Page 6 of Hold Me Fast
“Yes. That was my impression,” Bran agreed. He changed the subject. “What do you want to do now?”
Wait outside to see if Tamsyn got his message, but that wouldn’t serve. There was no way of knowing when she would wake, or when the footman would get a chance to pass the note. Or even if the man would do so.
“Let’s drop into the agent’s office,” he suggested. “Even if he isn’t there, we can make a time.”
“Better to surprise him,” Bran grumbled. “Less time for him to hide things.”
*
Tammie had notspoken to Guy or been close enough to do so since the day of the rehearsal. It had been him who retrieved her from the opium den, or so said the two maids who took turns nursing her. She had only the vaguest memories of the den, and none at all of Guy coming for her.
No doubt he was furious. She had nearly escaped him in the only way left to her. Daisy, one of the maids, told her that a physician had sat with her all through the first night and that Guy had been beside himself with worry.
Tammie believed the first statement, but not the second. Guy was not immune to all human emotions. He felt lust and anger and a sort of fierce joy that had fascinated her before she realized it fed off the subjugation of others. But he had no ability to worry.
Unless he was concerned he might lose her ability to earn for him. She would be worth nothing to him if she was dead. Perhaps that was why he had approved a measured amount of laudanum to be given to her every six hours.
She was much improved. At first, she had been so weak the maids had had to help her even with the basest of needs. Now she could spend much of the day sitting by her window or pacing her room. Yesterday, she had begun her voice exercises again, and by the end of the week, she was sure she could once again take her place on the stage.
But when she sent a note to Guy, telling him that she was better and able to sing again, his valet Marco delivered the response.
“Il Contewill tellSignorinaLind when she is to sing again.” He leered at her, leaning against the doorframe as if to show off his lean physique. He was handsome enough, with his dark curly hair and his large brown eyes, but Tammie always saw him through a haze of remembered pain.
She knew better than to show her fear, though. She nodded to indicate she had heard and understood the message. The earl was still angry with her. Angry she had run away. Angry she had tried to escape him permanently into the dreams. Angry she had been too ill for him to punish.
Daisy, whose turn it was to watch her, said, sharply, “You have delivered your message, Mr. Ricci.” Tammie managed to keep her shudder until after Marco had sniffed his contempt and left. “Do not annoy Marco Ricci, Daisy,” she warned. “He is mean when he is annoyed.”
“He should not treat you with such disrespect, Miss,” replied the maid, her tone and expression showing her indignation.
Tammie was touched. How long had it been since someone stood up for her? It was futile, though. “I do not mind, Daisy. How Marco treats me tells me where I stand with the earl. At the moment, he is angry with me. When I am back in favor, Marco will be most respectful. You watch.”
Ifshe was allowed to find her way back into the earl’s favor. He had no other singer of her caliber, which was to her advantage. Guy collected musicians, and kept some of them—those without friends and family to make trouble for him. At the moment, he had a violinist, a virtuoso on the pianoforte, a promising alto, and several lesser voices. But Tammie was a star attraction and opened doors that the scandal surrounding him would otherwise shut in his face.
Sometimes, when he was in a temper, he would forget that fact. She could think of several musicians who had simply disappeared when they offended him or were no longer useful.
But he had had time since her rebellion to calm down, had he not?
Marco had said “when.” “When she is to sing again.” So, if he had not forgiven her yet, he planned to do so. Come to think of it, the regular and measured doses of laudanum were another sign that he had plans for her. Not enough to completely subdue the cravings, but enough for her to get from one minute to the next, especially when she lost herself in song.
The next sign that Guy still had a use for her was in the afternoon when she was ordered to put on a riding habit and join the weekly ride. When she reached the mews, her usual horse was ready for her, but she was directed to the rear of the group of acolytes, dependents, grooms, and invited guests who would make up the procession of horses and glitteringly dressed riders who would display Guy’s wealth and influence to London’s fashionable crowd in Hyde Park. His new violinist, Miss Tempest, took the place by his side.
Guy had organized these processions in London, Paris, Rome, Venice, Vienna, and a dozen other cities of Europe and the Middle East over the years Tammie had been with him, and for most of those years, she had ridden at his side or close behind him.
It was a statement about power. The time and place were carefully chosen to impress those who held local power. The position in the procession spoke of the internal politics of the group Guy had gathered around him.
Her position at the back displayed to all and sundry that she was out of favor. It was also a relief, taking her out from under Guy’s shrewd eye and allowing her to pay attention to the park and the rich and powerful who gathered there to show off to their peers.
Of course, Guy and his riders drew every eye, as was intended.
Fergie, who had left the door to her room unlocked, was not in the vanguard with Guy. He was nowhere in the procession. In fact, she had not seen him since she recovered enough to move around the house. Had he suffered for his mistake? Of course, he had. She hoped he had merely been sent away. She would not think about the alternative.
It was pleasant to ride again. When she was back in Guy’s favor, Tammie would ask permission to take a ride each morning, when one’s horse could move at more than a walk. As it was, unused muscles complained bitterly an hour later when she dismounted.
Once more in her room, she asked Daisy to order a bath. “Miss,” said Daisy. “One of the footmen gave me a message for you. It arrived this morning, Miss, and I wasn’t sure if I should give it to you, for the earl has said we are not to let you be bothered but to give all messages to him, and he will let you have those he approves.”
Tammie grimaced. She was not surprised.
“But Hen…the footmansaid it was a childhood friend, Miss. Oh dear. I hope I am doing the right thing.” She pulled a little pasteboard rectangle from the pocket of her apron and brought it to Tammie, where she sat by the fire.
