Page 44 of The Duke’s Duet

Chapter Twelve

Harper stood at his study window, watching rainfall pattern the glass while wrestling with a decision he'd already made. The invitation to Vauxhall Gardens sat on his desk - Lord and Lady Pembroke's annual summer entertainment. Usually he avoided such events, finding them too public, too informal for his taste.

But this year was different.

This year, Signor Bianchi would be there.

The Italian impresario's letter lay beside the invitation, his florid handwriting expressing enthusiasm about meeting London's musical talent. It was the perfect opportunity - completely proper, completely reasonable - to introduce Melody to someone who could advance her career.

If only that were truly his singular motivation.

"Your Grace?" Simmons appeared silently at his elbow. "Shall I send the note to Miss Piper?"

Harper's fingers tightened on the window frame. He'd already written it - a carefully worded invitation suggesting that she might find the evening professionally advantageous. Every word chosen to maintain proper distance while offering an opportunity that she could hardly refuse.

"Yes." He forced himself to release the frame, to turn away from the rain-streaked glass. "And send word to Lord Pembroke that we'll require an extra place in their party."

"Very good, Your Grace." Simmons paused at the door. "Shall I inform the Dowager Duchess of the arrangement?"

The question gave Harper pause. His mother would certainly have opinions about him escorting Melody anywhere, even as part of a larger party. But the thought of another evening maintaining cold formality during rehearsals, of watching the light dim in Melody's eyes each time he withdrew...

"No," he said finally. "I'll tell her myself. When the time is right."

After Simmons departed, Harper moved to the pianoforte, running his fingers along its polished surface without quite touching the keys. He shouldn't do this. Shouldn't create opportunities for more private moments with Melody when he knew they could lead nowhere. Their increasing distance during rehearsals was necessary, proper - the only way to protect both of their reputations.

Yet the memory of her face during their last practice haunted him. The hurt in her eyes when he'd mentioned Italy, the way that she'd asked him to be honest about his motivations. He hadn't been able to answer then, because the truth was too dangerous.

The truth was, he wanted both things - wanted to advance her career and to keep her close, wanted to do what was right and what his heart demanded.

The contradiction was driving him slowly mad.

Time passed, as he found himself unable to play, yet unable to do anything else, his thoughts endlessly circling, with Melody at the centre of them. It must have been hours later that a knock at the door made him step quickly away from the instrument.

"Enter."

Lord Pembroke strode in, shaking rain from his hat.

"Thought I'd find you brooding. Just got your note about the extra place for tomorrow night."

"I'm not brooding." Harper moved to pour them both brandy. "I'm being practical. Signor Bianchi specifically asked to meet talented performers."

"Did he?" Pembroke's knowing smile made Harper's jaw clench. "And I suppose his presence is the only reason that you're breaking your usual habit of avoiding Vauxhall like the plague?"

"Charles..."

"No, no, don't tell me. You're merely being professionally helpful. Supporting the arts. Nothing at all to do with wanting to spend an evening in Miss Piper's company without so many of the ton's eyes upon you."

Harper handed his friend a glass with more force than necessary, nearly spilling the brandy.

"The ton's eyes will be very much upon us. Your wife will be there to maintain propriety."

"Ah yes, my dear Lucy. Who, as you well know, is hopelessly romantic and thinks that you and Miss Piper are living out some grand love story." Pembroke's voice softened. "She's not entirely wrong, is she?"

Harper turned away, staring into the depths of his brandy as if it might offer answers.

"It doesn't matter what it is or isn't. You know that as well as I do."

"Do I?" Pembroke settled into a chair, stretching his long legs towards the fire. "Times are changing, old friend. The war changed everything - showed us that courage and worth aren't limited to those of noble birth. Even the Prince Regent's set is less rigid than it once was."