Heart Strings (Music of the Heart Book 1) (2 page)

“Now, now. What’s all this formality? After all, we are family.” Percy smile sent a shiver slithering down her spine. “Come, come. Give me a proper greeting.”

She descended the stairs as regally as she knew how. On the bottom step, she curtsied.

He chuckled. “That is not what I had in mind.” His gaze lowered slowly down her body.

She backed up a step while cold chills raced down her arms. Trying to appear calm, she stared back at him boldly. With fair hair and skin, and patrician features, he might have been considered handsome by ladies, but Susanna had never found him appealing. His lips were too thick, his chin too soft, his stare bordering on improper.

“Ah, Percy, have you heard?” Aunt Uriana stood in the doorway of her morning room. “Algernon is going to marry Susanna.”

“Is he now?” Percy lifted his brows. “Is this your desire, my little cousin?” His stare intensified.

Her aunt spared her from answering. “Of course. She is nearly twenty and has no other prospects. She’d be very foolish to turn him down.” A pointed glance came Susanna’s way. “Now, Percy dear, come and let’s have a coze.” She turned and went back inside her parlor.

Percy eyed her. Under his breath, he said, “I do not believe you are happy about this union with Algernon, little Susie.”

Susanna looked away. “Not…terribly so, but as Aunt Uriana said, I have no prospects.”

Percy looked her over again as if examining a horse he considered buying. “I might be persuaded to help. With the right clothes and more attention to your hair, you might turn out well enough. I can take you away. Keep you in a quaint little cottage. Give you
cart blanche
.”

She stared. Did he mean what she thought? “But you are already married.”

He laughed, a mocking sound. “No, sweet little Susie. I would not be your husband—I’d be your protector.”

Her mouth dropped open. “You’re asking me to be your….” She lowered her voice, “your
mistress
?”

“You would lack for nothing—a cottage all your own with servants, and fine clothes. I am much more generous with my mistresses than my mother is with poor relations.” A slow, sensual smile twisted his thick lips. “Of course, I’d want a sampling of your sweetness before I make my true offer.”

He seized her by both elbows and dragged her to him. A heartbeat before his mouth touched hers, her composure splintered. She kicked his shin. He arched back in surprise and released her.

“Never!” She whirled around and raced upstairs as if the devil were in pursuit.

He shouted a vulgar name but no pounding of footsteps came after her. With her heart hammering and sobs filling her lungs, she raced to her bedchamber, slammed the door and turned the lock. Of course, that might not keep him out. At ten years her senior, Percy still had the vitality of a young man.

Aunt Uriana had locked her in enough times that she knew her door could be unlocked from the other side. She must barricade herself in until he left. With what? Except for her bed and dressing table, both too heavy to move, only a small wooden stool remained in her bedchamber, and that would be too light to stop an intruder.

The dressing table remained her best option. She pushed and pushed and pushed, and finally moved it in front of the door. A really determined man, or an angry one, could probably still get in. At least this might slow him down enough for her to get away. She’d jump out the window if necessary.

She sank down on the window seat. What to do? She must leave before Percy pressed his suit, and before Algernon came to take her to the parson’s noose. If she refused to marry Algernon, her aunt would starve her into submission. If she pretended to agree, and then refused at the altar, who knew what her aunt would do.

A scratch at the door caught her attention. Oh, no. Had Percy returned? Fear leaped into her throat. “Who is it?” she squeaked.

“It’s Martha, miss,” came the voice of the parlor maid. “I…forgive me, I know it’s not my place but…” The maid paused. “May I come in?”

Susanna let out her breath. Safe, at the moment. To let the girl in, she must move the dressing table. “One moment.” With much heaving, Susanna pushed the dressing table away enough to open the door. “Come in, Martha.”

The maid stood in the doorway holding a small tray. She cast a curious glance at the dresser through wide gray eyes but returned her gaze to Susanna. In a low voice, she said, “In the missus’ parlor, I wasn’t listening, really I wasn’t. But…I couldn’t help but hear…” she bit her lip. “It’s not really my place….”

Susanna gestured to her. “Come in, Martha. What is it? You can tell me.”

The maid entered and waited until after Susanna had closed the door behind her. “I overheard the missus telling you that you weren’t to come out of your bedchamber today—not even for meals—and I noticed you weren’t at breakfast so…I brought you a bowl of fresh berries and a scone and cup of tea.”

Susanna smiled. “Martha, you are a dear!”

Martha set down the tray. As Susanna sat on the stool and devoured the food, Martha gestured to the new location of the dressing table. “Forgive me for asking, miss, but are you moving the furniture? Might I be of some assistance?”

Susanna swallowed. Confiding in one’s servants really was not done, but the need to unburden herself became so great that she could hardly bear it another moment.

“My aunt is trying to force me to marry her nephew, Algernon, and my cousin Percy apparently desires me for his mistress.”

“Oh, miss.” Martha’s eyes grew as round as the rim of Susanna’s tea cup.

She’d rather marry an odious monster like Algernon than live as a fallen woman. “I moved the table in front of the door lest he decided to renew his proposition more…forcefully.”

Martha glanced at the door as if fearing an army would storm the room.

Susanna finished off her scone. “I’ve endured seven years of abuse and now this. I cannot bear it any longer. The banns will be read Sunday next. If I had anywhere to go—other than to a life of scandal and sin—or any means to support myself, I’d leave now—today—but…” She shook her head.

“Could you? Support yourself, I mean?” asked the maid in uncharacteristic boldness. She clapped her hand over her mouth. “Forgive me, miss. It’s not my place to ask impertinent questions.” Shoulders slumping, she edged toward the door.

“It’s quite all right, Martha; I would appreciate if you’d speak to me as you would a friend.” Susanna gave the maid a sad smile. If she could discuss her thoughts with another person, she might happen upon a solution. “I have no one with whom I might discuss ideas. Please, won’t you stay a moment? Please?”

She probably sounded like a desperate child. Truthfully, she
was
desperate, and frightfully low on options.

She gestured to the bed. “You may sit.”

“If that pleases you, miss.” Martha sat stiffly at the edge of the bed seat.

“I do not know what kind of position I could possibly obtain. Will you help me think of something?”

The maid adjusted her frilled cap. “I will help you all I can, miss.”

“I’m afraid to venture out into the world. Leaving one’s home and family simply isn’t done. I have nowhere to go—my aunt cut off my friends years ago. And I have no living family besides my aunt and uncle. But I cannot bear this any longer. I must leave. I
must
.”

Martha’s eyes were full of sympathy. “I don’t understand how they can treat you so poorly. I don’t blame you for wishing to leave.”

Susanna almost touched the maid but that would probably frighten her away. She settled for a friendly smile. “I thank you for your words. I feel rather naughty for even considering such a thing.”

Martha smiled timidly.

“Tell me, Martha,” Susanna said. “What can I do? What kinds of positions do young ladies obtain?”

Martha’s brow wrinkled in thought. “A governess, perhaps?”

Susanna nodded. “I’d considered that. I read extensively, and speak French. But my aunt dismissed my governess when I was thirteen so I never received further education in history, or painting, or many other subjects a governess must know. I’m not sure I am educated enough.” She finished the berries and sipped her tea.

Martha tapped her fingers together. “A lady’s companion?”

“Yes, I’d thought of that as well. In truth, I do not know if I’m as well schooled as a lady’s companion would need to be—if I understand the rules of etiquette. I have spent very little time outside my home.”

“Perhaps a nursemaid.”

Susanna let out a happy sigh and hope dared to rise up inside her. “I do love children.”

“You’d need references,” Martha said.

“Oh, dear.” Her hope collapsed. “I have no such thing.” Susanna put a hand to her head. Surely she was not doomed to marry Algernon. There had to be solution. She just needed to think of it.

“If I may be so bold; what skills do you have?” Martha asked.

Thoughtfully, Susanna took another sip of tea. “Skills? Very little, I’m afraid. Playing the harp is my only proficiency. Uncle always enjoys my harp music. It was at his pleasure I’d been allowed to continue taking lessons until two years ago.”

Her uncle. She could appeal to him. He’d never been cruel to her, merely indifferent except when it came to music. He’d always provided a steady stream of new pieces for her to learn and play. Perhaps he might help.

She disregarded that thought. The few times she’d sought his aid, he’d turned her away, saying she ought to obey her aunt. Uncle either had no interest in Susanna beyond her music or he was so henpecked by his wife that he’d developed a habit of bowing to her every whim.

After finishing her tea, Susanna sank back down on her window seat. What might she do?

Martha fixed a focused stare on her. “Do you play the harp well enough to secure a position as teacher or perhaps as a musician?”

Susanna went still. “Work as a professional harpist? I have no idea.”

“I don’t have a trained ear, miss, but it seems to me that you have real skills, and you’ve been at it for years, haven’t you?”

Susanna stood and paced. “I’ve been playing for many years. My last teacher declared me as talented and skilled as any harpist of his acquaintance and that there was nothing further he could teach me.”

Since then, she played for her own enjoyment—the perfect escape from her present world into a magical world of music where no one reminded her she was backward or dull or ugly or stupid. Music had become her own private sanctuary.

She mused. “But to play professionally? Most professional musicians are men. I don’t know if anyone would even give me a chance.”

Martha’s large brown eyes shone. “I went to the opera once and sat in the penny section. I did notice a few women in the orchestra. The opera houses employ musicians. So do some gardens such as Vauxhall. Why, the possibilities are endless. The London Season begins in a few weeks—right after Easter.”

It sounded like a viable option. Oh, if she could do it, sharing her passion for music with others filled her with exhilaration. Still her confidence wavered. What if she wasn’t good enough? Playing in a drawing room was one thing; playing as a professional was an entirely different matter.

Martha touched her hand. “The other musicians will recognize you as a member of the gentry and may not welcome you into their circles.”

Susanna grappled with the information. Martha’s words made sense. From what little she knew of the world, those who were raised as a lady but worked amid the working class were often outcasts no matter where they went. A governess was almost always shunned by servants, yet not treated like members of the family or guests by employers; she existed in a world in between worlds.

Did such a fate await Susanna in London?

More importantly, could she do this? What would people think of her? Would she face the same scrutiny as she did from her aunt? She couldn’t bear it if someone were to criticize the one thing left that she loved so dearly. What if she weren’t good enough?

She folded her arms and leaned over, “If I go, I may not find a position and then what would I do? If I find a position, I may not belong anywhere.”

Gravely Martha said, “Also, I feel I must warn you that professional musicians and actors are highly competitive. Jealousy is very strong. Some understudies have poisoned stars in order to take their place.”

Perfect. She might not get a position either because of her gender or her lack of talent. If she did, she might be poisoned by another musician. Could it get any more uncertain and dangerous?

Susanna weighed her choices. “But staying with my aunt…that would be worse. I’d be forced to marry Algernon or continue to fend off Percy.” She shook her head. “At least in London, I have a chance.”

Martha nodded. “From what I understand, theatrical productions and operas always have premiers early in the Season. If you are to obtain a position with one of them before the Season begins, you may need to hurry.”

Susanna’s thoughts raced. “Then I must audition now or all the positions will be filled.”

Yes, Susanna would leave. Now—before the banns were posted and before Percy renewed his offer more forcefully. More importantly, she’d leave before she lost her chances at making a living as a musician. London beckoned to her, promising a brighter future than any she’d imaged in years. Even if it meant isolation, she must take this chance. After all, a great deal of her life had been spent in solitude since her aunt and uncle became her guardians. Whether she could get a position before she starved was another matter. She was willing to take the risk.

Excitement bubbled up inside Susanna at the possibilities that lay before her. “Oh, Martha, I do want to go to London to find work as a harpist. How would I get there?”

How
would
she get there? Susanna froze. She must travel alone, unprotected, and in the company of strangers. Still, remaining here seemed infinitely worse.

Martha frowned. “It doesn’t seem right, a gently bred lady like yourself traveling all alone.”

“Other people manage somehow,” Susanna said, trying to be brave.

The maid-turned-confident paused. “That’s true. I came here from London on the mail coach. It took three days. It is an uncomfortable way to travel because it only stops to change horses and drivers. That’s when we stretched our legs and bought food at the posting inns. I didn’t have to worry about paying for a bedchamber. But I’m used to being on my own.”