Page 13 of How to Ruin a Duke
Perfect.
Oh, not the playing.The playing was horribly out of tune.But the peg was a perfect fit.Rowena bowed again, giving a practiced twist to each tuning peg as she drew the bow across the strings.Playing two at a time, creating perfect fifths of sound, she brought the violin’s strings into harmony with each other just as she’d brought shape to a formless piece of wood.
It was immensely satisfying, though her bowing fingers cramped and ached by the time she was done.Only then did she recall that the day had hardly begun, that her work lay scattered all around her, and that none of it would be enough to pay Mr.Lifford, the landlord, for the continued lease of Fairweather’s.
The lovely spring day suddenly seemed gray.
And then, from the other side of the velvet curtain, there sounded a knock at the door.Rowena peeked around the edge of the curtain—and the day became sunny after all, the clouds brightening.
Simon Thorn was here.
Simon arrivedat Fairweather’s embarrassingly early in the day, yet he couldn’t manage to feel embarrassed.It was too good, too rewarding, to see Rowena Fairweather’s spring-sunny smile as she unlocked the door of the shop to him.
“I’d not have thought you an early riser,” she said.“Most musicians aren’t, since they have to play so late at parties and balls.”
“Maybe I’d have had a harder time getting up if I’d played at Vauxhall last night, but as I didn’t, I’m terrifyingly full of energy.”
“Terrifyingly?”She arched a brow.“I’m not easily terrified.”
“I should have guessed that.If I’m very lucky, maybe I can keep up with you.”He smiled.How could he not?Today she wore a rust-brown gown, and her eyes looked very blue.She was autumn leaves and spring sky.
“I did promise to come early,” he added, “so that I could catch you before you open the shop for the day.Can you take a few minutes to walk down Bond Street with me?I want to show you something.”
She looked back into the shop, called a few words to someone upstairs—the maid, perhaps?—and without further delay stepped through the doorway and joined Simon on the pavement.“Let’s go, then.”
Simon blinked.“I admire promptness, but are you sure you’re ready?Don’t you want a…hat or bonnet or whatnot?”
“Will a hat or bonnet or whatnot help me understand what you wish to show me?”
“No, of course not.”
“Then let’s be off.”She grinned at him.“I’m behind on my work, but I’m ready for a break.Behold an escapee from Fairweather’s.Have you had a brilliant idea that will help me?”
He offered her his arm.“Not brilliant, perhaps, but adequate at the very least.”
When she took his arm and said, “Lead on,” he changed his mind: He was damned brilliant, after all.
It was brilliant, damned brilliant, to be outside on a cool May morning.The day had not yet decided whether it wanted to become hot or pour down buckets, and in this undecided state, it was full of possibility.A bakery exhaled glorious scents, and a costermonger’s wagon clopped by laden with every growing thing from aubergines to apricots, bright like a tangle of beads in a jewel box.Maids in neat uniforms and starched caps darted into early-open shops.Later in the day, the tonnish would yawn and stretch and promenade down the fashionable street, idly shopping—but for now, Bond Street belonged to those who worked.Those with purpose.
Simon’s idea, he explained to Rowena as they progressed down the street, was to turn the front window of her shop into an ever-changing display.“People overlook the familiar, but they notice when something is different.See the way this print shop’s window always has something new in it?We cannot pass by without taking a look.”
They halted before just such an example, which today featured a satirical caricature of—who else?The Duke of Amorous, who bore the dark hair and aristocratic appearance of the Duke of Emory.Unfortunately, the nobleman’s dignified appearance was undermined by his pose: clothing askew, nose red from drink, bleating “God Save the King” outside of Almack’s.
The sort of person who cared about Almack’s would care very much that the duke had bespoiled it by singing outside of it—and now an impulsive, possibly drunken wager of a moment was immortalizedinprint andasa print.Poor fellow.Simon would almost feel sorry for the duke, if he hadn’t been born into immense wealth and privilege.Emory had never had to take on an apprenticeship for which he’d been ill-suited, and at which he’d been an utter, ruinous failure.
Well.Maybe.Simon supposed that just because someone was born to become a duke didn’t mean he was well-suited to the role.
But then there was Rowena Fairweather: born to be a luthier, and so deliciously capable that he could not imagine her as anything else.Though hecouldimagine her as anything she put her mind to.
“At the moment,” Simon pointed out, “your shop’s window contains only a sign, with a curtain blocking a view of the workshop.What if you drew that aside, so people could watch you work?”
“I wouldn’t like that.”She clenched her right hand, tucking it under her left arm.“I’d be too distracted if people were watching me work.”
That was fair.“A second option, then.‘Visit Fairweather’s!Watch an instrument be built!’Have you a violin you could take apart, piece by piece, and then put back together?Every day, you could make a change and the next step would be on display.”
Rowena turned away from the caricature, thinking.“Now that idea, I do like.I’ve been wanting to build instruments of my own, and this could inspire me to begin.But to start at once, yes—I’ve a few instruments that don’t play well anymore.They were never well made to begin with, poor things, and over the years they’ve been treated roughly.But they could still be used to teach.”
“You talk about them as if they’re alive.Now I feel I’ve suggested vivisection.”
