Page 100 of Regency in Color

Andie blinked, but the girl remained. Tonight she was wearing a demure girl’s dress in ivory lace with little orange flowers embroidered all over it. Her hair was pinned up in a ladylike chignon, and she watched everything with those haunting brown eyes. “Lulu?”

Spotted, Lulu shot her a mischievous smile and disappeared into the crowd in the hallway. If Lulu was here, surely Frank must be too. Her heart speeding up, Andie went to follow her, but she was stopped by the Duke of Bodmin.

“Your Grace.” She curtsied.

Lord Bodmin inclined his head in greeting. “Outstanding performance, Miss Archambault. Quite magnificent.”

“M-my thanks, Your Grace,” Andie stammered, caught off guard by the praise.

The duke was a distinguished older man, finally growing into his features in his fifties. He shouldn’t have been handsome, but oddly he was; he had a certain charisma in spite of having a prominent nose and a jaw like an anvil. She’d seen similar features before, but with his close-set blue eyes and faint brows, she couldn’t quite place them.

“If you don’t mind, Miss Archambault, there’s someone here I’d very much like to introduce you to. He’s an accomplished musician himself; I’m sure you’ll have much to talk about.”

Andie looked over his shoulder, trying to hide her impatience. She wasn’t interested in Lord Bodmin’s attempts at matchmaking, but it would hardly do to say so. She had a girl to find. “Of course, Your Grace. I’m always happy to discuss music.”

“Very good.” Lord Bodmin smiled pleasantly. “He was here a moment ago. Now, where’s he gone…?”

Several yards away, Andie saw a white skirt with orange flowers move swiftly down the hall. She had to catch up before she lost her again. “I’m certain you will locate him, Your Grace. If you’ll excuse me, I find myself in desperate need of a glass of water.”

“Certainly, you must protect your voice,” he said. “I will find you later this evening.”

“Your Grace.” Andie curtsied once more, then slipped out of the crowd and down the hall.

Lulu was nowhere to be found. Had Andie imagined her?

The hall seemed to stretch forever, a Baroque tunnel of pale blue plaster and gilt molding. It led past half a dozen parlors and sitting rooms of various sorts and ended in a glass conservatory that opened out into the gardens. Andie was just about to give up when she heard a familiar song drift through the hall.

“Love is patient, but it’s unkind…”

Andie’s pulse hammered in her throat. It couldn’t be. It was impossible that he was here, but that was her song she was hearing. And the voice…

“Frank?” she whispered to herself, following the sound.

Not far from the conservatory, she found a private room with the door ajar. In the hall outside, the sound was unmistakable. Frank was playing her song and singing inside.

“It’ll break your nose and rob you blind. You’ll feel so good, you’ll forget the bad, she’ll make you want everything you never had…”

He’d changed some words, slowed it down, and played it in minor chords. He sounded battered, his voice mournful and raw.

It was better.

Checking that no one could see her, Andie slipped inside and closed the door.

Frank sat behind the piano. The room appeared to be a study, mainly books but with a few older instruments displayed throughout. A single lamp glowed weakly on the wall, filling the room with rose-colored light and shadows. He looked up, the relative darkness making him look like his stage persona for a moment. Her eyes adjusted, and she noticed that he was wearing a sharp jacket with a high collar, silk waistcoat, and elaborately tied cravat. Absurdly handsome by any measure, he’d shaved carefully, and his hair was as neat as it had been her first night at The Crow’s Nest.

Suddenly it all made sense.

“Oh, Frank,” she sighed. “You had a secret too.”

“I didn’t. Not really.” He played a few notes before nodding in polite greeting. “Miss Archambault.”

Andie looked around the room. Lulu was nowhere to be found. The little mischief-maker had led her down here and left.

She sat beside Frank on the long piano bench, her fingers automatically finding a compatible chord. “Frank Creighton-Crowley, is it?”

“It’s actually Franz.” He took a swig of brandy straight out of a faceted crystal decanter, then offered it to her. “Wilhelm, Gustav, Albert, Felix, Fritz, and Franz. She just stopped trying after number four.”

Andie accepted the decanter. It was heavier than it looked, and she had to steady it with both hands. “Is your family German? I thought they came from Cornwall.”