Chapter 12

12

"This won't do. Won't do at all, Norcross."

Joshua glanced up from his seat at the piano and dropped his quill on the quill rest. "What now, Maestro? Are you ever going to allow me to finish transcribing these parts?" He rubbed his eyes and squinted at the dim light peeking through the dirty window of the King's Theatre room where he'd been toiling for weeks to make money to pay his rent and a few of his creditors.

"Don't call me that. And yes, I will allow you to finish when you start producing orchestrations of your customary caliber. This is rubbish." He tossed a stack of music onto the top of the piano. "What is wrong with you these days?"

Joshua laughed darkly. "Pick something. I am certain it will be found to be true." He rested his head on the music rack.

"You are slovenly, smell slightly of liquor, among other things, rarely eat, rarely leave this room, and are creating transcriptions of a quite lovely opera by Handel that are only good for the violinists to wipe their arses on before they leave the privy."

"You're assuming they do wipe their arses before leaving."

"One lives in hope, Norcross. Especially when dealing with musicians." Dante Raleigh was the newest director of the orchestra of the King's Theatre. His origins were rather murky, but his skill was unmatched so far as Joshua was concerned. The man knew his way about an opera score.

"You are a musician." Joshua's head was pounding. The air in the room was cloying and yes, did smell of brandy and other odiferous things. So did Joshua, not to put too fine a point on the matter. Not that he cared at this point. He simply wanted to immerse himself in music and not think on all he had lost these past weeks.

"I am a conductor, my good fellow. Completely different animal." Raleigh pushed a pile of clothes and crumpled paper from the chair next to the piano and sat down. "The orchestration for the harp is magnificent. I am trying to secure Alvars to play. Everything else? You will have to rework all of it if you wish to be paid."

"Bollocks." Joshua sat up and glared at the man. "I've done the work and I need the money."

"Of course you need the money. We all need the money. And frankly, most of those swells and pretentious grande dames of society who attend the opera will never know the difference, but I will. And so will you. If you ever hope to open your own house you must—"

"Stop." Joshua held up his hand. "A young fool's dream at best. I am thirty years old, Dante. These days I simply want to make enough money to pay for my rooms at Albany and feed and clothe myself."

"You might want to allot some of that money to pay a valet. Otherwise, the clothe part is likely to become an issue. I have my laundry done at Goodrum's. The girl there is a genius and the price is quite reasonable."

"You send your laundry to a brothel?"

"That brothel is run by the current Duchess of Chelmsford, as well you know. Woman frightens the wits out of me, but the club is the furthest thing from a brothel."

"Go away, Raleigh. I have work to do."

"Actually, you have a bath to take. I've had one drawn for you in one of the dressing rooms. If you tell the diva occupying that room I will deny it and let her devour you with a bottle of wine and some syllabub." He took Joshua's arm and dragged him to his feet.

"A bath? Are you mad?" He stumbled along in the conductor's wake.

"No, I am offended by your smell. As are a number of the musicians, several of the maids and at least one high-in-the-instep tenor." He stopped at one of the dressing rooms and pushed at the worn green door. "I am also having some food brought up to you. Eat it. Lie down for a bit and then send for me. We will talk."

"Talk?" Joshua stood in the middle of the room and eyed the large copper bath set up before a small fireplace. Steam rose off the filled tub. A cake of soap, a flannel and a bath sheet were sitting on a stool next to the bath. "About what?"

"How and where you surrendered your bollocks and how you might go about retrieving them. Try fishing about in the bath. Perhaps you'll find them. Bath. Now." The cheeky bastard waved as he went out and slammed the door behind himself.

Joshua stripped off his boots and clothes and simply let them fall to the floor. He stepped into the bath and slowly sat down, allowing the steamy water to sink into his bones. Something about the sensation was familiar and then he remembered. Sophia had watched him step out of his bath the first night he spent in her house. She'd watched him do other tings as well. Lying in his arms one night, with a great deal of laughter she'd explained the viewing window between the music room and his bedchamber. After her description of her use of the ivory phallus he'd rolled her beneath him and fucked her until they were both exhausted.

Not a good memory for a man who had walked away from what was most likely his only chance at happiness. Chance. He'd had so many chances to tell her the truth, but he'd failed. Why? Pride? Arrogance? Fear. Not of much use when he'd lost her anyway. Her face when he'd told her the truth, leaving out the part about the blackmailer, was forever in his mind. He saw that face on waking and before finally dozing off to sleep. The face of a woman who might have loved him, but now never would.

The problem was not with his bollocks. The problem was with the other part of his anatomy he'd left with her—his heart. And with his heart his joy in composing and creating music. He'd poked great fun at poets who spoke of their muse leaving them. A ridiculous notion. Creating was about skill, practice, and talent. Nothing more. Or so he'd always believed. How had Sophia held onto her music when her father punched her and deprived her of food? How had she held on when her husband had beaten her for being so beautiful? She was stronger than he was, that much was certain.

He climbed out of the bath and used the bath sheet to vigorously scrub the water from his body. Somehow the simple act of bathing had revived him. He sniffed. And had rendered him less offensive to be sure. When the food arrived, he sat on the diva's leather chaise wrapped in the bath sheet and ate every bite. He conceded he would likely survive without Sophia. He might even reclaim his music at some point. But the rest? The passion, the joy, the laughter, and the appreciation of life Sophia brought him? Those were gone forever, and he'dhave to grow accustomed to that.

"Fuck." He dropped the fork onto the plate and held his head in his hands.

"Not interested," Raleigh said. When had he come into the room? "Thanks all the same. Now. Who is this woman who has custody of your bollocks, and how might we bring her back into your life?" The conductor stood over him arms folded across his chest.

"She is the woman for whom I gave up the money for my opera house and any hope of ever obtaining the money. The woman who will never have anything to do with me ever again. Satisfied? And if she has my bollocks they are either roasting over a fire or beaten flat with a fire poker. She's the very devil with a fire poker."

Raleigh tossed clean breeches and a clean linen shirt at him. "You buggered it up good and proper, didn't you?"

"You have no idea."

"You might very well be surprised on that count, Norcross." Raleigh's quiet pointed tone had Joshua looking up at him in surprise.

"We have to learn to live with our mistakes, even if we don't enjoy living the way we once did. Go home. Get some sleep. Come back tomorrow."

"Are you going to tell me I will feel better in time, better after losing a woman like Sophia?" Joshua drew the shirt over his head and stepped into the breeches.

"Not a bloody chance in hell of that, my friend. Not for men who love like we do. We simply grow better at lying to ourselves."

"Lying to her is what got me into this." He buttoned up his falls and pulled on his boots.

"Then you're well on your way, aren't you?"

Joshua was awakened by a fierce pounding on the door of his rooms at Albany. Once he decided the noise was not from a throbbing head, he rolled out of bed and vowed to murder the man who had awakened him from his dream of loving Sophia. He stumbled in the dark until he found a lamp and managed to light it from a candle shoved into the simmering coals in his hearth. What time was it? He'd come home from King's Theatre at midday. Apparently he'd slept the entire afternoon and into the evening.

"What?" he roared as he flung the door open. The majordomo of Albany stood with his fist poised to knock again. In his other fist he held fast to the jacket collar of a twisting, kicking, swearing creature Joshua recognized all too well.

"This person says he was sent to deliver a message to you and he refuses to put it into my hand."

"Buggering shite don't understand plain English. I was told to deliver this to Mr. Norcross and no one else." He squirmed out of his jacket and danced into the room just out of the servant's reach.

"I've got him, Bates. Thank you." The majordomo sniffed and dropped the jacket into Joshua's outstretched hand as if it were a dead rat.

"Nice to see you, Dickie. Who is this message from and what does it involve this time? Being beaten by a mob at the Lamb and Flag or having my throat cut in a Seven Dials alley?"

"Could go either way, guv'. Lady Camilla's carriage is downstairs waiting for us. Best tidy yourself up a bit." He waved at Joshua's untucked shirt and bare feet.

"Where are we going or do I want to know?" He walked into his bedroom and sat down to put on his boots. He tucked in his shirt and picked up his last clean jacket from the hook behind the door.

"Likely not. Move yer arse. I don't have all night." They trotted down the stairs side by side. Joshua saluted the coachman and ducked into the carriage. The coachman whistled the horses into motion before he and Dickie even had a chance to drop onto the front-facing seat.

"Are we going to Seven Dials?" he asked as he felt the carriage turn toward Covent Garden. The streets were a bit crowded with carriages. People going to the theatres and various other entertainments that drew the rich and titled from their homes on the west side of London. His brother was likely among them. As grandsons of a marquess they were moderately qualified to rub elbows with members of the ton.

"Dickie if we're going to Seven Dials I'm going to stop by St. Giles and see if the Lord God will accompany us. I'm convinced we may need his help after what happened last time."

Dickie snorted. "God never ventures this far out of St. Giles, guv'. Trust me. Not unless he wants some buzman to pick his pockets."

"Lovely." The carriage turned down a quieter street. Joshua tried to get his bearings. "Have you heard anything of Mrs. Hawksworth?" He tried for an uninterested tone, with only a modicum of success.

"Some. She's set to go to Kent to see the place wot she inherited in a few weeks' time. And that earl, Framlingwood, he gave her the house on Grosvenor Street too. She's a grand lady now."

"That's good." Joshua's heart stuttered and then dropped somewhere around his feet. "I'm happy for her."

"You don't sound happy." Dickie looked him up and down suspiciously.

"Well I am." Joshua shifted on his seat and pushed the curtain aside. "Where the hell are we—" The carriage lurched to a halt. Joshua flung the door open and jumped out without the steps. "Where am I supposed to…go?" He recognized this place. Just off Maiden Lane and near the Adelphi stood the building he'd hoped to purchase for his opera house.

"In there guv'. She's waiting for you. Try not to bugger this up." Dickie closed the door, slumped against the seat, and pulled his cap down over his eyes.

She?

For some reason Joshua could not make his feet move faster. He walked down the side street. Torches flickered in iron sconces on either side of the entrance. With a turn of the handle the doors opened into the dusty entrance hall. Once he stepped inside, he heard harp music. His heart beat to the point he felt it might burst from his chest. He climbed the elegant steps to the first floor and entered the theatre. The stage was fully lit, and seated on one side was his beautiful Sophia in the gown she'd worn to Vauxhall. She was playing the piece she'd written, the one Elias Alvars had played on that incredible night. Joshua managed to make his way to a seat on the front row, just behind the pit.

She played as she always did, eyes closed, body moving with the music. Her fingers flitted, stroked, and plucked with speed and grace. She'd had her Erard brought here to play for him. At least he hoped she played for him. Perhaps he'd gotten ahead of himself. He forced his mind to clear. When she finished the piece, he stood and applauded. She rose like a swan leaving the water and slid into a deep, graceful curtsy.

"Ah, Mr. Norcross," she said, as she beckoned him onto the stage. "I have a proposition for you."

He climbed the steps and kept his hands at his sides. She sat back down and gazed up at him, her face utterly unreadable. "I am at your disposal, Mrs. Hawksworth."

"Excellent." She rested one hand flat against the strings of her harp. "As you know I have recently come into a great deal of money and some property."

He nodded, afraid to speak.

"I have quite recently purchased this little theatre."

His jaw dropped. He made a few sounds, but no words came out of his mouth.

"No need to speak. Just listen very carefully." Her face was solemn, but her eyes sparked. She was enjoying this. Very much. "I am in search of a composer in residence to compose operas suitable to be performed in a theatre this size. You come highly recommended, Mr. Norcross. Are you interested?"

"Certainly, Mrs. Hawksworth. I would be honored. I…I don't know what to say." His knees went wobbly. He could not fall down. If he did, he'd never rise again. He'd lay there at her feet.

"Perfect." She retrieved a set of papers from the floor on the other side of her chair. "Here is the contract between us."

He took the papers and began to read. The contract was a partnership, a partnership between Joshua Norcross and Sophia Hallensby, her true name before her marriage. There was a great deal of legal language, not that it mattered. He'd sign anything that allowed him to see her, even if only every now and then. He turned to the last page, but there was another piece of parchment behind that. He stared at the words, blinked, and read them again.

"This is a special license." His legs did give way then. He dropped onto the stage, holding the special license tightly in his hand. She left her chair to kneel beside him in a pool of spangled and satin skirts. She should be laughing at his idiocy, but her face was deeply in earnest.

"Our contract as business partners has a great many stipulations. Our marriage will have but one. Never lie to me again, Joshua. Never. I trust you in every other thing our marriage might bring along, but you have damaged my trust, and I could not bear for you to do so again. Can you promise me you will never lie to me again? Can you love me as much as I love you?"

"Framlingwood killed your husband. Dickie was somehow involved. I am glad he did it, and I will never tell another soul. And now I can promise never to lie to you again. He went up on his knees and took her hands in his. Though I cannot promise to love you as much as you love me. I can only promise to love you more."

She clutched his hands and shook her head. "The earl killed…Edward?"

"Not long after you became his mistress. I know no more than that. He made me promise not to tell you, but I will tell you anything it is in my power to tell you if you will marry me."

She nodded at the special license on the floor next to them. "I believe I asked you first?"

He laughed. "Why? Why do you want to marry me after all I have done?"

"Will it make you happy?"

"More than anything this world or the next has to offer." He could not breathe, but he didn't care.

"I have become a lady of means, and as that I can do anything I desire. I am free. And I desire you and to be happy all the days of our lives."

"An uncanny coincidence, my love, that is all I have ever desired since the moment I met you." Joshua pulled her into his arms and covered her lips in a tender kiss. He brushed his mouth across hers over and over. She flicked her tongue against his top lip, and he sank his tongue into her mouth. He caressed her back and cupped her head in his hands. He didn't know what he'd ever done to deserve her. He'd spend his life thinking of ways. He'd—

"Oy, bleeding hell, guv'. You don't tup a lady like Mrs. Hawksworth on a hard stage, at least not with an audience and someone paying plenty of blunt. Yer take her home to bed."

Joshua and Sophia ended their kiss in a bout of laughter, joyous and unbridled. He jumped to his feet and pulled her into his arms. "Home to bed sounds like a very good idea," he said. "What say you, my love?"

"Take me home, Joshua. Take me home."

"Come fetch these papers, Dickie. We'll need them as soon as possible."

"Not for nufink I won't,' he grumbled, and stomped past them. "Lady asks me to drag some cove down here for her to propose and now I've got to fetch and carry like some bloody footman. Yer a lucky feller, Mr. Norcross. I had money on her not every speaking to you again."

"You lost your money, Dickie," Joshua said as he placed Sophia into the carriage. "And I found my fortune, all the fortune I'll ever need. Hurry up, lad. The lady and I are ready to go home."

- THE END -