Page 69 of A Gamble with the Rakish Duke
“Alexandra is better off where she is at the moment, Sister,” he said, his hand moving to his cheek, which stung as if itwas mauled by wild animals—not that he had experienced that firsthand.
Catherine looked at him one more time, feeling defeated. With her shoulders slumped, she left him on his own and headed for some of her acquaintances.
Oliver felt miserable about ruining his sister’s good mood, but he could not help it.
The introductions were over. Therefore, most of thetonhad moved from the drawing room to the music room, where someone notable was supposedly expected to play a piece. It was then that the conversation a few ladies were having had become so loud that even the growingly apathetic Oliver could not help but overhear.
“I heard from someone reliable that J. Lewis will soon release a new piece,” one lady gushed excitedly.
“Where did you hear that?” her friend asked, fanning herself as if it had gotten hot in Lady Arthur’s music room.
“Someone who works for the orchestra. It is going to be better than anything he had ever composed before.”
“Do you think we’ll hear it here?” another friend asked.
“No, I doubt it. This one’s a fresh acquisition. A gentleman I know said that he was going to watch the comings and goingsat the music director’s office so that he can finally unmask J. Lewis,” said the lady who had initiated the conversation.
“Hmm. Were there any suspects among those who frequent the office?”
“This is where things get very curious, indeed. They say it’s that music professor, John Prescott.”
“Oh. Him? He is a respected man. Handsome. But he is still unmarried. There have been whispers about him,” the lady with the fan said, her voice dropping lower that Oliver had to strain his ears to hear.
He moved closer to the gossiping ladies, pretending to closely inspect what remained of his brandy. One of the ladies noticed him and smiled. Then, perhaps remembering he was married, her smile faded a little and she reengaged with her two friends.
“Yes. There are rumors that he has a special friend who visits him at his lodgings,” the lady who was speaking continued.
What?
Oliver tried to make sense of what he was hearing. Could they be talking about Alexandra?
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The voices of the gossiping ladies dropped to whispers, and Oliver could no longer hear what they were saying. He would have to step right into their little circle, which was not acceptable at all.
He sighed in frustration as he gave the ladies one last glance before he headed to some familiar faces.
Who could be John’s rumored paramour? His heart raced at the thought. Why couldn’t his wife choose a middleman who was married and whose wife was there for every transaction?
His suspicion grew again. It became worse when everyone stopped chatting to listen to the composition of the mysterious J. Lewis. It was different now that Oliver knew who wrote it. It was his dear wife who wrote each note and used her skills and emotions to form the music that the guests were currently enjoying.
Oliver felt proud. He had married a tremendously talented woman. He had unconsciously puffed out his chest when he heard the strains of music. He wanted to tell everyone that he heard those same notes in his townhouse, played by a beautiful madwoman in the middle of the night.
He also felt indignation and anger at the fact that many people believed it was John Prescott who wrote the pieces.
No. Alexandra, whether she remained his wife or not, deserved to be commended for her work.
Then, his chest tightened, and his head began to spin at the possibility that Alexandra was the reason John Prescott had not married yet.
Yes, Oliver was afraid of the scandal—of people talking about his wife being with another man. However, he was also concerned for Alexandra. Women had it harder when it came to being the object of gossip. They could be ruined forever.
“Oliver?”
It was Catherine, returning to his side. He inhaled and exhaled deeply before downing the rest of his brandy. “Yes?”
“What do you think of this J. Lewis? Everyone’s been talking about him and his identity.”
Oliver wanted to laugh. Everyone in Society, including his sister, had taken it upon themselves to believe that J. Lewis was a man.
