She knew it. His face was austere and hard, lined with creases around his eyes and mouth.
Jane’s heart pounded. She couldn’t move.
“Who are you?” the Earl of Rushton demanded in a deep voice.
“Er… Jane Kellaway, sir… my lord. I’m taking piano lessons with Mr. Hall.”
“What are you doing here, then?”
“He’s… he’s discussing things with my sister.”
“Is she taking piano lessons?” His words were short and clipped, like bullets.
“No, si—my lord.”
“Then oughtn’t he discuss things with you?”
Jane scratched her forehead, then stopped. Likely it wasn’t polite to scratch in front of an earl.
“I… well, I’m certain Mr. Hall knows what he’s about.”
The earl stared at her for a second, then gave a laugh that sounded rusty and humorless, as if he hadn’t laughed in ages. “Certain of that, are you?”
Jane glanced back to where Lydia and Mr. Hall were still conferring, then shrugged. The earl frowned at her. He looked like a cruel knight Jane had once seen in a picture book of verses.
“Be gone, girl,” he ordered. “I’ve work to do.”
His gruff tone made her insides quiver, but she didn’t move. “Are those your plants?”
“Whose else would they be?”
“What’s that?” Jane indicated the apparatus he held.
The earl lifted it a bit. It was a long metal tube with what appeared to be a handle at one end. “Water syringe. Meant to spray a mist of water on seedlings. Useful, if one can get the blasted thing to work.”
He pushed the handle, but it stuck halfway down the cylinder. The earl scowled at the thing as if it had deeply insulted him. Jane fought a smile.
“That’s the way it is, isn’t it?” she said. “Most things are useful only if they work.”
“That so? What do you plan to do, then?”
Jane wished she knew. “I haven’t decided yet.”
The earl grunted and turned to his plants. Jane watched him for a moment.
“I like to study insects,” she finally said.
He barked out one of his rusty laughs again. “You like to study the scourge of my garden? Find a way to get rid of them—then you’ll be useful.”
His tone implied that until that day, she would be nothing more than a bother. A twinge of hurt went through Jane, though she didn’t quite know why. It wasn’t as if it ought to matter what the man thought of her, even if he was a peer. Papa had always said a man’s character mattered more than his stature.
“My lord, do you know anything about ferns?” she asked.
He looked as if she’d asked him if he knew how to be an earl.
“Of course I do,” he said. “Why?”
“I’ve got a fern that’s a bit tattered. Turning brown and such. Can’t think what I’m doing wrong, but perhaps you might tell me?”
Lord Rushton harrumphed, then ordered, “Bring it the next time you come round.”
“Jane?” Lydia’s voice, threaded with tension, came from behind her. “Are you… Oh.” She stopped, resting her hand on Jane’s shoulder.
“My father, the Earl of Rushton,” Mr. Hall said.
Lydia’s fingers tightened. “My lord, a pleasure to meet you.”
The earl glowered at her from beneath bushy eyebrows, gave a gruff nod, and turned away. Jane tried to ease away from Lydia, whose grip was beginning to hurt.
“Come along, then.” Lydia steered Jane back to the piano, bending close to her ear. “I do hope you didn’t disturb him.”
“His bark is worse than his bite,” Mr. Hall said without concern, his voice almost amused. “Unless you’re his own child. Sit down, please, Miss Jane, and we’ll begin.”
Jane sat at the piano but glanced toward the alcove at the earl. The outside door shut with a click as he left.
She turned her attention to the piano, obeying Mr. Hall’s instructions as she tried to convince her fingers to cooperate with her brain. After an hour of learning the keys and starting scales, Jane followed Lydia from the town house with a lesson book and a sense that she might not have an exact talent for music.
“It’ll take some time,” Lydia assured her as the cab rattled toward home. “Once you start learning songs and such, I’m sure it’ll become more interesting.”
“Did you ever take piano lessons?” Jane asked.
“No.” Lydia looked out the window. “Too busy with other things.”
Jane glanced at the notebook Lydia still held on her lap. As much as she loved her sister, she couldn’t help wondering why Lydia never seemed to do anything beyond mathematics and tutoring. She’d never married, she didn’t have friends over for tea, and she attended social events rarely and