Page 66 of Hearts of Briarwall

“I have a serviceable voice. You, on the other hand, sing like your talented mother. I am struck by it.”

Her eyes brightened. “Truly?”

“Has no one told you that before?”

She shook her head. Had Andrew never mentioned the likeness?

“Then I suppose you shall have to believe me.”

She smiled widely. “I suppose I shall.”

“She often called on me to sing with her.” He chuckled at the memory. “I think she did so to make me blush.”

“I believe she did so because you are pleasant to sing with.”

“My dear woman, you’ve sung a mere four measures with me.”

“A testament to how good you are. I have an ear for this sort of thing, you know.”

He took a deep breath, watching his shoes. “Then I suppose I shall have to believe you.”

“I suppose you shall.”

He shook his head, suppressing a grin. Blast this woman. “Now then, if you wish me to persevere in this endeavor, you shall stop with your pretty words and get on with this rehearsal.”

“You are the one who started with the pretty words.”

He opened his mouth, but a crooked smile was all he could manage as words failed him. Her brown-eyed gaze lingered on his.

“Ahem.”

They turned to find both Andrew and Mrs. Piedmont watching them stiffly.

“We are in need of the piano, Lydia,” Andrew said, eyeing Spencer. “I assumed you could finish your piece without it.”

“Indeed,” Lydia said, standing from the bench as she collected their music. “We shall adjourn to the morning room.”

“By yourselves?” Mrs. Piedmont said loudly enough to draw Sir Lawrence’s attention from the opposite side of the room. “Really, the impropriety of it. Mr. Wooding, surely—”

“Fallon will accompany us, of course,” Lydia offered brightly.

Out of the corner of his eye, Spencer noted Ralston ringing the bell immediately, no doubt to summon the lady’s maid.

Lydia met Andrew’s hard stare with an unwavering grin and held it.

Andrew flicked another look at Spencer, and Spencer shrugged. The presence of the lady’s maid provided all the required propriety necessary, and to be honest, Spencer was relieved that Lydia had offered the solution herself.

“We shall do the same,” Violet said, approaching the group with a violin in one hand, a bow in the other, and Sir Lawrence on her heels. He looked paradoxically interested and bored. She gave Ralston another nod, and he responded in kind.

“Not in the morning room, of course,” Violet continued. “Perhaps the study? We wouldn’t want my strings to disrupt either of your practicing, now, would we? Come, Sir Lawrence. Let us loosen up our cords.”

With a questioning glance between Lydia and Spencer, Sir Lawrence followed Miss Whittemore as Mrs. Piedmont watched wide-eyed and silent.

Lydia gestured to the piano. “It is all yours, Mrs. Piedmont, as it should be. I cannot wait to hear what an accomplished pianist such as yourself will play.”

The woman’s face softened mildly. “Thank you, Miss Wooding. Perhaps Miss Whittemore is right. A violin can be a very disturbing instrument when not played to perfection. Forgive me for making assumptions.”

“Not at all. You are only being watchful of the young people.” Lydia curtsied and strode out of the drawing room. She paused at the doorway, where her maid had just arrived—thankfully not the grim-faced woman from the temple—and turned. “Are you coming, Mr. Hayes, or do I have to sing this duet all by myself?”

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