Page 39 of My Devoted Viscount (Brazen Bluestockings #2)

“Beg pardon, ladies,” he said with a bow as he entered, and Gert interrupted herself. “We are in need of paper. I’ve used all the lined sheets I could find in the drawing room. Unless you have another supply elsewhere?”

Gert pursed her lips in thought. “If you’ve used up what was in the folder on the top shelf, there is no more here at the Grange. You’ll have to draw your own lines.” She turned to Miss Walden, who watched from her seat at the desk. “My dear, do we have blank paper to spare?”

Miss Walden opened a drawer and checked the contents. “Lord Fairfax brought at least a thousand pages. I think we can share.” Her expression was innocent, but the twinkle in her eye when she looked at him was decidedly mischievous.

Little minx. Vincent fought to keep from grinning as he approached the desk.

The page he’d interrupted her working on was covered half-way down in neat rows of those odd squiggles and loops. He tore his gaze away from it when she handed him an inch-thick stack of blank paper. “Will this suffice, or do you require more?”

More. Oh, he definitely required more from her. Standing over her, he spared a glance for her neckline, made modest by a white silk scarf whose edges were beginning to fray and turn grey, then met her smiling gaze. “This will do. For now.”

Their bare fingers brushed as he took the paper from her hand.

Gert cleared her throat.

Right. “Thank you.” Vincent gave another bow and hustled back to the dining room.

Vincent, Matthew, and Xavier drew lines for the music until they had sufficient pages to copy the rest of the overture, then resumed the process they’d been using.

After Vincent and Xavier swapped pages to proofread each other’s work before starting on a new page, Matthew let out a low whistle.

“No matter how many times I’ve seen you both write with both hands at the same time, I still don’t understand how you do it.

” He flipped two pages over, picked up a second pencil, and tried to write with both hands.

“I can’t even draw two credible naughts and crosses at one time, and you’re making two copies of sheet music. ”

Vincent reached over and wrote an X on the top corner nearest him. “Credible enough.”

Xavier also drew an X on the top corner nearest him on the other sheet. “Dots and lines are easier than words.”

Matthew drew an O in the middle of both squares. “See? I can’t even draw a smooth circle with my left hand, and back in school you both used to make two copies of an essay at one time.”

“Only if I spent my quarterly allowance too quickly and needed more coin.” Vincent drew an X on the opposite bottom corner.

Xavier drew an X in the same spot on the other sheet. “Had to follow in Father’s footsteps.” They shared a grin.

“I will admit I have been thankful for this peculiar skill of yours on more than one occasion,” Matthew said. “Was grateful that everyone had their own copy of the music when we were rehearsing for the Catch Club competition, for example.”

Within a few more strokes the games ended, a win for Vincent and a draw for Xavier, and they resumed copying the overture so they could rehearse it.

* * *

With the extra ladies present, supper was as pleasant as the midday meal had been.

Vincent slipped the footman a coin to make sure he was seated beside Miss Walden this time.

Miss Burrell regaled them with the tale of the time a dog had tried to make off with one of the fossils she had extracted, which she later identified as a coprolite.

Matthew was useless as a conversationalist, making a cake of himself gazing adoringly at Miss Ebrington.

She at least showed a modicum of restraint.

Barely. At least Matthew wasn’t making a fool of himself for nothing.

By the second course, Vincent noticed they were eating from the gold-rimmed china with a jasmine blossom pattern that Gert usually reserved for special occasions.

“Are we celebrating a birthday?” he asked as Kendall served. “Did I forget it was a holiday?”

“It has been a full twelve years since all three of you boys were under my roof at the same time,” Aunt Gert replied, glancing in turn at him, Wallace, and Xavier.

“Surely it can’t have been that long,” Agnes said slowly, staring at them. “Can it?”

Vincent studied the jasmine blossom visible beneath his roast lamb. Once he had entered university, he had been able to intentionally arrange his visits to Sidmouth for when he knew neither of his brothers would be present.

“Well,” Wallace said with forced joviality. “I don’t know how we managed to break the streak!”

“A toast!” Matthew raised his wineglass. “To all three Hobart siblings as adults being under the same roof, and it hasn’t caved in!”

* * *

After supper, Sophia took her usual seat on the sofa, looking forward to being entertained by four handsome, young gentlemen while keeping company with Mildred and Theo.

Fairfax and Xavier were warming up on the violin and pianoforte, respectively.

Mr. Huntley and Mildred conversed by the fireplace, ostensibly admiring the painting hung above it that showed soldiers at camp in winter, signed by A.

Royston. Sophia hid her surprise when Wallace sat beside her.

“You aren’t going to play or sing?” She tried not to let her disappointment appear in her voice.

Wallace gave a negligent shrug of one shoulder.

“Music has never been my forte. I would much rather sketch or paint.” He rested one arm on the back of the sofa, stretched toward her.

“Musicians and singers paint on air. When they stop their performance, their art is gone.” He snapped his fingers and waved his hand.

“Like it never existed.” He shifted closer to her, dropping his voice.

“But my art remains, even if I’m not actively drawing or painting.

It still exists, to be viewed and appreciated by anyone who chooses. ”

She felt him twiddle with the folds of the fichu at her nape. He lowered his voice even further. “Would you like to see some of my artwork? I don’t think you saw any of it when you were in the studio this morning. I would love to show you my … sketchbook.”

Only from years of practicing proper deportment did Sophia keep from dropping her jaw in astonishment. Surely she misunderstood his intent.

She felt his thumb and forefinger lightly massage her nape, on the bare skin above the silk scarf.

“Perhaps.” She glanced around the drawing room. No one seemed to be paying attention to their conversation.

Except Fairfax. His brows drawn together in an angry furrow, he quickly glanced away from her and down to check his fingering on the violin strings.

“Please excuse me,” Sophia muttered as she rose, then took up a position beside Mildred while she pondered if Wallace had truly been making an advance and if Fairfax was jealous of him doing so. She had no personal prior experience with either situation.

“Matthew, aren’t you going to join us?” Xavier called.

Mr. Huntley gave Xavier an annoyed glance over his shoulder, then turned back to Mildred.

“Go,” she said with a dimpled smile. “You know how much I enjoy hearing you perform.”

“Your wish is my command.” Huntley bowed and kissed her hand, gave a nod to Sophia, and strode toward the pianoforte.

Mrs. Digby had taken up her usual armchair by the fireplace, Henry on her lap. “I would like to hear an original composition,” she said when there was a break in the warming-up. “I’ve heard you rehearsing Rossini. It is coming along nicely but is not yet ready for public consumption.”

At the crestfallen expressions on the men’s faces, Sophia struggled not to laugh.

They quickly rallied and conferred in a huddle, then Fairfax sorted through folders of sheet music in the cupboard.

“How about a compromise?” he said, holding up a sheaf of paper. “An original arrangement.”

“Oh, I adore your arrangements,” Mrs. Royston said from her end of the sofa. “Do carry on.”

Mrs. Digby grumbled a bit, but waved her hand in a “get on with it” gesture.

Sophia tugged Mildred to sit beside her on the sofa. Wallace maintained a polite expression and proper distance, as though their previous conversation had never taken place.

Huntley now played pianoforte, Xavier standing behind him to the left, and Fairfax with his violin to the right, both of them reading the music over Huntley’s shoulder.

As they began to play, she recognized the overture from Don Giovanni , one of her favorite Mozart operas.

She had regularly arranged expeditions for students to attend the opera in Torquay.

Though it couldn’t compare to the opera in London, it was an important bit of polish to give the girls.

She had persuaded Madame Zavrina that they never miss a performance, especially of anything composed by Mozart.

With only two instruments and three voices, the men in Mrs. Digby’s drawing room couldn’t possibly perform the entire opera.

The song progressed for a bit, then they skipped ahead to the next song, moving on to the parts that she always played and had her students learn.

Xavier could not soar as high as Mr. Huntley nor plumb the depths that Fairfax reached, but his baritone voice was a pleasant balance between the two.

They were playing and singing just her favorite sections.

How could Fairfax know? His arrangement was a medley of all her favorite melodies from Don Giovanni , smoothly transitioning from one to the next.

All the segments fit together as if that was how Mozart had originally composed them, with enough of the lyrics included to tell the main points of the opera’s plot.

How did Fairfax do that?

When they finished, they had performed the entire opera in under ten minutes. “Your Rossini opera has me thinking about Figaro ,” Mrs. Royston said as the applause died away. “Do you still have the sheet music of the arrangement you made for—”