The Piano Tutor

The Piano Tutor

A Spicy Regency Short Story

Anthea Lawson

Copyright 2011 Anthea Lawson. Originally published in The Mammoth Book of Regency Romance, Running Press, July 2010.

Cover image Lev Olka, via fotolia. Used with licensed permission.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

THE PIANO TUTOR – Short Story

OTHER WORKS by Anthea Lawson

Excerpt of SONATA for a SCOUNDREL

THE PIANO TUTOR

“My lady.” The butler tapped at Diana Waverly’s half-open door. “The piano tutor is here.” He hesitated, a furrow marring his usually placid brow.

“Well, it
is
Wednesday.” Diana laid her last black dress in the trunk she had been filling, then carefully closed the lid. “Tell Samantha it’s time for her lesson. I’ll be down directly.”

The butler remained in the doorway, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Forgive me, my lady, but it … er, it is not the customary piano tutor. It is an altogether different gentleman.”

She blinked. “But—Mr. Bent is Samantha’s tutor. We have no other.”

“I tried to tell him as much, but the gentleman insists.”

Diana stood, frowning. “I’ll see to him.” They had few callers—the inevitable result of turning down a season’s worth of invitations—and never unannounced visitors.

Tucking up a stray auburn curl, she started down the hallway toward the wide second floor landing. Mr. Bent had said nothing of this. He was quite reliable—if a bit dour to be tutoring a girl still recovering from the loss of her father.

At the top of the stairs she halted, pulled from her thoughts by the sound of music pouring from the parlor below. Someone very skilled was playing the piano.

She rested her hand on the mahogany banister and listened. Note after note tumbled through the entryway, reverberating between the high ceiling and marble floors. Sunlight streamed through the landing windows, making the dust motes swirl and glitter like gilded dancers.

Her stepdaughter Samantha joined her, her wiry twelve-year old body leaning over the railing. “I didn’t know Mr. Bent could actually
play
the piano.”

“It’s not Mr. Bent.” That much was clear, though who it might be and why he was in her parlor was a mystery Diana could not fathom.

She descended the stairs, the music growing fuller and more present with every step. She paused a moment at the parlor door, then, with a fortifying breath, went in. The instant she crossed the threshold, the music ceased. The magic that had been spilling into the house folded in upon itself and disappeared.

But its source remained—a broad-shouldered man with brown hair and intelligent grey eyes. He stood when he saw her and bowed with an easy grace.

“My lady.”

She studied the stranger. Handsome, undeniably, with those compelling eyes and a smile that seemed genuine. He looked nothing like the stoop shouldered and outmoded Mr. Bent. For one thing, he was a good deal younger—he looked to be no more than a handful of years older than herself.

“Sir?” She hardly knew what to say. “Please explain yourself.”

“Viscountess Merrowstone.” The stranger’s voice was rich and complex, the syllables of her title unexpectedly smooth to her ears. “Mr. Nicholas Jameson, at your service. I’ve come to substitute for Mr. Bent, who has been called away unexpectedly.”

“This is most irregular. I was not informed there was to be a replacement.” She faced him squarely, ready to send him on his way. That was what she intended to do, but the words came out all wrong. “You play quite well.”

He tipped his head, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth. “That would be a requirement, wouldn’t it?”

“One would assume so.” Though his bearing made her think he would be more suited to leaping a stallion over hedgerows than giving piano lessons to a twelve-year old.“You’re quite certain you’re a piano tutor?”

“Let me assure you of my qualifications.” He extended an envelope. “I’ve a letter of recommendation from Lady Pembroke. You’re acquainted, I believe?”

Diana nodded. Indeed, Lucy was a good friend, possessed of a generous spirit—though she was more than a little scandalous.

Henry had not approved of their friendship. Diana’s gaze slipped past Mr. Jameson to the portrait of her late husband, Lord Henry Waverly, Viscount Merrowstone. His stern, formal features watched impassively, a cultivated remoteness in his expression. Solid and predictable in the portrait, just as in life. Lucy had annoyed him to no end.

Swallowing a sigh, Diana turned her attention to her friend’s curling script.

Dearest Diana— I commend Mr. Nicholas Jameson to you as a piano tutor. He has provided my own Charlotte with lessons and has proven quite satisfactory. May I also point out—in case you had not noticed—that he is extremely handsome. He strikes me as a perfect diversion now that you have finally come out of mourning. I encourage you to take him on—in whatever capacities suit your needs. Pianists have such skilled hands.

She felt her cheeks burn as she glanced up at the gentleman in question. No doubt it had amused Lucy to have Mr. Jameson deliver such an outrageous “reference” in person.

“I see that she recommends you highly, sir,” Diana said, biting her lip to avoid an embarrassed giggle. “I suppose we might consider having you.” Oh dear, that hadn’t sounded quite proper. She cleared her throat. “I mean
hiring
you. It wouldn’t do to neglect Samantha’s lessons while Mr. Bent is away.”

“Oh, please hire him,” Samantha said, peeking out from behind the doorway. She came in and stood on tiptoe to whisper in Diana’s ear. “He seems ever so much nicer than Mr. Bent.”

It was quite outside the regular course of things, yet there was no mistaking the eager note in Samantha’s voice. No mistaking that Mr. Jameson was, as Lucy had mentioned, a very handsome man.

Her stepdaughter turned to him. “I heard you playing. It was marvelous! How do you do the part with your left hand? Could you show me?”

“Of course.” He gave her an encouraging smile. “It’s simple once you get the trick of it. Have you played any Mozart?”

“Oh yes!”

“Then you’ll be able to master it easily. That is….” He raised a questioning brow at Diana.

“Oh very well,” she said. “It appears you will be our replacement tutor until Mr. Bent returns.” She ignored Samantha’s muffled squeal. “Can you begin today?”

A spark leapt into his eyes. “Immediately.”

Looking at him made heat creep into her cheeks. Despite herself, Lucy’s advice rang in her head. As if she would consider something so scandalous as commencing an affair with the piano tutor. Really, her friend had no sense of propriety.

Samantha hurried to seat herself at the piano bench. “I’m ready!”

Diana was not sure whether she herself was ready, but events seemed to be carrying her along. She settled into the nearby wingback and straightened the rich indigo skirts of her new dress. It was odd to wear colors again. She had grown so accustomed to the solid black of mourning that she felt vulnerable without it. A part of her wanted to retreat back into its safety—but that was not fair to Samantha. Diana could not deny the hopeful light in the girl’s eyes, the flash of her rare grin as she attempted to mimic Mr. Jameson’s command of the keyboard.

As was customary during Samantha’s lessons, Diana picked up her newest copy of
The
Ladies’
Monthly
, but the fashion plates held no interest for her. Her eyes kept wandering from the illustrations to steal quick glances at the new tutor—his long-fingered hands as he played a run of notes, the way his brown hair tumbled over his collar. More than once he seemed to sense her attention and she had to quickly drop her gaze back to the unseen pages.

The sound of his voice was so different from Mr. Bent’s dry tones, and his praise and encouragement drew another flashing smile from Samantha. Something inside Diana uncoiled a notch, a deep tension she had not realized she had been carrying.

The shape of his muscular shoulders was barely concealed by the cut of his coat as he leaned forward to demonstrate some point. He radiated confidence and mastery. She imagined that everything he did would benefit from that focused energy.

From this angle he was in profile. His jaw was firm, his nose straight, his mouth strong, yet sensitive. She traced her own lips with a fingertip, then caught herself and hurriedly dropped her hand before he could notice.

Mr. Jameson turned to face her. “Will you?” he asked.

Diana’s breath faltered as their gazes held a heartbeat too long. Clearly she had missed an important turn in the lesson while daydreaming.

“Sing for us,” Samantha said, a touch of impatience in her voice. “Mr. Jameson has been showing me a marvelous pattern for accompanying songs, but I don’t think I can sing and play at the same time.”

Diana set aside her magazine. “Oh—I really couldn’t. It’s been so long.” There didn’t seem to be enough air in the room for her to breathe, let alone sing.

“Of course you can.” Mr. Jameson’s tone was assured. “Miss Samantha says you have a lovely singing voice.” There was a challenge in his expression, as if he were curious to see what she would do.

“Please, Mama. Let’s do
The Meeting of the Waters
.”

“Very well. If it’s part of the lesson.” She stood and took her place beside the piano, oddly reluctant to disappoint Mr. Jameson. Still, it had been a very long while. What if she had lost the knack altogether? “Samantha, you and Mr. Jameson must help by singing with me.”

The piano tutor counted the tempo then signaled Samantha to begin. Diana took a deep breath and sang the first words. Mr. Jameson’s rich baritone joined her, while her stepdaughter concentrated on the keyboard.

At first her alto sounded husky to her ears, the notes unsure. Soon enough, though, her body took over and she remembered how to breathe, how to put herself into the song and carry each tone to fullness. Mr. Jameson was solid beside her, his singing voice even fuller than she had imagined. When her pitch wavered, he was there, and soon their voices began to blend in a most pleasing manner. Unbidden, her eyes met his, and the appreciation there nearly made her lose the words. She forced her concentration back to the final phrases of the song.

Samantha was giggling as she played a last flourish on the piano.

“Splendid!” Mr. Jameson said. “Miss Waverly, you have a deft touch on the keyboard. And Viscountess—your voice is lovely.”

Diana smiled back at him. The parlor had not rung with such happy sounds for too long. It seemed that Mr. Jameson would be a splendid substitute.

The clock on the mantel struck the hour, and Samantha let out a protest. “So soon? But we’ve just begun!”

Indeed, the time had sped. “Thank you, Mr. Jameson. Shall we expect you next week?”

“I would be delighted.” He took Diana’s hand and, bowing, lifted it to his lips.

The warm press of his mouth on her skin sent a shock of sensation through her. It was very forward, yet she could not bring herself to reprove him, not with the heat of his kiss disordering her senses.