LITMIR.BIZ

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sang again, looking out into the house, thinking of Flynn sitting in the farthest seat. She sang to him.

      But it did not please the signor and Miss Hughes. They fired instructions at her. ‘Stand up straight.’ ‘Open your mouth.’ ‘Breathe.’

      There was so much to remember.

      ‘Breathe from here.’ Miss Hughes put her hand against Rose’s diaphragm. ‘Not here.’ She touched Rose’s chest. ‘Expand down with your muscles. You will get the volume.’

      Rose attempted it, surprised when she sounded louder.

      For the high notes, Signor Angrisani told Rose to lift the hard palate in the roof of her mouth. ‘Inhale,’ he said. ‘As if you are about to sneeze. Drop your tongue. Now push out through your nose.’

      She was dismayed at how many tries it took to co-ordinate all these instructions. When she succeeded, the notes came out crystal clear.

      It seemed as if the lesson were over in the wink of an eye. Her mind raced with trying to remember everything they had told her. She must not have done too badly, because they invited her back in three days’ time. As Signor Angrisani walked her back to the pit, Rose put her hand to her throat, wanting to protect it for the next lesson, hoping she would not strain it by singing at Vauxhall in a few short hours. She would fix herself some hot water flavoured with lemon juice to soothe it.

      As the signor walked her through the theatre, she saw two men standing at the back. She could hardly wait to reach Flynn.

      ‘I shall bid you good day.’ Signor Angrisani stopped halfway through the theatre. He kissed her hand.

      ‘Thank you, signor,’ she said, trying to use the proper accent.

      He smiled. ‘Eh, you shall do well, did I not say?’

      He had not said, but she was delighted to hear it now.

      She felt like skipping the rest of the way to where Flynn waited.

      As she got close, she saw that the gentleman standing next to Flynn was not Mr Ayrton, but Lord Tannerton.

      She lost the spring in her step.

      ‘Lord Tannerton,’ she said as she neared him. She dropped into a graceful curtsy.

      He smiled at her. ‘How did you like your lesson?’

      She darted a glance to Flynn, who stood a little behind him. ‘I liked it very much, sir. I am indebted to you for your generosity.’

      He waved a dismissive hand. ‘Ah, it was nothing. Glad to do it if it gives you pleasure.’

      ‘Great pleasure, my lord.’

      Rose had no doubt the marquess could easily afford whatever sum it took to make Mr Ayrton, Miss Hughes and Signor Angrisani so agreeable, but she did not forget that it was Flynn who had made this happen.

      ‘As much pleasure as I receive hearing your voice, I wonder?’ His expression was all that was agreeable.

      She cast her gaze down at the compliment.

      ‘May I have the honor of escorting you home, Miss O’Keefe?’

      She glanced up again. ‘Oh, I would not trouble you. I am certain I might easily find a hack.’

      ‘It is no trouble,’ he reassured her. ‘My carriage should be right outside. It shall give me the opportunity to hear your impression of your tutors.’

      She’d been eager to tell Flynn everything, but now she could think of nothing to say about her lesson.

      There was no refusing the marquess now, or, she feared, when he asked for more intimate favours. ‘Very well, my lord.’

      ‘I shall see you back at Audley Street, Flynn.’ Tannerton said this affably, but it was still a dismissal.

      Flynn nodded, but said nothing. He turned and walked out of the theatre.

      Rose was alone with the marquess.

      ‘Shall we go?’ He offered his arm.

      When they made their way to the hall, Rose saw Flynn just disappearing through the doors. By the time she and the marquess reached the street, she could not see Flynn at all.

      ‘My carriage, Miss O’Keefe.’ As he spoke, the carriage pulled up to the front of the theatre.

      King’s Theatre was located in Haymarket. She would have several minutes of riding alone with him to Covent Garden. He gave his coachman the name of her street and helped her into the carriage.

      ‘And how did you find the lesson?’ he asked after they were settled in and the coach began moving.

      ‘There seems much to learn,’ she replied.

      ‘I suspect you will be a good student.’

      He asked her other questions about the lesson, about what she thought she needed to learn, about singing in general. It was the sort of conversation intended to put a person at ease. She admired his skill at it. She had to admit his interest in her likes and dislikes seemed genuine, though she could not imagine him burning with ambition, as she and Flynn did. He could not possibly understand what it meant to her to sing, not like Flynn understood.

      Rose glanced at him. He was a handsome man, more handsome, perhaps, than Flynn, whose features were sharper and his expression more intense. But Lord Tannerton did not make her heart race. When he gazed upon her, he did not seem to see into her soul.

      ‘I have strict orders from Flynn not to walk you inside your lodgings,’ Tannerton said as they passed Leicester Square. ‘I gather he does not wish me to encounter your father.’

      She almost smiled. More likely Flynn was protecting him from Letty.

      ‘Mr Flynn is a careful man,’ she said.

      ‘Oh, he is exceptional, I’ll grant you that,’ Tannerton agreed.

      ‘How long has Mr Flynn been your secretary?’ She knew the answer, of course, but she would rather talk about Flynn than anything else.

      He paused, thinking. ‘Six years, I believe.’ They walked on. ‘Not that I expect him to remain,’ he added.

      This was new information. ‘Oh?’

      He gave her a sly glance. ‘Can you keep a secret, Miss O’Keefe?’

      ‘Of course I can.’ She kept many secrets.

      He leaned closer and whispered. ‘Our Flynn burns with ambition, you know. He wants to rise higher than his present employ and deserves to, I believe. I have lately spoken to the Duke of Clarence about Flynn. His Royal Highness will come around, I think. God knows, he could use a man like Flynn.’

      Flynn to work for royalty. For a Royal duke? All Rose knew about the Prince Regent’s second brother was that his mistress had been Mrs. Jordan, a famous actress. But that poor lady had died not long ago. It was said the Duke would marry now. He would become more serious about his station in life.

      Flynn would serve the Duke well, no doubt, Rose thought. Such employment meant the fulfilment of his dreams.

      Both their dreams would come true. She ought to be happy. Only, at this moment, it merely made her sad.

      ‘This is my street,’ she said, looking out of the window. ‘The coachman should stop here.’

      He rapped on the roof of the carriage, and it slowed to a stop. He got out and helped her descend.

      She pointed to a building two doors down. ‘That is my building.’

      He turned to see which one she meant and spoke suddenly. ‘What the devil is that fellow doing here?’

      She saw a man walk out of her building and turn in the opposite direction from where the carriage had stopped.

      Greythorne.

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