Page 14 of How to Ruin a Duke
Rowena laughed.“An autopsy, maybe, to understand what went wrong in a body.That ought to intrigue the curious if we put up a sign.‘Violins dissected daily.’”
“I was thinking youcouldadd another sign in the window.Something more to draw the eye than the instrument itself.For the time being, do as this print shop does: tie your messages intoHow to Ruin a Duke.”
“Be ruthlessly fashionable, you mean?”A shining carriage trundled along the cobbles.Rowena followed it with her face, eyes.“Fairweather’s has been changeless for a century, but I suppose I can’t sustain the old ways alone.You think I should have cards printed for the window?Little messages or stories?”
“I can hand-letter nicely,” Simon replied.“I worked as a clerk for a time.If you’re changing out the cards often, no need to go to the expense of a printer.”
“A clerk and a musician.”Rowena looked up at him curiously.“What else have you done with yourself?”
His heart beat more quickly.“Many things, but never mind that.What do you think of a little tale called ‘How to Ruin a Violin’?I can imagine it now:
“‘Loosing the strings, the Duke of Music plunged his hand into the forbidden hollow to pluck at the treasure hidden within.He thus displaced the sound peg, and he never could get his instrument back in tune.He brought it to Fairweather’s, where the proprietress fixed the old sinner’s peg.’”
“It’s soundpost, not peg,” Rowena chortled.“And your little tale sounds as if I provide a scandalous personal service.Best notquiteword it like that.”
He thought that was part of the appeal, himself, but she was in charge.“Something more classical, then?‘If music be the food of love, play on.Come dine on passion at Fairweather’s.’”
She breathed in deeply.“If you’re going to talk about food while the bakery is putting forth that marvelous scent of cinnamon, I’ll need cake.”Then she snapped her fingers.“Cake!Everyone loves being presented with unexpected treats.Perhaps free pastries with every purchase?”
“And constant pastries for the proprietress?”When Rowena shrugged innocently, Simon laughed.“Let’s see what I can do with duke-ruining before you start throwing cakes at people.Not that it’s not a good idea, but I’d like to keep you from going to extra expense.”
So, she liked sweets.He’d remember that.
And he’d keep mentioning expense: saving her money, saving her trouble.He would wind himself into her life so that she would not want to be without him.Already, he did not want to be without her.
The realization was startling.He stumbled, the pavement suddenly unsteady beneath his feet, and the irregularity of his step pulled Rowena close against his side.“Sorry,” he mumbled.He wasn’t sorry, for lithe and sweet-scented Rowena beside him, but he should be.He shouldn’t try to pull her close in any way.He should help her and collect his money for Howard, and then exit Rowena’s life—but oh, his heart was parched and lonely, and her blue eyes were spring water and her clever mind was a wonderland.
He couldn’t drink from that spring; he couldn’t explore that wonderland.He could help, collect money for Howard, and move along.That was all.
He had to keep reminding himself.
“You might consider an apprentice someday.”His voice sounded stuffy and falsely cheerful.“You might find many eager souls in Bloomsbury, or among the ranks of my fellow musicians.”
She waved this off, nudging at a pebble with the shiny toe of her boot.“I don’t have time to train an apprentice.Foolish though it might sound, I’m too busy to get help.”
“Except from me,” he blurted.
“Ah, well.You jumped into my life and started helping.I didn’t have to train you.”
“Taking a little time now to train an apprentice would help you in the long term.”Why was he trying to help her dispense with him?
Because it would help her.Full stop.It was for her good, and the good of Fairweather’s.What a selfless fellow he was.
She looked interested.“You seem keen on the idea.Would you care to be an apprentice yourself?”
I tried that once.It was a disaster.“No.”The word came out sudden and harsh.He tried to temper it, to sound merrier.“I’m not suited to that sort of work.I’m a come-and-go sort of fellow.Though I do like knowing I’m doing some good before I go.”
“But you hardly know me,” Rowena said.“Why should you care what good you do for me?”
He looked at her, hatless and freckled in the morning sun, and wondered how he couldnotcare.How anyone could not.
“I don’t know what you dream about while you’re asleep,” he said.“Or your favorite flavor of ice, or why you named your hedgehog Cotton.But I know what you dream about when you’re awake.There’s something familiar about you.”
He permitted himself to look at her deeply, a long drink of sensation.“Besides, our fortunes are connected now.”
“Because you connected them,” she reminded him.His face must have fallen, for she added swiftly, “Not that I mind.I am grateful for new ideas.I am very glad you came into the shop.And—and my favorite flavor of ice is pineapple.”
This was hardly a profession of love, but it made Simon feel marvelous all the same.“I like pineapple too.And maybe I’m not as come-and-go of a fellow as I thought.”
