The Melody of A Lady's Heart: A Historical Regency Romance Book
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The Melody of A Lady's Heart
A REGENCY ROMANCE NOVEL
ARIA NORTON
Copyright © 2020 by Aria Norton
All Rights Reserved.
This book may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form without the written permission of the publisher.
In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher.
Table of Contents
The Melody of A Lady's Heart
Table of Contents
The Melody of A Lady's Heart
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Epilogue
A Lord's Whimsical Governess
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
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The Melody of A Lady's Heart
Introduction
When Lady Helena Barclay is moved to tears by a violinist’s performance at the opera, she’s inspired to learn the instrument. The violin might not be suitable for a proper lady, but following the rules has never been Helena’s strong suit anyway. After convincing her parents to hire a tutor, she is shocked to discover her instructor is none other than the violinist she met at the opera. For the first time in her life a man has caught Helena's interest, and she can’t stop thinking about him. When her parents start fearing she’s getting too close with the mysterious musician, they take her away to London. Will Helena lose her chance to explore the depths of her connection to this captivating man?
Ever since his noble father left his mother, Nathaniel Baudelaire is characterised by a deep detestation of aristocrats. When he is forced to tutor the spoiled daughter an earl, he immediately resolves to do everything in his power to make her give up. What he never expected was to come face to face with the very woman who enthralled him recently at the opera. She quickly proves his original assumptions wrong, and he is swept up in her colourful world. However, just when Nathaniel begins to come to terms with having feelings for her, she is taken away from him. Will he let the woman who gave his life meaning slip away, or will he set aside past hurts and follow his heart’s desire?
Misunderstandings, people with nefarious intentions and society are determined to keep Helena and Nathaniel apart. Still, neither can forget the magical moments they shared and the powerful feelings between them. As they’re torn apart and a new suitor is thrust into the mix for Helena, all hope seems to be lost. Will their love be strong enough to overcome impossible hurdles, or are they doomed to live a life of longing from afar? Will their broken hearts ever become whole again?
Chapter 1
Helena paced the attic floor, tapping a paintbrush against her mouth. Inspiration continued to elude her, frustrating each of her efforts to complete her latest painting. Her canvas was currently a blob of colours, but no picture would emerge no matter how hard she tried.
“Why do I continue to torture myself? A simple painting of a meadow or a mountain would have sufficed!”
Alas, Helena could not bring herself to dabble in the usual boring landscapes that so many amateur artists preferred. She was bone-weary of creating conventional paintings. However, if Helena didn't complete this painting soon, people would go without.
“Charlotte requires a new coat before the winter sets in, and Murphy could do with some trousers.”
The rest of the money she would get from selling the painting would be set aside for the ever-present needs of the less fortunate.
Selling her growing hoard of paintings had been a marvellous idea. Not only had it rid the attic of clutter, but it had also enabled Helena to help others. The buyers had no notion that Helena was the artist behind the paintings. They believed the artist to be an eccentric gentleman by the name of H A Pembar. In fact, it was actually Helena Anastasia, and Pembar was a mixture of Pembroke (her father's title right) and Barclay (her family name).
“I do not think that many would buy my paintings if they knew a woman had painted them.”
Lady Helena Anastasia Barclay was respected and adored by many, but she was still a woman in a male-dominated society.
She could not count the number of times I have seen my paintings grace the walls of men who would be simply horrified to discover that a woman had painted their masterpieces.
Blowing away a few wisps of golden hair that had settled on her brow, Helena sat before her unfinished canvas, tilting her head this way and that. Perhaps looking at it from a different angle would help her creativity flow.
Three knocks, a pause, and two knocks sounded on the door. That could only be one person. Smiling, Helena crossed the room, unlocking the door.
“Have I been summoned already?” she asked. “Who is it this time?”
Rose, her handmaiden and best friend shook her head. “Have you forgotten already? Miss Torrey and Miss Ahlers have come for afternoon tea.”
Helena looked heavenward, slapping her brow with her palm. “Goodness! Is it Tuesday already? I was almost certain it was Monday.”
"Is it any wonder? You've been in this room for nigh three hours without a break. It's a Godsend to have your friends occupy you for an hour or two. What good is it to stare at a canvas and do nothing? Surely a walk about the garden or reading a book would serve to stimulate your creativity better?"
Perhaps Rose was right. Helena had been staring at her unfinished work for some time, thinking that she would receive some inspiration from the colours she had already applied to the canvas.
“You have the annoying habit of being the voice of reason in my life.”
Rose choked out a little chuckle. “Annoying habit? I would think 'tis a fine habit to have! You spend your days in the clouds, and I simply bring you down to earth when 'tis required.” The woman leaned forward, rubbing a spot on Helena's face. “I suggest you give your face a wash unless green is an acceptable rouge for your cheeks.”
“Yes, Mother,” Helena replied.
Rose laughed. “Cheeky! I will let your friends know that you will be down soon. And do try to make an effort this time. One would think I'm not doing my job by allowing you to greet your guests with paint-stained clothing.”
Helena nodded, tapping her friend's nose with her paintbrush. “Yes, Rose,” she said, grinning at the paint smudge. “Yellow is certainly your colour.”
Pursing her lips, Rose rubbed the paint away. "Be thankful, I adore you. Do not be a minute later than ten," she said, turning away.
Helena quickly put her art sup
plies away, soaking her paintbrushes in water. She would have to return later to thoroughly clean and dry them or risk ruining them. They had belonged to Helena's grandfather before he passed them down to her after discovering her love for the art form.
Giving the attic a last glance, she locked it behind her. This room was her sanctuary, and few people were allowed inside.
Much like my mind. She thought. I show only what I wish to, and the rest remains hidden. Only a few people can boast to truly know me.
Some people believed Helena to be rather eccentric in her behaviour and beliefs, while others thought her the spoilt daughter of an Earl. Helena was both, but also neither. She knew herself to be a complicated creature with thoughts that did not fit the current society constructs.
Nevertheless, her charm and beauty disarmed everyone, and they forgave her 'oddities.' Helena longed to be in the company of someone who appreciated her passion for life, and didn't put it down to restlessness. She snorted, shaking her head as she made her way to her bedchamber.
That person, male or female, must live on the other side of the world.
Still, it would be wonderful, wouldn't it?
Wearing a clean dress and spotless face, Helena entered her private parlour twelve minutes later. She wasn't one for rules, anyway.
“Helena!” Sophie exclaimed, rising from her chair. “We wondered what was keeping you. We sent your handmaiden to find you well over ten minutes ago.”
Helena turned her cheek, lightly tapping it against Sophie's cheek. She did the same to Candace before settling in her usual chair.
“Oh, you know I cannot be bothered by keeping time, but I am glad that you both came to see me. I see you've been served refreshments already.”
Candace, short and unfashionably plump, held up her teacup. “We certainly have. Rose never keeps us waiting. She always sees to us immediately. I wish my handmaiden was as mindful.”
Poor Candace was gifted a handmaiden that was about as useful as a candle without a wick. The woman- Clara- was slow, hard of hearing, and spoke with a broad accent that made it difficult for the hearer to understand her.
“At least you know Clara adores you,” Helena offered. “She simply needs some guidance.”
“I suppose there's that,” Candace conceded. “Perhaps Rose can take my Clara under her wing and school her in the art of servantship.”
Helena almost laughed out loud. Rose had no patience for people who could not grasp the simplest of concepts. There was the slim chance that Rose would show pity and long-suffering, but the odds were not in Clara's favour.
“I will speak to her for you,” Helena assured. “But I cannot promise anything. Rose is always quite busy. She's my handmaiden, but Mama tends to borrow her as well. Her efficiency is in demand.”
“Oh,” said Candace, a tad disappointed. “Well, I suppose that will have to do.”
Helena turned sharply to Sophie when she blew out a gust of exasperated air.
“What has you so bothered?” Helena questioned.
“All this talk of servants is boring me!” her friend replied. “Surely we can find a better topic?”
Sophie always seemed to be chasing excitement wherever she could find it. She would chase her own tail if she could.
Slightly amused, Helena raised her eyebrows. "Then, by all means, tell us what you wish for us to converse about."
“Well, the London Season, for starters. 'Tis right around the corner, and neither one of us have discussed our outfit ideas yet.”
“There are still months left, Sophie,” Candace countered. “I cannot think so far in advance.”
Sophie rolled her eyes. “That is what you always say, and then you end up procrastinating. You of all people should be worried about what you will wear to flatter your corpulent figure.”
Helena groaned. It was just like Sophie to put her foot in her mouth. The young woman didn't mean anything nasty by her words, but her mouth did tend to run away with her.
Candace's corn blue eyes watered, her little nose growing bright red.
“You do say the most horrid things, Sophie,” the tearful woman accused.
Helena merely sat back and let her friends sort out their little spat. A stranger to their quarrelling would try to step in and fix things, but Helena knew better. Pouring herself a cup of tea, she got comfortable.
“Upon my word, that's not what I meant, Candace,” Sophie insisted. “What I meant to say is that it might be a little more challenging to disguise a pudgy belly.”
Candace uttered a despairing cry, burying her round face behind a lace handkerchief. Sophie's face showed pure horror as she grabbed her mouth with both hands. Dear me. Sophie has never learnt to filter her words, has she?
“Oh, for the love of England,” Sophie exclaimed. “I don't know how to make your weight sound any better!”
Helena's mouth twitched. She's digging herself a hole. I might just have to step in after all. I suppose I shall have to use a bit of gossip, although I loathe all it stands for.
“Did you hear that Meredith Slanger ran away with her beau?”
Candace's sniffles immediately ceased. “Prudent Meredith? The vicar's daughter?”
“The very same,” Helena affirmed. “Her father wished her to marry another, and poor Meredith couldn't handle the thought of living without Mark Henry. Her mother is beside herself with worry.”
“Oh, how awful!” Sophie empathised. “I too would elope if my father ever thought to marry me off to a man I do not love.”
Candace did not feel the same way. “But to elope? Surely there are other ways to deal with such matters? What will they do for money? Imagine going without food for even a day!”
And there it is. Helena was waiting for Candace to centre the conversation around food. This must be her new record. She usually brings up food much earlier.
Sophie rolled her eyes. “Oh, Candace! Not everything is about food. We're speaking about the sake of true love, and you're worried about where the couple will get their next meal. I assure you that one day without food will not kill them.”
"But it will make things rather challenging," Candace said, defending her statement. "Imagine sitting alone under some bridge in this cold weather with growling bellies. They might frighten each other and think it an animal prowling around them.”
Helena burst out laughing, startling her friends. She hadn't meant to laugh, she really hadn't, but the image Candace had painted was too amusing to ignore.
“What has tickled you?” a bemused Candace asked.
“You and your ridiculous arguments, that's what,” Sophie said. “Growling bellies frightening them? The thought! Oh, let's speak of something else now. I tire of this topic.”
“Addle-pate,” Candace muttered.
Sophie must not have heard the comment because she gave no reaction, but Helena had definitely heard it. Thank goodness, Sophie did not hear Candace refer to her as a fool. I have no patience for her temper today.
“The London Season is set to have a record amount of suitors,” Sophie related excitedly. “And if I am to impress, I simply must have the right dresses and gowns. I'll need at least eight gowns for the balls, several riding outfits, and a few walking dresses. And do not get me started about the accessories! Mother has promised to give me her sapphire set to wear at the opening ball.”
“The one she wore to the Blake dinner party last week?” Candace asked.
"The very same," Sophie boasted. "She received numerous compliments that evening. I cannot help but think that if I wore them, I would be noticed as well. Then I will be sure to find a suitor by the end of the Season!"
Their quarrel forgotten about, Helena's friends launched into a detailed conversation about the London Season, what they will possibly wear, which men would be attending, and who their competition was. This Season would be Helena's first, but she would have prolonged it if she could. However, at eighteen, it was almost mandatory to be presented as an eligible woman.
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