The Princess and the Pauper (3 page)

“
Why?”

“
Because . . .
” She couldn’t lie to avoid the
embarrassing truth anymore. He had forced her into a corner.
“Because I don’t have any friends.”

“
And you want to be
my
friend?”

“
I want to know more about
the violin.”

“
Why?”

She stomped her foot, then winced. It hurt
like the dickens. “Because I lied again.”

“
About what?”

“
Your music isn’t noise.
It’s—It’s wonderful.”

After making the admission,
she
lowered
her gaze and waited. He didn’t shut the door in her face, though he
still might. A few uneasy seconds later, he walked away from the
door, leaving it ajar.

Her heart fluttered.
She accepted the
invitation and went back inside the room. This time, she sat on the
bed, next to the violin case, while Rees stood in the corner beside
the chair.

She h
ad so many questions for him and
promptly inquired, “How did you learn to . . . ?”

Her thought dissolved when she noticed his
shoulders shaking. He had his back to her, but she was sure he was
laughing—at her.

“
What
is so funny?”

“
Not a thing, princess,” he
said between sniggers.

She shot up from the bed and placed
her hands on her hips. “Tell me at once!”

It took him several moments to reclaim
his breath. “It must have hurt more than having a tooth
pulled.”

“
What must have
hurt?”

“
Admitting the truth.
Humbling yourself.”

Her cheeks burned with
indignation. “You’re a wicked boy, Rees.
Wicked
.”

She stormed from the room.

“
Come back, princess,” he
said softly, still
chortling. “I won’t laugh anymore, I promise.”

She remained rooted to the spot, her fists
bunched. But after a minute, she unclenched her hands and returned
inside the room, not because he’d asked her to come back or because
he’d promised to stop laughing, but because, for the first time in
two weeks, he’d called her princess and it’d sounded like the
endearment it was supposed to be.

She sat back down on the bed. “You’re a
poor servant and an even poorer gentleman.”

He took the chair. “Am I?”

“
A gentleman would
never
laugh at a
lady.”

“
Then I’m no gentleman, and
I’m definitely a lousy servant.”

“
But you are a good
musician,” she admitted, somewhat grudgingly.

“
I believe the word was
‘wonderful’.”

She was about to upbraid him for stepping
out of bounds again when he smiled. He was funning with her, she
realized, and since she’d never had a partner to banter with, she
didn’t know it was so pleasurable.

Emily tried not to return his
smile, tried instead to
frown as a proper lady would, but she failed and
her lips twitched into a grin.

Turning her head aside,
she
stared at
the violin case. “May I have a closer look?”

His smile faded.

“
I’ll be careful, I
promise.”

Slowly he nodded.

She unlocked the case and opened the
velvet lined lid. With a gentle touch, she lifted the instrument
and turned it between her hands for a full view, surprised by its
light weight. It was made in the French style with intricate
carvings on the back. The scroll that should have been above the
tuning pegs was replaced by a head—a boy’s head very similar in
appearance to Rees.

“
It’s
beautiful.”

“
I know,” he said with a wealth
of feeling.

She had assumed
O
ld Rees a
tradesman with a curiosity shop or such, not a brilliant craftsman.
And she was embarrassed by her misjudgment.

Gingerly
she placed the instrument back inside
the case. “Your grandfather is a violin maker?”

“
For more than forty years. I was
never allowed to touch his creations, but one
night
, I
plucked at the strings, then picked up the bow. He heard me, and he
must have liked what he heard because he set to work on that violin
the very next day—his greatest ever.”

“
And you’ve never taken music
lessons?”

He shook his head.

“
But how can you play
without lessons? Without music sheets?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. All I know is
I can’t see the music if I look at notes on a page. It confuses
me.”

It confused her to think of “seeing” music
and playing without sheets. How did he know what strings to engage?
What tempo to keep?

“
So how
do
you play?”

“
I just do,
princess.”

Well, that was a very unsatisfying
response.

“
What happened to your
grandfather?” she wondered next.
“Why did he fall behind in the
rent?”

“
His hands are stiff with
gout.
He
can’t make violins anymore. I used to look after the shop, keep it
clean. But I’m not a violin maker.”

He sounded angry with himself, as if
he’d failed his grandfather somehow.

“
You love your grandfather
very much.”

He seemed uncomfortable at
the
remark
and didn’t answer her directly, instead he said, “I’m going to pay
off his debt, then I’m going to become a famous violinist and play
at the Royal Albert Hall. I want to play there and make my
grandfather proud.”

He’d shared his dreams with her, his hope
s, and she was warmed by the sensation of being welcomed into his
intimate thoughts.

“
I’m going to make my papa
proud, too. I’m going to finishing school in a fortnight, then,
when I return, I’ll be a proper lady and I’ll marry a titled
gentleman.”

“
Poor little
princess.”

She frowned. “I’m not
poor.”

“
It’s not what I meant.” He
stood up and opened the door for her. “It’s late. You should
go.”

She hesitated, then asked, “You will still
play, won’t you? On the roof?”

He nodded. “I’ll play.”

Her heart lifted at that. “Good night,
Rees.”

“
Good night,
princess.”

She left the room and
smiled.

She had made a friend.

CHAPTER
2

Spring

London, 1883

Grey Rees sat on the roof,
watching the line of ca
rriages parade down the street. One by one the
loaded vehicles carried away the calculating mamas and their
impoverished sons after a night of dancing. The aristocrats
couldn’t afford to snub Wright any longer, for he had a rich,
marriageable daughter, and they had empty coffers.

“
I didn’t see you in the
ballroom.”

He looked over his shoulder to find her
poking through the skylight. She was still as impulsive as a child,
thinking she could do anything and go anywhere.

“
Get below,”
he ordered. “You’ll break your
neck.”

But she was already on the roof, and
he hastened toward her to make sure she didn’t fall like she’d
almost done five years ago.

Spoiled, rotten
. . . beautiful
girl.

She embraced
him
. He
stiffened, then trembled at her warm touch. The lavender fragrance
in her dark red hair filled his lungs. His chin dropped to her
shoulder, and he almost returned the embrace. Almost. He quickly
sensed the danger in that. Instead, he pulled away from her, still
maintaining a hold of her arm. He didn’t trust her not to
fall.

Emily didn’t
appear surprised or hurt that
he’d ended the greeting. She always hugged him when she came home
on holiday, and he always pushed her away. It never stopped her
from wrapping her arms around him, though he wished it were
otherwise.

“
Why didn’t you come below
stairs?” she asked in a voice hoarse from too much laugher and
flirtation.

His mood darkened even
more.
Wright
had ordered all the servants to attend the ball, not to dance, but
to watch their all-grown mistress take the hands—and hearts—of
every eligible bachelor.

“
What’s the matter?” she said
after his prolonged silence. “Aren’t you
happy to see me again?”

“
I am,”
he returned at last. “Welcome home,
princess.”

She stroked his side whiskers. “You’ve
changed.”

“
So have you.”

She laughed. “No, I
haven’t.”

But she had. She had matured into a woman.
She was standing on the roof in her stockings and day dress, her
long hair tied with a ribbon at the nape of her neck. So simple and
girl-like. But earlier that night she had entered the ballroom in a
white sateen gown, her locks curled and pinned with diamond combs,
her ears pierced and adorned with diamond drops.

A woman.

He had watched her from the
gallery. He had watched the young men look at her with approval and
desire before the sight had
pained him, and he’d sought refuge on the
roof.

Her smile softened. “You still miss
him, don’t you?”

His chest tightened at the
mention of his
grandfather, who had died six months ago from an apoplexy.
Along with him had died so many of Grey’s dreams and ambitions, for
there was no meaningful audience without his grandfather, and now
that Emily was a proper lady, he couldn’t play for her either, like
when they were children.

Pushing aside his hopeless
thoughts, Grey
took her hand and pulled it away from his face. There was
still his grandfather’s debt to repay. Even though the man was gone
and very little money was left owing, Grey would stay at the Wright
household until every last penny was returned in honor of his
grandfather.

But who would
he play
for?

That
wretched thought haunted him,
weakened him. He steered Emily toward the skylight before he lost
his composure.

“
Will you play for me?” she
whispered.

The note of excitement, even
pleasure in her voice twisted his stomach.
“No.”

“
Oh, Rees! You mustn’t stop
playing,” she beseeched as he stuffed her down the skylight. “You
must fulfill your dream.”

His dream?

What good was his dream of
playing at the Royal Albert Hall if his grandfather wasn’t in the
audience? If Emily wasn’t in the audience? Or worse, if she was
there with her
lord-of-a-husband . . . and not with him?

His chest
constricted even more at the
impossible, unexpected new dream of being with her. Where had the
desire come from? It must have approached him slowly, over the
years when he and Emily had secretly written letters to each other,
when she had come home for holidays, always changed, more lovely,
always so happy to see him, to hear him play.

And now that she was home for good,
finished with her schooling, how would he withstand his feelings
for her?

“
No,” he repeated more
forcefully as he followed her down the ladder. “It isn’t safe on
the roof.”

When he reached the ground, she
was there, so close. “Then we’ll meet elsewhere
. In private. I will hear you
play, Rees.”

It was the words “in private”
that disarmed him.
She didn’t want to hear him play as part of an audience.
She wanted to
be
the audience. Once such a request would not have troubled
him, but so much about their relationship had changed over the
years—at least for him. Already his heart beat so quick, his
fingers trembled. What would happen between them in an even more
secluded place? He wouldn’t be able to resist her touch. He’d ruin
her.

“
I have work to do,” he said, his
voice strained. “I have a ballroom to clean.”

He turned and walked away, but
her
lavender
perfume had already settled into the fibers of his clothes, and he
still sensed her with every step he took. No physical distance
could separate him from her, and when she called out “I
will
hear you play,” he
knew he was the wicked boy she’d so often accused him of being. He
knew he would play for her.

~*~

Grey
put all his energy into fixing the
roof. A leak had sprung two days ago, and he’d set to work on the
repairs from dawn until sunset. The difficult and dangerous job had
placed him out of Emily’s reach, and for the most part, distracted
him from thinking about her. But each night, as he entered his room
and washed away the sweat and soot from his skin, he remembered her
tantalizing promise—
I will hear you play.