A Muse for the Broken Duke (Preview)

Chapter One

London, England, Summer, 1812

“You’re on after the violinist. I’d have preferred you to be first, but never mind. Are you listening to me?” Helena Fairchild’s mother said, looking pointedly at Helena, who looked up at her in surprise.

“Oh… am I?” she said, for her thoughts had been elsewhere – far from the cramped room behind the stage at the Regent’s Hall in Piccadilly, where she was about to give a recital.

Her mother glared at her. She was a tall woman whose white wig added considerably to her height, and standing over Helena, she had an intimidating air about her. Dressed in a flowing ivory gown, with a lace shawl around her shoulders, she looked every bit the aristocratic lady – the very impression she intended to give despite her humble roots.

“Don’t you realize how important this is? This performance could change everything for us.”

It was the emphasis on “us” that brought Helena back to her senses. She had been terribly worried about the recital and had spent the past two weeks locked away in her music room, practising feverishly. But her mother was right. This performance was make or break. It had taken any number of favours, and the trust of the Piccadilly Musical Society, for Helena to be put on the program for that afternoon’s performance, and with the hall filled with London high society, this was Helena’s chance to prove her musical talents.

“I’m sorry, Mother … I’m just nervous,” Helena said.

Her mother’s expression softened a little, and she placed her hand on Helena’s shoulder.

“You’ll be quite all right. I’ve heard you practising. No one plays the harp more beautifully than you,” she said. “Your father would be so proud.”

At the mention of Helena’s father, Helena nodded. Her mother was right. Her father would have been proud of her, and it was because of him she was now preparing to step out onto the stage and perform. His encouragement of her as a child, his belief in her musical abilities, the sacrifices he had made to pay for her lessons, and the instruments she now treasured – all of it had brought her to this moment.

But his death had come as a terrible shock and brought with it an unexpected hardship. With no income and no inherited wealth to fall back on, the family was close to destitution. A situation not helped by the discovery of certain gambling debts her father had left behind. But if Helena’s performance was commended, it might be their salvation. Other musicians of note had gone on to perform at court or in the grand houses of the aristocracy, and it was the ambition of Helena’s mother that Helena, too, should be among them.

“I’ll do my best, mother. I promise,” Helena replied.

“I know you will,” her mother said, and she leaned down and kissed Helena on the forehead just as Helena’s two sisters, Lillian and Beatrice, hurried into the room.

At fifteen and twelve, respectively, they were considerably younger than Helena, who, at twenty years old, was the first-born. They were more like twins, the very image of one another, sharing their father’s red hair and green eyes, while Helena took after her mother, with long auburn hair and bright blue eyes.

“You should see how many people are out there. The hall’s full,” Lillian said.

This was not what Helena wanted to hear. She had been having dreams about stepping out onto the stage that afternoon – dreams of there being no instrument to play or the audience turning their backs on her. The previous night, she had awoken with a startle after dreaming her instrument played different notes than the ones she thought she was playing, resulting in the audience covering their ears at the awful sound she was making.

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it, Helena? You never know who might be out there – a watcher from the court, a composer, an aristocratic lady in need of a musical companion,” their mother said.

Helena nodded. But she could only feel nervous at the prospect of what was to come – fearful of making a mistake, even as she had practised each piece a hundred times.

“And we overhead something else,” Beatrice said. “The Duke of Layton’s there with his sister. They were talking about hiring a tutor for her. A music tutor. We overheard them talking.”

At these words, Helena’s mother clapped her hands in delight.

“Oh, how wonderful. Did you hear that, Helena? The Duke of Layton,” she exclaimed, emphasizing the final words with a rapturous note.

Helena had heard what her sister said, and it only served to add to her already nervous disposition. She did not know who the Duke of Layton was, other than he was the sort of society figure one read about in periodicals and saw from a distance at events such as this. But her mother’s aspirations towards the aristocracy were such as to make any man with the title of a duke an attractive proposition.

Helena’s father had been knighted for his services to the crown – an importer of wine and spirits, he had kept the royal sellers stocked with the finest liquors from the continent and thus earned his just reward. But as Helena’s mother always bemoaned, theirs was a title bestowed rather than inherited. It made a difference in society. Coming from humble beginnings, a gulf existed between those whose titles were earned and those whose titles were inherited. The latter was always at an advantage.

“He’s sitting right at the front,” Lillian said.

Their mother held her hands up as though in thanksgiving for prayers answered. There was a look of ecstatic relief on her face as though the matter was already settled, and all their problems were solved.

“You could be the tutor, Helena. It’s perfect,” her mother said.

“Oh, but it’s one thing to play music but quite another to teach it,” Helena said.

She had barely concluded her own lessons, though Mr Whitmore, her tutor on the pianoforte, had recently announced he could teach her no more.

“Yours is a natural talent,” he had said.

But Helena still had no confidence in herself. She was a shy and retiring creature, raised in the shadows of her mother’s ambition. The death of her father had only intensified that ambition and brought with it a pressure to marry and to marry well. But until that day, Helena would have to make her own way in the world, and with the fortunes of her family resting on her performance, it was a heavy burden to bear.

“Nonsense. He’ll see you have talent. Any fool could see that,” Helena’s mother said.

The sound of applause could now be heard coming from the hall as the strings of the violinist faded away. Footsteps brought a steward to the room behind the stage, and he beckoned for Helena to follow him.

“It’s time, Miss Fairchild. Would you come with me, please? They’re just wheeling the harp out onto the stage.”

Helena’s harp was her most precious possession. Her father had bought it for her on her eighteenth birthday. It stood in pride of place in her music room, and Helena could sit happily for hours, caught up in the melodies of her playing. But it was one thing to play for herself or her sisters and mother and quite another to play for an audience. She had given recitals before, but on intimate terms – perhaps to a lady’s circle or in a drawing room. The Regent’s Hall could hold three hundred, and the thought of three hundred pairs of eyes watching her filled her with dread.

“You’ll be wonderful,” her mother said, giving her a slight push towards the door.

Helena glanced in the mirror above the dressing table – her hair was tied up in a bun, her face powdered, and her peach-coloured dress was complimented with a red shawl. She was as ready as she could be, yet she did not feel ready at all.

“Good luck, Helena,” Lillian said, and Beatrice said the same as Helena followed the steward out of the room and down a narrow corridor towards the stage.

She could see the audience beyond the curtain, and glancing at the front row, she wondered which one was the Duke of Layton. A couple was whispering to one another, and a dour-faced man was reading the program. But next to him sat a man who could only have been the Duke of Layton. He was perhaps a few years older than her, but not more than twenty-five, with a handsome face framed by blond hair covered with a white wig. He was talking to a younger girl, around the same age as Lillian and Beatrice, smiling as she said something to him. Helena’s heart was beating fast, and she could only imagine what they would think of her – what all of them would think of her.

“They’re ready for you, Miss Fairchild,” the steward said.

Helena nodded. She thought of her father and her mother and sisters, who were counting on her success. Taking a deep breath, she reminded herself of the hours of practise, of the accolades of others who had heard her perform, and of the love she had for the music she played.

I can do this, she told herself and stepping forward, she walked out onto the stage, keeping her eyes fixed resolutely on the harp that stood in the centre.

The harpist was sometimes called the loneliest of musicians. It was rare for two to perform together, and its place in an orchestra was somewhat limited. There was no room for mistakes, no one to cover for a missed note or inaccurate sight read. This was it, and as the audience applauded politely – applause of expectation rather than congratulation – Helena felt her stomach twist in knots.

“Miss Helena Fairchild, playing a selection of solo pieces for the harp,” the compere said, and as the applause died down, Helena took a curt bow and sat down at the harp.

Had it been a normal day of practise, she would have immediately strummed her fingers down the chords. A musical instrument was an extension of the body, a means for the musician to express the deepest yearnings of their soul. In private, that expression was easy, but in front of an audience, it was as though a barrier was created, a constraint to play what was expected rather than what came from the heart.

Helena’s hands were trembling, and she glanced up, catching the eye of the Duke of Layton, whose expression was one of expectation. A slight smile came over his lips, and Helena felt the blush rising on her cheeks as she looked away. It felt like an age since she had stepped out onto the stage, though, in truth, it had only been a few seconds. Her first piece was called The Breaking Dawn, and glancing at the music stand, she raised her hands to play.

There’s no going back, she told herself as she strummed her fingers across the chords.

Chapter Two

“Wasn’t she good?” Margaret Thornton whispered, applauding enthusiastically as Andrew Thornton, the Duke of Layton, watched the woman on the stage take a bow.

His sister was right. She was good. Far better than the dreadful violinist who had missed every other note from the piece he was playing during the last recital.

“Yes, she was. It was an excellent performance,” Andrew replied.

He had caught the woman’s eye when she sat down at the harp to begin her recital. She had looked terribly nervous, but as she had played, she had appeared visibly to relax, and by the end, it had been as though she had forgotten the audience was even there.

“Helena Fairchild, that’s her name. Look, it says here she was under the tutelage of a Mr Whitmore but now gives independent recitals and performances,” Margaret said, reading from the programme.

The woman had left the stage after taking a final bow, and the stewards were now wheeling her instrument away. Andrew looked again at his own programme, studying the names of the pieces she had played. It had been an ambitious repertoire, and she had played each piece with poise and precision. There had not been a single note out of place, and Andrew had been impressed by her commanding presence on the stage, and the obvious love she had for the instrument she played.

“She was certainly a talented musician,” Andrew said.

“Then what about her for the position?” Margaret asked.

Andrew nodded. He had come to the performance that afternoon in the hope of discovering a talent – a talent to take on the role of music tutor to his sister. Since the beginning of the year, Andrew had been forced to dismiss four tutors from his employment owing to their unsatisfactory nature.

It seemed impossible to find someone who could both instruct Margaret adequately and be a welcome addition to the household. Andrew had begun to despair of ever finding someone to take on the role, but the performance he had just witnessed had raised the possibility of success, and given Margaret’s enthusiasm, it seemed worth his while to make further enquiries.

“We could certainly consider it,” Andrew replied.

Since the tragic death of his parents on a ship crossing the Atlantic the previous year, Andrew had found himself burdened with unexpected responsibility. He was just twenty-three years old, yet he had already assumed his father’s title, with all its cares and duties, and, more importantly, responsibility for his sister, too. It was a heavy burden to bear, but one he was learning to carry, thanks to the support of those around him. Society had expressed its sympathies towards him, and there had been an endless stream of callers and well-wishers following news of the tragedy.

“The whole ton mourns for you,” one aristocratic woman had said, and the joint funeral of his parents had been attended by members of the royal household, and the upper echelons of London society.

“I like her,” Margaret said, bringing Andrew back to his senses.

“Very well, we’ll go and speak to her after the end of the recital,” Andrew replied.

A pianoforte had now been wheeled onto the stage, and a short, plump man with a bald head and wearing a brightly coloured waistcoat sat down to play. At the misplayed first note, Andrew sighed. It was going to be a long afternoon, but the memory of the harpist remained, and he was keen to make her acquaintance, particularly if she could solve the problem of the music tutor.

***

“You were wonderful. Absolutely marvellous,” Helena’s mother exclaimed as Helena returned to the dressing room to the sound of applause following her from the hall.

“I’m just relieved it’s over,” Helena said, though she had to admit to feeling a certain sense of delight at the memory of her performance.

Each piece had been well received, and she had not faltered on a single note. Relief was mixed with a certain euphoria. Her nerves had proved unfounded, and the applause of the audience had been genuine and sincere. By the end of the performance, Helena had almost forgotten anyone was watching her, for she had been so caught up in the music as to hardly notice them. But throughout the performance, she had been aware of one person watching her acutely – the Duke of Layton.

“Compared to the others, it was a triumph, Helena,” her mother said, and her sisters expressed similar sentiments.

Helena was pleased. She was proud of herself, and she felt her father would be proud of her, too.

“Let’s just hope it bears fruit. I suppose someone in the audience might be interested in my playing for them at a party or in a salon,” Helena said.

“What about the Duke of Layton?” Beatrice asked.

Helena blushed. The duke had been watching her with interest during the performance, but she highly doubted he would be interested in employing her for a recital, let alone as a tutor.

“I can’t be a tutor. I don’t know the first thing about teaching music. It’s one thing to play it and quite another to teach it,” Helena replied. “No, it’s recitals I want to give. I’d have the confidence to do it now.”

The thought of how nervous she had been now seemed almost amusing. Helena had worked herself up into such a frenzy as to be quite terrified of the prospect of performing in front of such an audience, but now, having done it, the feeling was like nothing she had ever known before. She felt elated. Eager to step out onto the stage and perform again.

“But you need a regular income, Helena,” her mother said. “A few recitals won’t help us very much.”

Helena sighed. Her mother was ambitious for her, and until she had married, there would be the necessity of income, and income required ambition.

“I know, but … one thing at a time,” Helena replied.

The sound of applause coming from the hall signalled the end of the next performance. There was to be a final recital by a flautist, but only two pieces were programmed, and it was not long before the afternoon would draw to a close. Helena was happy with her performance. It had given her confidence in herself and her abilities – a confidence she sorely needed.

“What happens now?” Lillian asked.

“We wait for the invitations,” Helena’s mother replied.

Helena did not think they would be immediately forthcoming. It would take a while for the audience to digest the performance, and later, perhaps some would think of her when it came to arranging musical accompaniment for their dinners and soirees. Helena felt quietly confident, knowing her performance outshone those of the others – particularly the violinist. She hoped it would be enough to gain the attention of the ton, though as for her mother’s ambitions, she was somewhat more cautious.

“I’d quite like to go home and rest,” Helena said, for the performance – and its anticipation – had tired her out.

Her mother tutted.

“Oh, really, Helena, come now. We must make ourselves known. Let’s go out to the hall and meet the audience. I can hear the applause for the final performer now.”

Helena heard them, too, and reluctantly, she followed her mother back along the corridor towards the stage. The flautist was taking her bow, and as she left the stage, there was much rustling and scraping of seats as the audience began to leave.

“They’re all going, Mother. I think we should wait,” Helena said, but her mother took her arm and ushered her out into the hall.

But as she did so, one of the stewards came hurrying over to them.

“You’re not leaving, are you, Miss Fairchild?” he asked.

Helena glanced at her mother and shook her head.

“No … well, soon, yes,” she said.

“We wanted to meet Helena’s audience,” Helena’s mother said.

“Ah, yes, well, there’s someone in particular who’d like to meet you,” the steward said.

Helena was taken by surprise as her mother clapped her hands in delight.

“You see, Helena – just as I told you,” she exclaimed triumphantly.

“Who is it?” Helena asked, and the steward gestured towards the far corner of the room.

“The Duke of Layton, Miss Fairchild,” he said, and at these words, Helena’s heart skipped a beat.

Chapter Three

“The Duke of Layton wants to speak to Helena?” her mother said, clasping her hands together in delight.

“That’s right, yes,” the steward replied. “He doesn’t have long, so if you’d like to follow me.”

Helena’s mother grabbed Helena’s arm and with a forceful shove, pushed her forward.

“Yes, of course. We mustn’t keep his grace waiting,” she exclaimed.

Helena glanced at her fearfully. What was it all about? Why could the duke possibly want to see her?

“I don’t understand,” she said as Lillian and Beatrice hurried behind them.

“He’ll want to employ you, of course,” their mother said. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

Helena did not know what to say – or to think. The duke had certainly been watching her keenly throughout the performance, but as for his wishing to employ her …

“But he can’t possibly think … no … I can’t,” Helena replied.

The confidence she had felt after the performance was rapidly disappearing, replaced by that previous sense of crippling self-doubt. She could play the harp – and the pianoforte and the flute – but as for teaching someone else to play, that was a different matter entirely. Her heart was beating fast, her stomach twisted in knots. It was like stepping out onto the stage once again, and Helena was filled with trepidation.

“Your Grace, may I introduce Miss Helena Fairchild, as you requested,” the steward said.

At closer quarters, Helena could see the duke’s eyes were green – emerald, green – and his face was as attractive as it had appeared from afar. He was a handsome man, slightly built, with a keen face and a commanding presence. His sister was a dear little soul, around the same height as Lillian and Beatrice, and blessed with her brother’s blond hair and green eyes. She smiled as they approached, and the duke gave a curt bow as Helena, her mother, and sisters sank into deep curtsies.

“Miss Fairchild, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he said, holding out his hand to her.

Helena took it, and he raised her own to his lips, stopping short of a kiss.

“We’re honoured by your invitation, Your Grace,” Helena’s mother said.

“Ah, well, it’s hardly an invitation,” the duke replied. “But I was keen to meet the young lady who played so beautifully this afternoon.”

Helena blushed.

“I hope I didn’t disappoint,” she replied. “I’ve been practising.”

“Not at all. I was very impressed. As was my sister,” the duke said.

Helena glanced at the duke’s sister and smiled.

“I’m Margaret,” she said, holding out her hand.

With two sisters of her own, Helena had something of a natural rapport with those younger than herself. The family was blessed with a harmony not enjoyed in some households, and Helena had always seen her sisters as friends, despite the age difference.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Margaret. Do you play any instruments?” Helena said.

She could not allow herself to reveal the fact she already knew why the duke had asked to meet her. Had it not been for Lillian and Beatrice overhearing the conversation about a music tutor, Helena would have been entirely unaware of what was apparently about to be asked her. Margaret glanced at her brother and smiled.

“I do … after a fashion,” she replied.

“But you could do much better, couldn’t you?” the duke replied.

Helena remembered reading something in the periodicals about the death of the previous Duke of Layton at sea. He and his wife had both died during a crossing of the Atlantic. It was a tragic tale, and Helena felt a definite sympathy for the duke, who had obviously taken on not only the duties of the title but responsibility for his sister, too.

“I do try,” Margaret said. “But it’s not always easy for me.”

“We haven’t had a great deal of success with Margaret’s tutors,” the duke said.

Helena could feel her mother poised to interrupt, but as for what the duke intended …

“I see,” she said before her mother could answer for her. “What do you like to play, Margaret?”

The duke’s sister thought for a moment.

“Well … I liked the pieces you played on the harp. And I like to play the pianoforte, too,” she said.

Helena nodded.

“I’m sure you’d soon gain proficiency with the tutoring,” she said.

The duke nodded.

“Yes, and that’s where you might come in, Miss Fairchild,” he replied. “I wondered if you’d be willing to audition for the job of Margaret’s music tutor. That is unless you have other engagements.”

Helena was about to reply, but her mother got there first.

“She’d be delighted. What an honour this is.”

Helena blushed. It was an honour, though terror, rather than delight, was her principal emotion. Was she really good enough to teach the sister of a duke to play the pianoforte?

“An audition?” Helen asked.

The duke nodded.

“Yes, that’s right. I auditioned all the previous tutors. Not that it did any good, of course,” the duke said. “You had an audition for this afternoon’s performance, I presume?”

He raised his eyebrows, and Helena nodded nervously.

“Oh, yes … an audition, of course,” she said.

In truth, there had been no audition. Her mother had done a favour for a woman who sat on the organizing committee for the recitals and had told her about her daughter’s musical prowess. Another member of the committee had heard Helena play during a soiree in the salon of an elderly lady called Mrs Barsham-Keats. Together, these two reasons had been enough to secure her place on the programme, and Helena could only feel relief she had lived up to expectations.

“Very good. Well, shall we say Wednesday afternoon? We’re at Layton House, in Portland Square. It’s not far from here. I’ll send a carriage for you. Give your address to my man over there,” the duke said, gesturing towards a young man hovering nearby.

“You really did play so beautifully,” Margaret said. “Do you think you can teach me to play like that? I don’t mean the harp, but the pianoforte.”

Helena could not say no, of course, but she had her doubts. She was curious to know why the previous four tutors had been dismissed, and she wondered if perhaps a similar enthusiasm had been expressed towards them, only to be replaced by disappointment.

“Well, I’m sure I can try. These things take practise, though. You can only learn to play an instrument with effort,” she said.

Margaret nodded.

“I’ll certainly try.”

“Come along, Margaret. We’re due at the Bonham-Lanes’ for tea, and we’re already late,” the duke said, nodding to Helena and her mother and sisters, all of whom fell into a second, even deeper, set of curtsies.

The duke and his sister hurried off across the hall, joining the last of the audience spilling out onto the street. As soon as he was out of earshot, Helena’s mother clapped her hands in delight.

“Oh, Helena, how wonderful. I can’t believe it,” she exclaimed.

Helena cleared her throat, gesturing towards the man who the duke had indicated to be his servant. He was fresh-faced, with a keen expression, his dark hair covered by a wig, much like that of the duke. Her mother blushed.

“Ah, yes, of course,” she said as the man held out his hand.

“Good afternoon, Miss Fairchild. I’m his grace’s secretary, Mr Hoffman, James Hoffman,” he said. “Could I take your details in preparation for Wednesday?”

He took out a pocketbook and made a note of the address, suggesting three o’clock as a suitable time for Helena to be ready.

“And what am I to play by way of an audition?” Helena asked, for having never had an audition, she was uncertain what it would entail.

The secretary thought for a moment.

“Something that Lady Margaret might learn to play for herself. The previous tutors were … lacking in an understanding of young women,” he said, glancing at Helena’s two sisters.

Helena smiled.

“Well, that shouldn’t be any trouble,” she said.

Mr Hoffman smiled.

“Excellent. I’d better be going. Time waits for no man. Until Wednesday, Miss Fairchild,” he said. “Good day to you.”

Helena watched him go, still not quite believing what had just happened. She had not thought her mother’s ambitions would be so readily realized after just one performance, but now the self-doubt returned, and she wondered if she was really capable of the task she was to audition for.

“An answer to prayer. I knew you could do it, Helena. I knew it,” her mother said.

Helen raised her hands, not wanting her mother to get carried away or to assume what had not yet happened.

“It’s just an audition, Mother. I might get there and find a dozen other women vying for the same thing.”

Her mother gave her an exasperated look.

“Nonsense, Helena. They want you. You saw the look on Lady Margaret’s face. She’s probably been taught by dull, elderly men who showed no interest in her or her talent. You’ll be a breath of fresh air, I’m sure.”

Helena was not so certain. She still wanted to know why the previous tutors had been dismissed – was it Margaret who acted up? Or was it the duke who was difficult to work for? He had proved a difficult character to read. Friendly and courteous to a fault, yet reserved and businesslike, too. She thought back to the smile he had given her just before the performance. Had it all been a test? Was this, too, part of the audition?

“Well, we’ll see, I suppose. It’s certainly flattering to be asked to audition, even if nothing comes of it,” Helena replied.

“Something will come of it. I’m certain of that,” her mother said.

Helena’s harp had just been lifted down from the stage to be carried to their waiting carriage outside. Helena hurried to supervise, fearful of the instrument being damaged – particularly as so much was now riding on its perfect performance. The afternoon had been a success, but as for what came next, Helena felt just the same as she had done before the recital – nervous and apprehensive.

I just hope I don’t mess things up, she said to herself, watching as the stewards lifted the harp into the carriage.

But despite her fears, Helena could allow herself a modicum of pride over what had happened – the duke had selected her out of all the others, and if the audition were a success, all their troubles would be over.