Page 78 of Dukes All Night Long

“G ood morning, Zara.”

“Good morning, William.” Zara Blake smiled at the older man as she entered the lobby of the Henrietta Street Opera House.

He greeted her the same way every day, rushing to help her even though she was entering through the door connecting her townhouse to the opera. His thin frame and wild gray hair made him look like a dandelion.

No matter what awaited her beyond the threshold, it was always easy to smile at William.

“You’ll soon be too busy to hold the door for me,” she teased. During performance season, he managed the front of the house. He’d done it for so many years, and so well that many returning patrons came as much to see William as the opera.

“Never, child.” He followed her through the empty lobby. “There’s a barney backstage. Audrey and Silas are shouting loud enough to bring the roof down.”

“It wouldn’t take much.” Zara heaved a sigh and lifted the mail from the tray at the bottom of the stairs. “If there’s bloodshed, come find me.”

The older man’s chuckle followed a few steps behind her until her path curved the graceful arc that always reminded her of a castle turret. On the second floor was a small veranda that looked out over the lobby.

Come see the crowd, darling. Edgar’s ghost tempted her to pause on her way to the stage. He’d loved standing before each performance, watching everyone arrive and teasing them with a glimpse of her in costume. Zara had felt like a princess.

She turned her back on the memory and followed the arc of the wall in a second, tighter curve.

She ducked behind a finely trimmed curtain and let her eyes adjust. Bright white walls reflected the sunlight seeping through windows that were little more than slots in the brick.

A faded runner, frayed at the edges, covered the narrow stairs.

The door at the top of her climb was as far as one could get from the stage and remain under the same roof. The knob was smooth and cool in her palm, and the door swung open with a creak.

I’ll have the workmen look at it in the spring when the ticket sales improve. Edgar had said that every winter whenever she’d complained about the screeching hinges.

But they were on stage in the spring and summer, and, if the weather stayed agreeable, the London crowd stayed into autumn. Then it was the lean winter again. Mundane repairs never happened. Not when the floors needed polishing and the ropes had frayed.

But he’d found the time to recover the seats because the velvet had gone shiny. No, no, dearest. We can’t cover only a few. They would stand out, you see?

Zara dropped the mail onto the blotter and unwound her shawl from her shoulders. She’d seen his point—but she’d also read the ledgers.

Darling Edgar had been a wonderful teacher and a kind husband. He’d loved his opera house like the child he’d never had. And, like that child, he’d been blind to its failings.

A low fire warmed the office, and the curtains were pulled back to allow the sunlight through the meager windows. Fewer roofs were thatched this year. Tiles were taking over the town. Clean chimneys made the older, soot-covered ones more obvious. Fluffy white clouds rushed inland from the sea.

She marked each season, each year, by incremental changes—like the widening hole in her leaky roof.

She would have to talk to William. He shouldn’t be building a fire while no one was in the room to mind it. And the coal was more necessary downstairs.

“You’ve put it off long enough,” she said. “Get to work.”

When she’d first begun tending the opera’s ledgers, the heavy wingback chair had been lumpy in Edgar-shaped places. Now she couldn’t feel his ghost at all. Even his scent had faded.

She reached for the paper knife and stopped.

A small bouquet of violets, no more than five of them, wrapped in lace, rested near her inkwell, where they always were.

They’d sprouted there overnight, every night, since Edgar’s death.

Lifting them to her nose, Zara inhaled their sweet scent as their petals caressed her skin.

A simple melody filled her head, then her heart, and finally her throat. As she opened the ledger, she hummed the strains and tapped her foot against the rug to keep time.

The music faded before she finished the mail. Demand stacked atop demand. The violets sat ignored. They were another item on the list for William. They didn’t—couldn’t—pay him enough for frivolities, even if they made her happy.

The last of the letters was from the bank. Zara held her breath and scanned the words, searching for the word foreclosure . What she found instead was an offer. Someone wanted to purchase the opera.

For a moment she let herself imagine a day without bills, leaky roofs, and moth-eaten costumes. What would it be like to have enough money to pay Edgar’s debts and have a modest income?

A moment stretched to two. Then three.

Footsteps thudded against the stairs, giving her scant warning before a knock rattled the door.

Reality crashed around her. “Yes?”

Silas Archer came into the room, not the least bit winded from his climb. “Audrey is refusing to continue.”

Zara folded the bank’s letter and tucked it under the blotter. “I’m well this morning, Silas. How are you?”

The question made him stop and take a deep breath. A smile twisted his lips into a wry smile. “Well, Zara. Thank you. But Audrey—”

“Audrey says she’s leaving the stage at some point during every rehearsal.” The nearer the opening performance, the more likely the beautiful young soprano was to threaten it.

Stage fright is a crippling thing, dearest .

Stage fright cured with gifts and endless affection was not crippling in any way. Just enabling.

However, backstage gossip hinted that something else was behind the behavior. She’d wager a tryst had ended badly. “You could apologize.”

Silas’s mouth fell open for a moment. When he closed it, he also shook his head. “Not for all the leading roles in the world.”

Spoken like a man in his first starring role.

Silas had the looks of a leading man: hair and eyes the color of rich chocolate, a straight nose, a strong jaw, and a stunning smile he used even when he wasn’t on stage.

He also dressed well when he wasn’t performing. Too well, given what he earned from the opera. His green-and-blue floral waistcoat hung open, its brass buttons gleaming. It drew attention to his broad chest and thick arms.

“Silas, one of the responsibilities of the lead actor is to keep the company focused on opening night. And now they’re focused on losing our soprano.”

“They’re likely more focused on what she’ll demand this time, and how she’s going to get it from you.”

Zara had never argued with Edgar when he’d given in to Audrey’s demands. He’d always found talented and beautiful women difficult to resist. She’d also become necessary once Zara had left the stage.

“Let her go.” Silas took a step forward. “We can do without her.”

Their row must have been explosive. “This close to the performance? We’ll never replace her in time.”

They could in London, but not in Bath. And if a soprano—even an amateur—walked through the door, they couldn’t afford her.

“We already have a replacement,” Silas said. He caught his bottom lip between his teeth. “You.”

A tingle shot through Zara’s fingers and toes.

The orchestra had been practicing for days, refining the rough edges of the arias and choruses.

Lighthearted melodies—the trademarks of romantic follies—had filled the hall and climbed the stairs, setting her toes to tapping.

She’d even found herself humming them in the evenings while bent over her mending.

Still, she shook her head. “I haven’t performed in years, Silas.”

Not since she’d realized the cost of each production. Standing on the stage and seeing red ink in every empty seat had drained the joy from her voice.

“Five years isn’t a lifetime.” Silas dismissed her objection with a wave. “And the melodies are simple.”

If one was humming them, yes. But singing?

“Zara, this role means a great deal to me. It’s one I know I can do well, but not with Audrey.

” He pushed his hand through his thick hair, leaving a wave in its wake.

“The audience must believe the Duke and Duchess of Adderley love one another. No amount of rehearsing with Audrey will make that happen.” He put a hand on his waist. “At least you and I are friends.”

Despite herself, she let the idea of performing settle on her shoulders. The footlights warming her face, the floorboards trembling in time with the orchestra, even the slight smell of mothballs that always clung to the costumes no matter how long Daisy aired them.

“Your return would fill seats,” he said.

She didn’t have to look at the stack of bills to know how many could be settled with several nights of a full house. It might be enough to balance the books, but they would mount again.

But zero was a better foundation than red ink. If she could do it.

“I’ll join rehearsals tomorrow and then determine how to go forward.” Zara held his gaze and ignored his smile. “But if it fails, you’ll apologize to Audrey and learn to work together regardless of what happened between the two of you.”

He nodded, somber in his agreement. “Thank you, Zara.”

She watched him go. He and Audrey couldn’t be blamed for their affair. They made a striking couple on stage—her light coloring beside his dark, her sweet, high tones harmonizing with his clear, strong tenor.

They weren’t the first performers to fancy themselves in love, and they wouldn’t be the last. But they would learn.

Everyone learned eventually. Sometimes the lessons were bitter.

Zara slid the bank’s letter from underneath the blotter, unfolded it, and read it again.

Since Edgar’s death almost three years earlier, the opera had gone forward in his memory. They’d completed the performances he’d planned from his sickbed, staggering on even as the crowds had dwindled.