressed?”
Bianca sniffed and looked away. “Memories.”
“Someone you loved?” There was such concern in his warm tone that it was nearly her undoing.
“Yes, my brother. We lost him at Waterloo.” She gestured to the piano. “I’d written this for him, after he joined, but before the fighting. I was going to play it for him when he came home.” Blast, more tears. She needed to change the subject. Why had she admitted to be a composer? Nobody knew outside of her family and Lady Acker, and now she’d just told a complete stranger.
“I’m very sorry for your loss.”
Bianca sniffed and looked back up at him. “Thank you.” Dabbing her eyes once again, she straightened and cleared her throat. “Are you beginning lessons today?”
His smile was warm. “Not yet. I am in need of an accompanist.”
Her heart stilled. If she could play for him as well, she’d be able to earn more funds. Enough to support herself.
“Would you be available?”
“When would you be giving lessons?” She slid her hand under her skirts and crossed her fingers, hoping it was not at the same time Lady Acker was conducting lessons.
“Every morning and Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, if I have enough students.”
The schedule was perfect and she couldn’t help but smile. “I’d be happy to play for you.”
He smiled wider and his brown eyes grew dark. Her breath hitched at the intensity in them. Such a handsome, elegant man. Bianca almost wished she had need of a dancing master. “I look forward to working with you.”
“Ah, Mr. East, are you beginning lessons so soon?” Lady Acker asked as she came into the room.
“No, I am here to engage Miss Valentine as my accompanist and she has agreed.”
“I’m happy all has worked out.”
She wasn’t the only person pleased with the circumstance. Bianca was overjoyed. And not only for the work, but to be able to watch Mr. East dance almost every day.
For the first time since she learned of Bertram’s death, Bianca was beginning to feel alive again. The need to play and compose music was returning. She wanted to write a beautiful waltz just so she could watch Mr. East dance.
“Ah, Bea, did I not tell you that music was in the heart and the soul.” She jerked and turned, shocked to hear Bertram’s voice behind her. But, nobody was there. And, Bertram was dead. Yet, she heard him so clearly. She’d heard it a lot since she learned of his death, but that was at home and she assumed they were echoes of memories. She did not expect to experience it here.
“Is something amiss, Miss Valentine?” Mr. East’s voice jarred her from her thoughts.
Both Mr. East and Lady Acker’s were watching her oddly. She couldn’t tell them that she thought she heard her younger, dead brother talking to her. “Nothing. I apologize.”
“I will forward a schedule when I have students,” Mr. East assured her. “Lord Felding’s correct?”
“Yes. And, thank you.”
He bowed and quit the room just as the first of the students were arriving. For the next three hours, Bianca played the same piece over and over as Lady Acker taught the steps to her students. She didn’t mind the repetitive playing so much as not being able to play what she wished when a new composition had started playing in her mind. She was afraid if she didn’t get it written down quickly it would be forgotten.
Chapter 4
Mark heard Miss Valentine’s playing the moment he stepped into the school. Just like the first time he arrived here. He pulled the watch from his pocket and checked the time. He was an hour early, as he’d intended, but he’d expected to be alone.
How long had Miss Valentine been here? He wasn’t to meet with the students until ten this morning. It was the first test in narrowing down his choices in a wife. Unless matters had changed, rarely did a lady leave her bed before noon. If mothers were serious and daughters unpretentious, they would arrive promptly to begin.
He wasn’t even sure who to expect. A letter had been delivered to each home that had inquired about a dancing master last week. He introduced himself and stated that he would be meeting potential students this morning, determining their skills and arranging a schedule for lessons. He intended to assign a regular appointment time for each debutante, and hopefully fill them with eligible females from now until the opening of the Season.
The one fear was that only misses, just out of the school room, would request his services. There really was no reason for a lady or miss, who has had at least one Season, to have need of a dancing master. He prayed that this year would be different, since mothers were so concerned with their daughter making the proper impression on the duke. Hopefully, those seeking a dancing master would also be older, mature ladies and misses, and not just debutantes. Even a lady who might have just put herself on the shelf was not out of consideration. But if she had, Mark doubted she would suddenly decide take lessons from a dancing master.
In his mind, each and every eligible lady would be considered from the age of eighteen to five and twenty, though he’d focus on the older before the younger. Although nobody would raise an eyebrow if he married someone over ten years younger, Mark knew he could not tolerate being around an immature and silly young miss. He wanted a mature, sensible lady to take as his wife.
Miss Valentine was playing yet another song he did not recognize. Had he been so far removed from Society that he was no longer current on music or was this another one of her compositions? It could be a disadvantage if he were teaching to music no longer played at balls. He hadn’t even been to the theatre in nearly six years. How many plays, concerts and ballets had he missed, leaving him unfamiliar with what was the rage amongst the ton?
The music pulsed through him, pulling at his heart, making him anxious. He’d never been so moved before. Well, not since she played that waltz and then the ballad from yesterday. Why was she being wasted here, playing for young women learning to dance? She should be on a stage where everyone could enjoy the beauty of her notes.
“Another lovely piece,” he said as soon as he stepped into the room.
Miss Valentine nearly jumped from her seat. Was she so lost in the music?
“I hope you don’t mind that I’m early. I couldn’t resist coming here and playing more.”
Before her was a sheet of music, but it wasn’t printed like the published material he was used to, but all the notes were handwritten on the pages and a pencil lay beside the sheets. There was no name at the top. “Another composition?”
Her faced blushed a lovely shade of pink, making the small smattering of freckles on her delicate nose stand out. They were adorable.
“Yes.” She looked away as if ashamed.
Would all of her face freckle if she were exposed to the Caribbean sun? With such fair skin, she would need to wear a hat or carry a parasol whenever out of doors. It would be a shame to see such lovely skin burnt. “Please, do not be embarrassed. You should publish your works, if they are as lovely as these.”
Her shoulders seemed to relax. “I have considered it. Perhaps one day.”
“Don’t put it off too long, Miss Valentine.” He meant that with all of his heart, though he wondered if the music was moving because she had composed it or because she was the one playing it. Another musician might not have the same impact. Maybe it should only be shared with the world if she was playing instead of hearing it fall short by another performer.
“You arrived early, or is it later than I thought?”
“I wished to become familiar with the room and go through a few steps before the potential students begin to arrive.”
Miss Valentine stood. “I’ll leave you alone, unless you wish me to play.”
He wanted more than her playing and stood back, holding out his hand. “You could dance with me.” It’s what he wanted from the moment he heard her first play. If she moved him this much with the simple play of her fingers, what would it be like to hold her in his arms and twirl her about the floor?
“What of music, Mr. East?”
He grinned down at her. “We shall make our own.”
She bit her bottom lip and finally held out her hand. “If you wish.”
* * *
Warmth pulsed through her body as Mr. East’s eyes met hers. This was a very bad idea, though she didn’t know why. Her gut warned that if she took a step in his direction, she would lose something.
Bianca placed her hand in his and heat shot up her arms and her fingers tingled. Goodness. Though she hadn’t touch many men in the past, and most of them a relation, she’d never experienced such a physical response. Perhaps it was from all the playing she’d been doing. The cold keys of a piano were far different from the warmth of a touch.