How to Fool a Duke (The Husband Dilemma #1) - Lancaster, Mary

Chapter One

Sarah reached for the final note. She sang it with all the clarity she had been taught and all the emotion of which she was capable. And she held it perfectly before letting it fade into silence.

Exhilarated, she glanced toward Signor Arcadi. To her delight, he did not merely nod his grudging approval. He beamed. And then the applause broke out. Her audience rose en masse in spontaneous acclaim, rather than merely polite appreciation.

At last, she thought with anticipation. At last, I am ready…

She curtseyed deeply in gratitude, first to her audience and then to Signor Arcadi, who had trained her voice beyond a mere ladylike accomplishment to this level of skill and power. To have reached the stage of capturing this audience of cultured and talented people almost overwhelmed her.

“Better. Much better,” Signor Arcadi murmured and placed her hand on his arm with gratifying pride. Together, they stepped forward to meet the adulation.

Sarah could almost imagine she had just sung at Covent Garden, instead of a tea-time recital in a small assembly room in the backwater town of Whitmore. Yet in many ways, these people congratulating her were her peers, and their opinion mattered nearly as much as Signor Arcadi’s.

She was smiling so much; she thought her face would split. Hammy, more properly Miss Hammond, once her governess and now her companion, held her hands clasped under her chin in almost motherly pride.

The crowd parted, and she saw that her performance had been honored indeed. Lady Whitmore stood before her—a tiny lady, white haired and yet not quite elderly, supremely elegant in her simple silk gown and diamonds. As Sarah curtsied, Lady Whitmore extended her hand. Another accolade.

“You have always had one of the most beautiful voices I have ever heard,” Lady Whitmore said kindly. “And now you are a credit to Signor Arcadi. A moving and utterly charming performance, my dear.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Sarah said gratefully, taking her hand. “You are all kindness.”

“And I am all pride,” Signor Arcadi beamed. “My favorite pupil. Until tomorrow, at least, when we will go over your mistakes.”

Sarah laughed. “Couldn’t you leave it until then to take the wind out of my sails?”

“He is a hard taskmaster,” Lady Whitmore agreed. “Which is why we so appreciate him here! Now my dear, I have an invitation for you. Would you care to dine with me this evening? Bringing Miss Hammy, of course.”

“Thank you,” Sarah said, dazed by this fresh honor. “I would love to.”

“I’m afraid it will not be a dinner party, merely a cozy supper with just the three of us.”

“I look forward to it,” Sarah murmured. And she did. If only to tell Lady Whitmore that it was time for her to leave this sanctuary of art and culture, for it was time to take all her talents to the real world.

***

Lady Whitmore was the undoubted queen of her domain. Her castle sat on top of the cliff overlooking the sea on one side and the town of Whitmore on the other. On a fine spring evening, it was a pleasant walk up the hill from Sarah’s cottage. As she and Hammy drew closer, the castle seemed to lose its fairy-tale quality and become, instead, the defensive stronghold it was designed to be.

“It is as if she defends us all from up here,” Sarah mused as they walked under the arch of the outer, thirteenth-century walls. “Only instead of violent raiders, she repels prying eyes and unwanted family.”

“Yes, well, you must not speculate,” Hammy warned her. “It was always part of the agreement when we took the cottage.”

“We promised not to speculate about our neighbors,” Sarah argued, “not about her ladyship.”

“She is a neighbor, too,” Hammy said firmly.

“Yes, but don’t you wonder about her just a little? One would think she must be lonely up here by herself, and that is why she has made her village a sanctuary of the arts and learning for those others who care to hide from the world for whatever reasons. But she only moves among us occasionally, and even more rarely invites anyone to dine.”

“You do not know how many people dine here,” Hammy pointed out. “Or how often.”

“Well, we have been here more than a year,” Sarah pointed out, “and this is our first invitation. Do you suppose she knows we are leaving?”

The conversation had taken them across the wide courtyard which had been covered in lawns and gardens, to the front door, where Hammy frowned her to silence. There had been a

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