A Melody for Rose (The Wednesday Club Book 2)

by Sahara Kelly

  Rose turned to him in surprise, not expecting such a warm compliment. “You’re too kind.”

  “No I’m not, I’m truthful,” he gazed at her, his face serious. “You are that good.”

  “Well I insist you play something for us after dinner, dear girl. Would you do us that honour?”

  “You have a harp-lute?” The question seemed redundant, but Rose had begun to accept that taking anything for granted in this house would be a huge mistake.

  “We do indeed. A lovely one made just for us by Mr Edward Light.”

  Rose’s heart thumped. She knew the name, and to play one of his custom instruments would be a privilege, as well as a joy. “I’d be very happy to try my hand on one of his creations. I’ve heard nothing but compliments from those who’ve played them…”

  The conversation turned to music, and both Rose and Miles held their own against three people who knew their composers, scores and preferences.

  Those topics carried them through an excellent dinner, served in one of the small nooks that ringed the curved wall at the end of the room. It was informal, charming and Rose loved every single minute of it, downing the creamy mushroom soup, the delicately flavoured lamb stew and all the wonderfully fresh and tasty dishes that went along with it.

  There was no question in her mind that one could say what one liked about Lady Viola, her companions and her lifestyle, but one could never deny that she was a woman with a determination to live life to the fullest. Nothing but the best and the freshest food, and a house that was uniquely bohemian, but a warm and lived-in home notwithstanding.

  Miles asked a few pointed questions of Freddie now and again, but the man answered them with casual interest. In spite of everything that had happened since they arrived at Mountfort Meadow, Rose had not forgotten that this was the fellow who had given her piece of music to Lark Publishing.

  By the nature of his remarks, she was reassured that Miles hadn’t forgotten, either.

  As the meal ended, they moved to the fireplace on the other end of the music room, and on the way Lady Viola detoured to a large cabinet and removed the harp-lute.

  Thetis gave a tiny cheer as Rose stared at the beautiful workmanship on display all over the shiny new instrument.

  “How lovely,” she whispered, accepting it and positioning it comfortably on her lap. It was familiar, yet not…the curves fitting her, her hands knowing instinctively where to go, and yet—like a pair of new gloves—it had yet to completely conform itself to her body.

  “Take your time dear.” Lady Viola settled herself next to Freddie on the sofa, while Thetis allowed her silks to settle all over the large upholstered chair she’d chosen. Miles took the chair across from Rose, and she looked up to see a warm smile in his eyes.

  The warmth changed to heat as their gazes met, and she had to look away. He was too damn distracting.

  “Brandy, darling?” Lady Viola asked as Boris made the rounds with a tray full of sparkling glasses.

  “Thank you.” Rose took one, just to be courteous. And because she’d like anything that would take some of the tension out of her. Between Miles and their loving, the new harp-lute, and the eager faces ready to hear her play—well, to say it had been an interesting day would be like describing Carlton House as a tidy little cottage.

  One sip and she knew she’d found a liquor that would suit her. Warmth flowed down her throat, like golden sunshine, and she relished the slight burn as it turned to liquid happiness in her body. She would have liked another, but wasn’t sure about the effects, so she concentrated on listening to the sound of the strings, making the tiniest of alterations in the tuning, until everything produced the ideal sound and the perfect colours her talent demanded.

  “A magnificent instrument, my Lady,” she smiled at Viola. “This is truly a delight for me. My own harp-lute has seen quite a few years, and while I love it very much…this? Well, it’s exquisite.”

  “I’m so glad, dear. None of us play, so having you appreciate it is a welcome endorsement.”

  Rose spared a moment to wonder why anyone who didn’t play the harp-lute would spend many many guineas to have one custom-made, but then shrugged it off. Such mundane mortal notions had no place at Mountfort Meadow.

  “Rose,” said Miles, with a pointed glance. “Why not play that piece we both enjoy?” He lifted an eyebrow.

  She knew the piece he meant. “What a good idea.”

  Her fingers settled, her mind cleared and she slid easily into the first bars of her own composition. The sprightly melody sounded even more delightful from this particular instrument, and the acoustics in the room were surprisingly effective. But then, she should have expected nothing less.

  Feet tapped, heads nodded and smiles were exchanged as she made her way through the music she knew by heart, and when the echoes of the final chord died away, everyone stood and applauded.

  Rose blushed and fought down an unusual urge to burst into tears.

  Shouts of “Bravo,” and “Magnificent” battered her ears, but she managed to smile and shake her head against the fulsome praise.

  Miles walked to her side, lifted her hand and kissed the back of it. “You are beyond extraordinary,” he said, picking up her glass of brandy and holding it out to her.

  She took a healthy sip, swallowed and coughed a little, finding her countenance again as the liquid did its work. “Thank you. Thank you all. You are too kind.”

  Thetis shook her head. “You have such a gift, darling girl. Such a gift. I envy you.”

  “As do I,” endorsed Viola. “To be able to coax such music from inanimate wood and gut strings?” She sighed. “I find myself positively drowning in jealousy.”

  “A truly wondrous performance, my dear,” said Freddie, beaming at her.

  “Did any of you recognise the melody?” asked Miles casually. “Anyone? Freddie? Did it sound familiar?”

  The man frowned. “Er no, no I can’t say as I recall hearing it before.” He looked at the others. “Do you know it?”

  Both Viola and Thetis shook their heads. “No, I’m sure we would have recalled it. Such a sprightly piece. It might even have words put to it, don’t you think?” Viola looked at her nephew.

  Who looked at Freddie. “Well, that is a bit odd. Since that is the piece of music you sent to Lark Publishing, Freddie.”

  Freddie stared back at him. “Is it really? Well then. It seems like it might well turn out to be quite popular.” Freddie turned to Rose. “What do you think, dear? You played it. Will it be a success?”

  She raised her chin and stared him straight in the eye. “I do hope so, Sir Freddie. Because I wrote it.”

  *~~*~~*

  It took about half an hour to set matters out in front of Viola, Thetis and Freddie in a manner that they could clearly understand.

  Freddie was aghast. “No, I can’t believe this,” he said, over and over again. “I cannot believe this was stolen from you, dear Rose. Impossible. Utterly impossible.”

  The man was genuinely perturbed about it, his eyes worried, his gaze on Rose full of remorse. The closer Miles observed him, the less likely it seemed that he’d been a party to any kind of illegal activities.

  “All right now,” soothed Miles, making himself heard over the strenuous and worried tones of the others. “Let’s look at this from a reasoned perspective.”

  “I’m not sure I can,” said Viola, distressed. “How do these things happen?”

  “That’s what we’d all like to know,” answered Rose calmly. “So let’s see if we can all work it out together?” Her gaze embraced them all and Miles relaxed a little as he watched them respond to her warm tone.

  “So, Freddie. Tell me about your relationship with Lark Publishing?”

  “I’m not really sure I have what you’d rightly refer to as a relationship, lad.” He ran his fingers through his hair, worry writ large across his features. “Some years ago I met Lark at an inn. The usual kind of casual meeting; shared a tankard or two
while waiting for a change of horses. Well, at least I was. Not sure about him. But anyway he told me he was a printer and had relocated to outside of London. Much cheaper in the country, he said, and I agreed with him.” He leaned back. “Nice chap and seemed to have a good business sense on him. Not going for the huge fortune, but hoping to make enough to retire comfortably. I liked him.”

  “I agree,” concurred Miles. “We visited Lark on the way here, Freddie. And I don’t think he has any notion of what’s going on. So…” before Freddie could interrupt, Miles continued. “How did it come about that you send him things?”

  “Sheer luck, actually,” said Freddie. “I had a friend…” he turned to Viola, “you recall old Chuffin Muirstanton, dear?”

  “God yes. Dead now, isn’t he?”

  Freddie frowned in thought. “Think so. But never mind that…he’s the one, Miles, the one that started it all. Had a book he was carping on about for years, and I finally told him to publish the damned thing or shut up about it.”

  “I do remember that discussion,” chuckled Lady Viola. “You were quite forceful.” She shot him a look of quite stunning sensuality. “It was…an interesting night…”

  “Ahem,” Miles cleared his throat. “Staying with the subject at hand, Freddie, what happened with that book?”

  “Well I sent it off to Lark, of course. Added a bit of a note asking if he’d be interested, and so on. Believe it or not, a couple of weeks later I got a letter back from him saying a publisher was interested, and that there would be an offer coming. Told me his prices and would I let the author know. I passed it on to Chuffin. All above board.”

  “So it was published?” Rose asked.

  “Yes, dear. And it did quite well too, considering it was one of those adventure tales set back in the Crusades or something.” Freddie nodded. “Somehow word got out, and I found myself with one or two different things every now and again. I’d send them to Lark and if he had a buyer he’d let me know, or if nobody was interested, he’d send them back. It seemed to be an excellent process, especially for those who did not wish their identity to be known when it came to books…”

  “How were the financial arrangements handled, Freddie?” Miles’s gaze remained steady on the older man’s face.

  “Letters, the occasional contract from a publisher in London, you know the sort of thing, Miles. Lark would forward the agreed price from the buyer to me, less his costs. I passed the rest back to the original source. I was acting as the interim agent, if you will. A go-between. I have records of every transaction I was involved in, you know. I can assure you it was all quite properly handled.”

  “So you made no profit?” Miles asked.

  “Well, er…harrumph…” He cleared his throat. “Not at first, no. But as time went on, I thought it only fair to charge a tiny fee, a commission if you will. Nothing wrong with that…”

  Viola’s gaze also flashed onto Freddie’s face. “You never told me about this. How much, Freddie?”

  Miles’s lips twitched. Eccentric she might be, but one should never underestimate his aunt’s practical side.

  “The veriest trifle, sweet pea. Barely worth mentioning,” said Freddie airily.

  “Mention it, dearest.” That was uttered in tones that brooked no refusal.

  “A scant five percent,” he muttered. “Honestly. That was all.” He looked up. “Just a bit of pocket money, don’t you know. For those times when I wanted to get you a surprise present, my darling. Remember our weekend in Brighton?”

  “Oh,” Viola paused, outrage replaced by a memory that was clearly pleasant. “Ah.”

  “Mmm.” Thetis smiled, a dreamy look on her face.

  Miles sighed. Delightful though it was to witness these charming people doing their verbal dancing, it wasn’t really getting to the root of the problem.

  “All right then, Freddie, we will excuse you from any suggestion of wrongdoing on your part. However…” Miles leaned forward and put his arms on his knees, staring hard at Freddie, “you must now realise that some of the material you handled was not legally available for you to forward to Lark Publishing.”

  “You mean it was stolen, don’t you?” Freddie’s throat moved as he swallowed. “If it was, I swear on my life that I had no idea. You must believe me…”

  Miles took pity on him. “I do, Freddie. You’d have no reason to involve yourself in anything dishonest. You have no financial problems or unpaid debts, and you live well, here, with Aunt Viola and Thetis. I can’t see you jeopardising any of that…” He glanced at Rose.

  “I agree with Miles, Sir Freddie. But I fear you have been sadly taken advantage of.” Rose leaned over and patted him on the hand. “You are too trusting, sir, I’m afraid.”

  “She’s quite right. This has to be the end of your acting on behalf of people you don’t know, Freddie. And we will have to let Lark know about all this as well. He’ll need to examine his records and follow through on whatever he discovers.” He straightened his shoulders. “There is of course, one piece of crucial information we need. The name of the man who brought you the music.”

  Freddie nodded. “Of course, Miles, of course you shall have it.” He stood. “I may be getting on a bit, but I still keep accurate records. Give me five minutes to look it up in my register.”

  Miles leaned back and nodded, watching as Freddie hurried from the room.

  “Miles, this is a dreadful business,” said Thetis. “I worry that such negative choices will upset Freddie’s delicate personal emanations.” She looked most concerned. “I shall have to burn sage throughout the house.”

  He blinked, then recovered. “I’m sure Freddie is strong enough to overcome such a risk, Thetis. Especially with you and Viola to give him support and encouragement.”

  Rose made a slight sound that could have been a snort but quickly became a cough.

  True to his word, Freddie hurried back in, holding a sheet of paper. “I found it. Around four months ago, toward the end of last year. I was given two books, fourteen poems…” he looked up, “I have no idea why I keep getting poems. Lark always sends them back. I lay the blame entirely upon Byron’s shoulders, damn the man…” he passed the paper to Miles. “And a single piece of music. Delivered here by one Lucas Sterling.”

  Rose’s head shot up. “Lucas Sterling? Did you say Lucas Sterling?”

  “I did,” nodded Freddie. “You can see the record. The offer was for fifty pounds. He’d brought a few other things to me as well over the past year. Some of it must have made good money for the authors, since several of the articles he gave me for Lark turned out to be quite popular in more than a few journals.”

  “Any other music?” Rose’s tone was grim.

  Miles raised his eyes to Freddie’s face. “Did he bring any other harp-lute music?”

  “No, Miles. To the best of my recollection, no. With him it was either essays or articles. This was the only piece of music he brought me. I had some from others, but none for the harp-lute, and only this one from Sterling.”

  Miles turned to Rose. “You recognised the name, didn’t you?”

  She nodded. “Lucas Sterling is the butler, footman and general household manager—for my Aunt Imelda.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Now then, Miss. I do have a nightgown for yer…” Ophelia busied herself getting Rose ready to retire for the night. “And yer clothes will be all ready in the morning.”

  “Oh, that’s good news, thank you.” Rose smiled. “It’s very kind of Lady Viola to let us stay overnight. We had no idea the weather would be quite this bad.” She blinked at the diaphanous silk frippery, but slipped it on anyway. After spending the day in a houri’s costume, why worry about a transparent nightgown?

  Ophelia shrugged. “’Tis March, Miss. Unpredictable as can be in these parts.”

  “Good point.” Rose pulled back the quilt. “I shall look forward to a warm night’s sleep here.”

  “Yer better make sure that door’s unlocked
then, otherwise it can get right nippy in ‘ere if the wind comes in from the north.” She grinned and nodded at the door connecting the Harem with the Grotto.

  “Er, thank you for the suggestion.” She settled herself on the pillows.

  “I’ll leave this candle, then, Miss.” The maid efficiently tidied up and blew out the remaining candles. “Sleep well.”

  “Thank you, Ophelia. Good night.”

  She stared at that connecting door as Ophelia left, wondering if Miles was also going to bed, or if he’d join her, or if she should go to him. What, she asked herself, would a mistress do?

  Since she’d never actually discussed such things with anyone who might have been, or was currently, anyone’s mistress, she was rather at a loss. But asking herself what she wanted, there was really only one answer.

  She lifted the covers, slipped out of bed and crossed the room to scratch quietly on Miles’s door.

  It opened within seconds.

  Miles wore a nightshirt that looked as if it would have been better suited to a Tudor monarch. Yards of muslin flowing freely and a huge frilled collar that tied with cords at his neck.

  She couldn’t resist. “Good evening, your Majesty.”

  “Very amusing.” The comment was quite dry.

  “I wasn’t sure if we…if you and I…well, I don’t quite know how to go on, Miles, to be honest.”

  “The best way is to be honest, Rose,” he answered.

  “Very well then.” She lifted her chin and looked him in the eye. “I’d like to be with you tonight, please.”

  “You would?”

  “Yes.” She nodded. “Very much.”

  Miles groaned. “You are unique, damn you.” He took her in his arms and held her close, then lowered his head to find her lips with his.

  The shock of desire that ripped through her at his touch…it nearly knocked her off her feet, and as if he sensed it, Miles picked her up in his arms and walked her into her room, still kissing her.

  The kiss broke off suddenly as he tripped over his nightgown, but fortunately they were near the bed and they both tumbled onto it, with a soft bump.