Page 52 of My Devoted Viscount (Brazen Bluestockings #2)

Sophia got down the atlas to confirm. Aside from being a large industrial city, Birmingham was about as far from the seaside as one could get in all of England.

She would not be able to dig her toes in the sand on walks or fall asleep to the sound of waves, and would have little if any time or energy left after completing her school duties for composing her own music.

But with the school providing her lodging and meals as part of her generous compensation, she would be able to preserve much of her salary as savings and investments to support herself in her declining years.

Setting aside her mixed emotions about the offer, she opened the third letter.

Your reputation for excellence in music instruction precedes you.

We were deeply saddened to hear of Madame Zavrina’s sudden death and the subsequent closing of the Torquay Academy but must confess we are delighted at the opportunity this affords us to add you to our august staff of instructors here in Dover.

Tears sprang to her eyes and breath left her in a rush. With a sniff, she got out her handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes to clear her vision.

The letter went on to list the salary and benefits and some of the school’s plans, such as trips taking the older girls to London, Calais, Brussels, and Paris … including the Opéra national de Paris .

Sophia gasped. The Paris Opera House? She had always wanted to see it, but never dared dream of going to Paris!

With the letter that had arrived yesterday, she now had three employment options from which to choose.

She had choices!

Her relief was so intense she felt lightheaded. She grasped the edge of the desk to steady herself, then fell into the chair.

She would not be dependent on the kindness of her cousin Claire or have to deal with Stanley, Claire’s odious, money-grasping husband.

Most importantly, as soon as she decided which offer to accept, she’d know what her future held.

No longer would next month or next year gape in front of her as an unknown, uncertain void. She’d have a plan.

After a moment, she cleared her throat, dried her eyes again, and opened the fourth and final letter.

* * *

Vincent climbed the steps to the landing, saw Wallace pacing in the hallway in front of the bedchamber doors, and marched back downstairs.

He could calm himself by playing the pianoforte.

But he’d have a direct view of the family portrait above the fireplace if he looked up from the music. He wasn’t quite ready for that.

The window seat in the library was what he needed. Soft cushions, a delightful view of the rolling waves, and no relatives in sight for whom he had unsettled feelings.

He froze in the doorway at the sight of Sophia seated at the desk, her head bowed, shoulders shaking, clutching a piece of paper to her chest. All of her scribe tools were put away, the desk clear of all but a few pieces of parchment. He recognized the package he had franked earlier in the day.

As he debated whether to leave her in privacy, she let out a gut-wrenching sob and withdrew a handkerchief from her skirt pocket.

“Miss Walden?” He stepped forward, keeping his footsteps and voice light.

“Oh!” She turned away from him and dabbed at her eyes before delicately blowing her nose.

“Are you … ah, that is… Did you receive bad news?”

She shook her head but did not immediately look at him. After a moment she cleared her throat and stood to face him. Smiling. Beaming, even. The tips of her eyelashes sparkled from her tears.

Baffled, Vincent stepped closer.

She gestured at the desktop. “One letter was bad news, as the position has already been filled, but two are acceptances to my application for employment. And the fourth is—” she took a deep breath, her bosom rising and falling.

Vincent did his best not to be distracted. “The fourth is?” he prompted.

“The most wonderful thing!” She clutched her hands together as though unable to contain her excitement.

“Mrs. Marpool, a friend and colleague at the Academy, accepted an offer to be governess to a family whose eldest daughter has already graduated and successfully married. The second daughter was enrolled at the Academy when it closed, and there are several younger siblings at home. Lord and Lady Withycombe hired Mrs. Marpool rather than select another school, and have now decided to hire a private music instructor.”

Vincent tried not to imagine Lord Withycombe as a lecherous wretch, collecting young, pretty teachers under his roof. “I imagine they’ll want you to teach more than just music if they’re essentially creating a school with only the two of you for instructors.”

Miss Walden airily waved her hand. “I am to have living quarters and teaching space in the dower house, a generous salary, and…” She hiccupped.

“I could not wish for a better opportunity if I designed it myself.” She picked up the letter.

“Mrs. Marpool assures me the pianofortes—two of them!—and other instruments at Withycombe Hall are of the highest quality, and says she’s very much looking forward to working with me again. ”

She clutched the parchment to her chest, closed her eyes, and tipped her head back and took another deep breath as if still trying to compose herself.

Her words hit him like a punch in the gut.

She was leaving.

He took a steadying breath of his own. Of course she was leaving. Everyone knew her employment here with Aunt Gert was temporary. He was leaving soon, too. “Where is this ideal employment? And when do they expect you to start?”

He must not have hidden his reaction well, as she looked at him sideways.

“Exmouth,” she said slowly. “Lord Withycombe’s estate has views of the Exe River as well as the Channel.

” She began gathering her papers. “Given the delay in getting their letter to me, I should have a fortnight to go on holiday before I am expected to begin my duties there. After I finish with your aunt, of course.”

“Of course,” he repeated woodenly, his mind reeling.

Aunt Gert poked her head in the door. “I thought I heard voices. Whatever are you two doing in here? Kendall rang the bell for supper.”

“Coming,” Vincent said, as Miss Walden hastily folded her letters and tucked them into a drawer. He managed to gather both women, one on each arm, and escort them into the dining room, a proper smile on his face despite the turmoil of his thoughts.

The young footman finally seated Vincent beside Sophia, though he almost wished they were across from each other so he could see her face. As it was, all he could see was the top of her head and hear her occasional reply to a direct question.

Dinner conversation centered on Miss Ebrington, seated beside Matthew across from Vincent—both of them gazing upon each other with such looks of adoration Vincent almost lost his appetite—the expected arrival of her parents in a few days, and Matthew’s plans to leave in the morning in order to be back with a special license before Mr. Ebrington could change his daughter’s marriage plans or take her to task for running away.

At last the meal concluded. As the group drifted toward the drawing room, Aunt Gert pulled Vincent aside.

“A moment, please,” she said, holding on to his forearm.

“Yes?” Her worried expression tied his guts in knots.

Once they were alone, she retrieved a folded sheet of vellum from her skirt pocket and handed it to him. “I received this in today’s mail. I thought it would be of interest to you.”

Vincent stepped to the window, to better read the spidery Italian writing of Speranza, Nonna Vincenza’s younger sister.

Most of it was catching up on family news and local events, but the last paragraph made the hair on Vincent’s nape stand up.

“Do you think Nonna Vincenza knows Aunt Speranza wrote this? She has not mentioned her dog to me in several letters. Not since the last time he tried to steal a neighbor’s chicken. ”

He knew his grandmother’s dog had been getting on in years but hadn’t really thought about it.

Not only had the dog died, according to Speranza, Grandmother was insisting on not getting another because she didn’t want a dog to mourn her when she died.

Which Speranza was expecting to be soon, given how deeply Vincenza was mourning her dog.

“She won’t eat? She’s always had a hearty appetite. ”

Aunt Gert picked up Henry and cuddled him to her chest. He licked her cheek. “I don’t know what I’d do without my Henry.” She nuzzled her cheek to his face. He gave her another lick and wiggled to get down.

Gert let him go, looped her arm through Vincent’s, and they set off down the hall, following Henry to the drawing room. “She may say she does not want another dog, but I know something that would cheer her.” Gert gave Vincent a gentle shake.

“I can have Lawrence pack my bags tonight and leave at first light,” Vincent said.

He gulped as he entered the drawing room and saw Miss Walden sitting at the pianoforte.

Even from across the room, he could see the happiness radiating from her.

She was already warming up, playing something vaguely familiar.

With a start, he realized it was a different arrangement of the tune she’d helped him compose.

“Matthew is leaving in the morning,” Gert said, barely loud enough for him to hear over the pianoforte. “You will stay long enough to stand up with your friend at his wedding. Then you go to Vincenza.”

“Yes, ma’am.”