Chapter Fourteen #2
He opened the door and entered. However, rather than perusing the sheet music, he scanned the notices tacked to the wall.
Several musicians were offering their services as music masters.
But Eli was too damned good to be posting notices.
And although there were a few requests for music tutors, that would not suit him either.
Eli’s reputation would suffer further if he were to instruct the wrong sort.
Trentham’s class did not post notices in shops.
They used agencies or word-of-mouth. Besides, Eli wanted to perform, not teach children.
New sheet music was not a solution.
Leaving the shop disgruntled, naturally he encountered a drenching rain. Fortunately, Will had managed to advance the curricle a few yards nearer, and he’d put up the hood. The faithful tiger stood beside the vehicle under an umbrella. Trentham signaled for him to wait and made a dash for it.
“Good lad,” he said, climbing into the seat. “Keep the umbrella. You’ll need it.”
As soon as Will hopped up behind, Trentham signaled to the horses, a matched pair of bay trotters, and steered them toward the middle of the lane.
A challenge. It always seemed there were more carriages than space for them on London streets.
And on wet days, what with mud and puddles adding to the usual stinking muck…
His gaze was drawn to the roadside, to the unfortunate pedestrians, and he caught a glimpse of two ladies huddled under a too small umbrella.
Before his brain completed the connection, a hackney cab cut him off, spraying mud as it veered toward the side of the street.
Trentham swore at the driver’s recklessness.
Then the hackney swerved abruptly back toward the center to avoid a puddle the size of a lake.
Nevertheless, one wheel dipped into it, sending up a splash to rival Poseidon’s wrath.
As the hackney continued along its merry way, Trentham confirmed his initial impression.
Dessie and Miss Delancey stood there: Dessie now alone under the umbrella and mostly dry, while Miss Delancey…
He felt an extremely inappropriate urge to laugh.
The rain was already easing after the violence of the cloudburst. Remembering that at least one of the ladies had good cause to despise him, he nevertheless couldn’t ignore two damsels in distress.
He pulled up alongside them, carefully. Dessie had giggled herself red-faced.
Miss Delancey wore an expression somewhere between amusement and resignation—an expression that went stiff at the sight of him.
“Ladies?” He could hardly retreat. “May I offer assistance?”
“Oh, yes! Thank you!” Dessie cried. “Lynch is supposed to meet us at the teashop, but not for another two hours. And Ophelia, well.”
“Perhaps had you not hogged the umbrella,” Trentham began.
“Perhaps if she had not leapt behind me and poked me in the back with it,” Ophelia said, aiming the words toward her sister.
“I merely stepped back! Common sense!” Dessie said. “It was not my fault you stepped forward.”
Ophelia rolled her eyes. But there was no anger in her countenance. Trentham felt it was safe to grin. “Misfortune does seem to find you.” He climbed down and offered his hand. To Dessie first. “It will be a squeeze. This is supposed to seat two.”
“Ah, but none of us takes up much room.”
“Thank you for the reminder.” He was awkwardly thin; he knew that. Most people didn’t comment upon it to his face. He handed her up and turned to her sister. But Miss Delancey refused the hand he offered.
“Your Grace, I’m sopping wet and dripping mud. I cannot ruin your carriage.”
“It will wash. And you can’t think I’ll abandon you here because of a little dirt.”
“More than dirt,” she said, wrinkling her pretty nose.
He could smell the manure as well as she could, but decorum prevented him from acknowledging it. Rather than stand there arguing back and forth, as it appeared they were destined to do, he moved forward and pulled her into a tight hug. Then he let go and stepped back. Her mouth hung open.
“Robin!” Dessie exclaimed, laughing. “How weirdly chivalrous!”
“Any other objections, Miss Delancey? No? Then give me your hand.”
*
Misfortune did not only follow Miss Delancey. It was contagious. Trentham could not have envisioned a situation where he would be granted the opportunity to ride with her, brushing shoulders, squashed thigh-to-thigh. But here it was. His one and only chance.
And it was repulsive.
Dessie had wiggled sideways to breathe the air over the edge of the curricle.
Miss Delancey made odd wheezing sounds as if trying to hold her breath over and over.
He was attempting to appear unaffected, but frankly, his eyes were watering.
He’d have to throw out everything he was wearing.
Perhaps peel off and discard the top layer of his skin.
Conversing was impossible. After the briefest attempts, they gave up. It was, thankfully, a short ride back to the Lynchford home.
He pulled into the drive, halted his horses, and vaulted from the curricle. He handed Miss Delancey down.
“Thank you,” she blurted, letting out a breath. She gulped air and gasped out, “I am sorry. I have to go have a bath.” She ran from him. Literally ran. Watching her made his heart feel weightless. He would laugh if his eyes were not burning.
He held out a hand to Dessie.
“No.” She pulled back and beckoned to Will. “Robin, you are extremely kind, but if I get any closer to you, I will vomit.”
“Tut-tut.” Now he did laugh. “Ladies do not use that word. Even gentlemen avoid it.”
“I wanted to be sure there was no room for misunderstanding.”
He stepped away while Will helped her down.
Feet on the ground, Dessie turned to him. “Please come to dinner tonight. Eight o’clock. And bring Mr. Cameron, if he’s available. It feels like ages since we’ve seen either of you.”
He knew he should refuse. “Thank you, but—”
“Lynch has something he would like to speak with you about.”
“Does he?” He knew what, and felt a quiver of shame. Lynch needed a shift in momentum. He needed votes. It was past time to promise him his. “Then we will be there at eight.”