The Princess and the Pauper (4 page)

He
shut his eyes. After years of strict
schooling, why wasn’t she a prim and pompous lady? She had
certainly fooled everyone into thinking she was one, arriving with
a mountain of luggage, carting a dizzy-aged chaperone who liked to
tip scotch into her tea when no one was spying. Emily had even
hoodwinked her own father. But she showed Grey her true, spirited
nature. Even now, a fire smoldered in his belly. And soon he
wouldn’t be able to resist her.

Grey rolled his stiff shoulder muscles
before stripping off his clothes and settling onto the bed. As soon
as his back touched the mattress, he heard a ruffling
noise.

He arched his spine and slipped a hand
beneath him. His fingers touched paper and he pulled out a folded
note. Since he hadn’t turned down the light, he flipped open the
card and instantly recognized Emily’s handwriting. Even before he
read the words, he knew what the lines would say, what temptation
they would bring:

If you value your
violin,

you
will meet me in the music
room.

—
E

He didn’t k
now what burned his blood
more—that she’d stolen his violin and was holding it hostage or
that she’d taken such an extreme measure just to hear him play . .
. to be alone with him.

He crushed the note in his fist. If she
damaged the instrument because of her recklessness, he’d never
forgive her.

Quickly h
e rolled off the bed and pulled on a
clean pair of trousers and a shirt. He then checked under the bed,
where he stored the violin, just to make sure it was missing, but
he hadn’t much doubt. It took him half a second to confirm she’d
flinched it.

“
Spoiled, rotten girl,” he
muttered, striding toward the music room in his bare feet. But even
as he fumed, his heart pounded with unmatched
anticipation.

He
passed a few other servants, but no one
minded him. He was the indentured servant in the household, the
drudge, his place below the lowliest scullery maid, and because he
was ignored, he could do almost anything he wanted—like meet with
Emily.

It wasn’t long before
he reached the music
room. A faint tune pierced the thick walls. He grabbed the latch
and pushed opened the door. Inside, Emily was seated in a chair,
facing the moonlit window, playing a violin.

She sensed his
presence
, for
she missed a note, and in that moment he fully realized she was
playing one of
his
melodies on
his
instrument.

A different kind of heat came
over him. He had
never heard her play the violin. She had only ever played
the piano, a suitable instrument for a proper young lady. Who had
dared to teach her? There were no respectable women violinists. The
very idea was shocking, even indecent. And yet Grey was transfixed
by her performance. She lured him with the music, like the Pied
Piper of fables, and without even thinking of the danger, he closed
the door and crossed the large room.

Her arms moved in
sharp strokes. She
was draped in a woolly red wrapper, her body flexible in the loose
garment. Her long auburn hair flowed over her shoulders, thick and
untamed. And her eyes remained shut as she concentrated on the
lullaby he had once played for her as a boy.

She was
free. Unconstrained by etiquette or
insecurity. And she commanded the music—his music—as if it were her
own creation. With a straight wrist and agile fingers, she slipped
between the octaves with ease. Her technique needed polish, but no
amount of instruction could enhance the soulfulness of her
performance.

She brought the piece to
a close with a
vibrato. Her lashes flickered, then her eyes opened as if from a
sweet dream. She smiled. “You came.”

Grey
had come for the violin, but it
didn’t belong to him alone, not anymore. She had taken everything
from him—his heart, his music, and now his instrument.

“
How?” he
whispered.

“
How did I learn to play?” She
hugged the violin. “Attitudes on the Continent are different from
those in England, and one of my schoolmates, from Russia, taught me
to play. She’s quite a virtuoso, unlike myself.”

“
Why?”

“
Does it matter?” she said
evasively. “I’ve learned. And a good thing, too. Since you’ve
turned away from your music, there’s only me to keep it
alive.”

His chest tightened. “I haven’t abandoned
it.”

“
Yes, you have.” She
held out the
instrument and bow. “Your grandfather didn’t construct this so you
could hide it under your bed.”

He snatched the violin
fro
m her.
“You don’t understand.”

“
You miss him. But don’t you see,
you
must
play to keep his memory, his life’s work alive. To keep
yourself alive, Rees.”

“
I can’t.”

“
Play for me.”

“
No.”

“
Play for me!”

He had a sinful urge to throw the
violin across the room. It tormented him in every way. It had
brought him peace and joy when he’d been alone in Wright’s house,
apart from his grandfather. And then he’d befriended Emily. It had
brought him peace and joy to play for her. But she had left for
Switzerland, then his grandfather had died. And it brought him no
peace or joy to play for himself alone. Now she was home. But soon
she would leave again, to marry. And he would not play for her. He
would not let himself feel that pleasure again, knowing it would
end.

He placed the violin back in its case. In
brisk strides, he headed for the door.

She chased after him and
blockaded the exit.
“Then give it to me,” she demanded.

“
What?”

“
Give me the violin. If you
won’t play it, what good is it to you?”

He glared at her. “It’s all I have of
him.”

“
Is that how you want to honor
your grandfather? By worshipping a dusty old relic? That’s what the
violin will become one day. Is that a fitting end for the finest
instrument ever made by the greatest maker?”

She echoed his own
childhood words back
at him, and he wished her memory wasn’t so superb—or her insight so
cutting.

“
What business is this of
yours?”

“
I’m your friend,
Rees.”

“
No, you’re not.
You’re the mistress
of this house, and I’m your servant. I know my place. You should
know yours, princess.”

He pushed her aside and left the music
room, feeling every bit the fool for dreaming impossible dreams. He
should take his own damn advice, he thought. He should know his
place.

~*~

Grey stood in the middle of the
study. He had been summoned to the room a few minutes ago for an
unknown reason.
Wright scribbled at his desk, his attention occupied. And
Grey could only speculate on what the old miser wanted from
him.

Inevitably, his thoughts turned to Emily.
He wondered whether her father had grown suspicious of his feelings
for her. Grey hadn’t spoken to her in two weeks, not since the
night in the music room, and she in turn had ignored him,
concentrating instead on finding a husband. It was the way their
relationship should be—should have always been—and yet he was more
irritable than ever. He hoped the self-absorbed Wright hadn’t
finally noticed.

T
he front doorbell rang again—the eighth in
the last hour! Grey stiffened at the galling sound. Since Emily had
returned from school, suitor after suitor had descended on the
house every afternoon during visiting hours. He tried to ignore the
thought of so many men calling on her, but the wretched bell toll
would not let him forget it.

“
I’ve called you in here to
discuss our arrangement
.” Wright finally looked up from his desk, his
dark eyes focusing on Grey. “I am terminating your indentured
servitude.”

An unseen weight crashed down on his
head. “But the debt isn’t repaid.”

“
I am forgiving the remainder of
the debt.” He wrote in his open account book, to the right of his
papers. “There. A zero balance. The debt is repaid in
full.”

Silence.

“
Have you nothing to say,
Rees?”

The
man was expecting gratitude, but Grey
couldn’t offer it, his breath trapped in his throat.

“
You have been here five years,”
Wright went on, dismissing the silence. He folded the paper in
front of him. “Here is a letter of reference. And since you’ve
received no wages in all that time, here is a banknote in the
amount of ten pounds. Both will help you establish yourself in a
new venture.” Wright held out the letter and draft. “You’ve been a
good worker, Rees, and you’ve honored your grandfather.”

Head spinning, Grey
stepped forward and
accepted the papers. “Thank you,” he returned, his voice
strangled.

“
You’re welcome,” said Wright.
“You are free to leave.”

Strange how he had longed to hear
those words, and now that they had been spoken, he hadn’t the
strength to carry himself out the door.

“
May I know the reason for your
generosity?”
he finally asked.

“
You may.” Wright stood up from
his chair and rounded the desk. “I will be obtaining a new
residence.”

“
I can work for you at your
new residence.”

The words escaped his mouth before he had
time to think about them.

“
I’m sure you’ve better ambitions
for yourself. You have your grandfather’s blood, and I admired his
entrepreneurial spirit.”

. . .
so long as he paid his
rent.

It was pure business with
Wright. He had no
soul. Not like Emily.

“
When will you and Miss
Wright be leaving?”

“
I alone am leaving, just as soon
as she is married.”

Grey’s
heart stopped. “She is
engaged?”

“
Soon to be, I’m sure. She is
this season’s treasure. I intend to gift her and her husband this
house. It’s in the most fashionable district in Town and will be
the center of their social lives. She will need a new staff, her
own, not one inherited from her father. And a widower, like myself,
requires a more modest abode, so I will be keeping a smaller staff
at my new residence.”

“
I see.”

Wright offered his large hand. “I wish
you good fortune, Rees.”

He returned the handshake. “Thank
you.”

~ * ~

Grey didn’t have much to pack,
just
some
clothes and toiletries. And letters. Emily’s letters. He placed the
bundle of papers into his luggage and secured the leather straps.
He then looked around the small room that had been his home for the
last five years and felt a moment of nostalgic regret. He and Emily
had become friends in this humble place. He remembered her haughty
airs and rude quips and her eventual, begrudging, brave admission
that she needed him—both his music and his
companionship.

He picked up the suitcase and
his violin.
For the first time in his life he was alone without a home
or purpose. Wright had said he had his grandfather’s blood and thus
entrepreneurial spirit, but right then, Grey didn’t know what he
was going to do or where he would go.

He
turned down the lamplight and left the
room, heading for the back staircase.

“
You would leave without
saying goodbye?”

At the sound of her soft, accusing voice,
his arms weakened and his luggage felt unbearably heavy. He set
both cases on the ground and turned in time to see her step out of
the shadows and into a moonlit beam. Her long, braided hair was
gathered around one shoulder, her arms folded across the front of
her wrapper. She was ready for sleep and had clearly escaped her
chaperone’s clumsy supervision. Standing under the skylight, the
rest of the corridor dark as pitch, she was the only bright spot in
his life—and the reason why he could never say goodbye.

“
Will I ever see you
again?” she asked.

“
Do you want me to ring the
front door or back when I come to visit?”

“
You would be welcomed,” she
returned evasively.

“
And who would you tell
your husband that I am?”

“
A friend.”

“
I’m not your friend,
princess.”

And she was not his friend—she was
everything to him.

He picked up his belongings and headed
for the stairs again.

“
Promise me you’ll play,”
she called after him.

“
I’m not your servant
anymore. I don’t have to follow your orders.”