Free Sonata for a Scoundrel by Anthea Lawson Page A

all over again for her new blue dress. At least she looked as though she belonged here, even if she did not feel that way.
    “Very good,” she said, keeping her chin lifted.
    “The water closet and bathing room are just there, and you will find a bedroom to either side of this sitting room. The footmen will be up with your luggage shortly. Will you be needing anything more?”
    She exchanged a quick glance with Nicholas, then turned back to the hovering servant. “Ah. Perhaps you could send up some tea?”
    “Immediately.” The man bowed. “The bell pull is beside the door. Do not hesitate to ring if anything else is required.”
    “Thank you,” Nicholas said. As soon as the man left, her brother turned to her. His voice held an undertone of mirth. “Clara—ordering tea as though you were a duchess! I think this life suits you.”
    “He seemed to expect something of us. It was the first thing I could think of.”
    “An excellent notion.” Nicholas strode over to the window, flexing his hands. “It will help pass the time until I go rehearse with the maestro. Certainly it won’t take a half hour to unpack our things.”
    As it transpired, they were not expected to do even that much. A maid arrived with the tea trolley, at the head of a parade of servants. The footman deposited their small bags, and two other maids bore the luggage off into their respective rooms. When Clara made to follow she was treated to a slightly shocked glance by the tea-trolley girl. So she and Nicholas sat in overstuffed chairs before the hearth, sipping tea from bone-china cups, nibbling the lemon cakes that accompanied the beverage, and trying to appear as though they were accustomed to such things. It was easier once the servants had taken themselves away, though her brother kept glancing at the ormolu clock on the mantle.
    At length he set aside his tea and brushed a stray crumb from his trousers. “It’s only been twenty-five minutes, but I can’t wait any longer. Come and listen as soon as you have finished.”
    Clara wrapped both hands around her cup, savoring the warmth. She was not entirely certain how it would be, hearing her brother and Master Reynard practice the Air .
    “I’ll join you presently.”
    A welcome quiet slipped in as Nicholas shut the door behind him. What a tremendously eventful day it had been. It felt like weeks since she had waved goodbye to Papa, not simply a morning and afternoon. She was hardly the same person who had followed Mr. Dubois to the carriage from her doorstep.
    Clara took a last sip of tea and set down her cup. Finally she could investigate their suite without revealing her gauche curiosity to the servants.
    She began with her room. The green and cream colors from the sitting room continued in the striped wallpaper—at least what she could see of it between the gilt-framed landscape paintings adorning the walls. Two brocade-upholstered chairs, a writing desk, a washstand, and the bed, which was twice the size of any she had ever slept in. She ran her palm over the richly patterned coverlet, the fabric more suited to a ball gown than bed linens. The carved headboard was nearly obscured by a pile of pillows. It would be a trick to fit herself in among them.
    Despite the fact the room had been empty before their arrival, coals were banked in the fireplace, keeping the air at a comfortable temperature. Much as she appreciated it, Clara had to shake her head. How much coal must the Royal York consume in a day, heating unoccupied rooms? It hardly bore contemplating.
    Nicholas’s room was much the same, though darker greens dominated the color scheme and his bed was a four-poster. His suit hung in the wardrobe, but his shirts were missing. She recalled one of the maids taking them away to be pressed, along with Clara’s spare chemise and nightgown.
    Now for the bathing room. She pushed the white door open, and a sigh slipped from between her lips. A large copper tub sat beneath the single