PROLOGUE
So much of courtship is unspoken. The lingering glance. The slow rise of colour in the cheeks. The knowing twist to the lips that rests somewhere between a smile and a laugh. Levi had learned the language of courtship. He could almost tell when a woman wanted him from the tone and timbre of her voice. From the strength of her perfume.
As Levi stepped down from his carriage and strolled through the doors of the opera house, he could tell. He was wanted. Their eyes fell on him like hyenas on a choice cut of meat. Whispers rose like the buzz of bees when the hive is disturbed. He could guess what they were saying or some semblance of it. There goes Viscount Gatton, son of the Earl of Exeter. Almost thirty and still not married because he can’t stop being a rake. He repressed a sigh, rolled his shoulders, and stretched his neck from one side to the other until he heard a soft, satisfying click.
The opera house was packed to the rafters. The audience consisted largely of the landed gentry, but it was not unusual to find the odd high noble watching the proceedings from a balcony in one of the private boxes. Tonight, he would be doing just that. Opera was his escape route, his reprieve from the choking press of high society. A place where he needed not to be, but only to feel and listen.
His footman, Jasper had managed to reserve the royal box at Levi’s behest.
Turning his back to the inquisitive glances around the room, Levi ascended to the royal box.
“My Lord,” Jasper said with a full bow. He parted the dark curtain to the royal box for Levi to walk through.
Levi gave a subtle bow in return. “Thank you, Jasper.”
The box was carpeted with crushed red velvet, with plush red upholstered seats arranged at the perfect angle to get an incomparable view of the stage. Light in the box was provided from a four-tiered crystal chandelier which coruscated with all the soft brilliance of a hearth fire.
Levi took in a deep breath. It would do for the night.
He called out to Jasper, and the young footman stuck his head in through the curtain. “My Lord?”
“My good friend Lord Turnbull will be joining me soon. Please show him up when he arrives.”
“Yes, my Lord. Will you need refreshments?”
Levi smirked. “Well, you know Lord Turnbull.”
Jasper nodded. “I will arrange for their finest brandy, my Lord.”
Levi took a seat and turned his eyes to the empty stage. It had been a few weeks since he had been back at the opera, and he was eager to see what the night’s performance had to offer. It was a performance of the pastiche opera, “Love in a Village,” a ballad opera with three acts and over forty musical numbers. Levi had it on good account that it told the story of the heroine Rosetta, a woman fearful of her impending marriage to a man she has never met who runs away from home and acquires a position as a chambermaid. The lead role of Rosetta would require a truly gifted coloratura soprano.
A few moments later, Jasper parted the curtain to admit Lord Turnbull into the box. He was flanked on either side by two young ladies and their older chaperone.
“Levi, my good friend,” said Lord Turnbull, “allow me to introduce to you Lady Elizabeth Thurnlock and her sister Lady Natalie Thurnlock.”
The two ladies curtseyed perfectly.
Their chaperone wore a hard, inexpressive stare. She had a knowing suspicious look about her eyes and a face that said, “try me.” The perfect chaperone for two young ladies around a famously unmarried rake. Levi always felt that this particular aspect of his reputation had been unearned, the product of concentrated hearsay. He was not a rake. Any woman who took to his bed knew she was toying with a broken thing. They came for discreet adventure, and he delivered on that promise – a mutually beneficial arrangement at the best of times. He could not be blamed for those small few who grew in frustration as they realised that he was beyond their mending. That he was not theirs to keep. Only his friend Edward knew the truth about him. Everyone else satisfied themselves with a vague approximation of it.
He met the chaperone’s eyes. If she wanted to see a rake, he would be the rake. He gave her a well-practiced look. It was a look he kept for when he wanted to set people into a disconcerted haze. To make them remember his status as heir to the earldom of Exeter.
Lord Turnbull frowned, noting the look that passed between Levi and the chaperone. “This is their chaperone for the night, Mrs. Barnaby.”
Levi bowed. “A pleasure, Mrs. Barnaby.”
When he straightened, he gave her his most subtle smile. A smile that always seemed to unsettle the uptight. It worked. The woman sputtered as though meaning to say something, but no real words came out. Levi let the smile linger then turned to the Thurnlock sisters.
They were both stunningly pretty. Lady Elizabeth, who seemed the older of the two, possessed rich brown hair which caught and captured the chandelier light. Her wide, encouraging smile was as good and blatant an invitation to courtship as Levi had ever seen.
Levi bowed politely and kissed her hand. In a feat of inhuman elasticity, her smile widened, and she let her hand dance in his before she drew it back.
He gave a start and turned his glance to the younger of the pair.
Lady Natalie was a near facsimile of her elder sister, except that her hair was straight where her sister had curls. The bridge-wide smile, it seemed, ran in the family.
“A pleasure to meet you both,” Levi said.
An awkward silence passed. Clearly, the ladies were expecting more from him. Perhaps even Edward was. Levi knew he had a reputation for being a veteran rake with no small appetite for riotous living, but he hadn’t come for flirtation tonight. Pretty as the Thurnlock sisters were, he had no real desire to do anything but enjoy the opera. That was the problem with high society – you could never tell the difference between genuine admiration and delicate bluster. Theirs was a game of sharp glances and eyelashes and licked lips that grew tiresome to play when you had seen it so many times before.
Being the heir of one of the oldest earldoms in the peerage came with a special sort of loneliness. The sort that allowed you to be surrounded by people but always alone. Never knowing who just wanted to use you like a rung in a ladder. His life was not entirely his own. Levi belonged to the earldom almost as much as their countryside estate. He was expected to preserve the status of the earldom at all costs, even if it meant marrying someone he barely knew whose wealth or landholdings were beneficial to the earldom. The few friends he had only ever managed to accumulate were those who had somehow managed to slip through his father’s careful scrutiny on account of their relative wealth or their proximity. Tonight, he just wanted to relax and forget.
Edward frowned and moved to scupper the silence. “This is a remarkable box, Levi. However were you able to reserve it?”
Levi frowned. Edward knew exactly how. He had joined him at this very box several times in the not-too-distant past. He was trying to stir the pot of conversation. Clearly, he thought Levi should take an interest in one of the lovely sisters. Is everyone in London trying to find me a wife?
Levi shrugged. “Our lucky night, I suppose.”
The sisters giggled in musical unison, and Levi suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. Jasper appeared with two servants, a tray of decanters, cut glasses, tea, and butter cakes. Edward wasted no time in offering the Thurnlock sisters a drink which they promptly and politely declined. He didn’t let their rejection slow his step as he held out a glass to Jasper.
“Jasper, please make sure my glass is never empty tonight,” said Lord Turnbull.
Levi laughed. “You’ve given him the busiest job of the night, Edward.”
The ladies chuckled, and Jasper – the utmost professional – suppressed a small smile.
Edward, ever the entertainer, took it in good spirits and threw back his drink in a single gulp. “Your work begins, my good man.”
Levi laughed, also allowing himself a small measure of brandy. The sharp uprush of heat at the first sip made him straighten as he waited impatiently for the show to start.
Just as the awkward silence threatened to return, the bell rang, and silence fell upon the audience like a heavy-set clodhopper.
He took the seat closest to the action and found Edward had arranged for Lady Elizabeth to be by his side. The powdery musk of her perfume caught his attention the way the fox scent catches the hunting hound. Levi almost wished he could tell her that her efforts would be a waste on him. There was no spark between them. He always needed a spark.
The lights dimmed, and as the curtains rose, her knee touched his thigh. Delicately enough to be dismissed as a harmless mistake for those unaccustomed to this game, but for a seasoned seducer, it was the first salvo in a subtle sword dance. It was expertly done and almost enough to get Levi to play the game. Why not? He turned towards her, chin rising as he did. Then he heard a voice.
Soft and sharp, clean and clear. The voice rang out across the theatre, stunning it to total silence. Levi glanced over his shoulder towards the stage. Ladies and gentlemen sat agape, startled by the sheer power of the voice. There was an incredible duality in it – it was both pain and strength, defiance and destruction. Never before had Levi heard a voice that radiated such pure, unpretentious energy. It soared above the instruments and touched something within, transporting him to a forgotten time and stirring up emotions that he had long left for dead. He shook himself, narrowing his eyes to get a look at the singer’s face.
She was – in a single word – unprecedented. Her eyes, even at a distance, captured the light and made it her prisoner. Her silhouette carried every curve to set his heart aflutter. Beautiful, he found, was too common a word for such uncommon beauty. This was something more. Something compelling.
He hissed as though offended by it all, but his heart did not stop hammering away.
Her voice rose, and Levi found that his chest rose with it. Who was this woman? Levi wanted to know. Needed to know. He put his drink aside, tugging his shirt collar to let in some air as a sweet heat ran through him. As her gaze suddenly locked with his, Levi was struck with the realization that he had been staring at her. Their eyes met for a small moment, and Levi became aware of the solid, incontrovertible truth at the bottom of his stomach: he wanted her.
“What a voice,” Lady Elizabeth whispered beside him.
He made a dismissive gesture that he only realized was rude after he had done it. He would make his apologies later. For now, he only wanted to fill his ears and his soul with that intoxicating voice.
The opera singer finished her verse, and another far less gifted soprano took the singing lead. Levi let out a sharp breath and leaned back into his seat, like a captive released from his bonds.
He turned to Lady Elizabeth, who was frowning at him, clearly slighted by his dismissive hand gesture. He smiled, trying to placate her, but she was not amused. Levi thought to render an apology, but to apologize to her would only deepen the insult. The best he could do was to let the lingering tension have its way and hope that it would fade.
Eventually, as Levi indulged in the idle conversation her stare so plainly demanded, her icy frown melted away to a small smirk and then at last to that wide smile.
Even with his eyes fixed on Lady Elizabeth, he could not shake the effect the singer had on him. Every time she had a line to deliver, her voice made his blood run cold. Every time he looked at her, he tensed up. It was – after a while – liberating.
When the show came to an end, the curtain fall was greeted with a rapturous ovation. There was no doubt that they had all seen something special there that night. A singer who could turn a single note into a story.
“Will you be joining us, Lord Gatton?”
Levi shook himself back to full consciousness. Lady Elizabeth had asked him something. He couldn’t for the life of him remember what she had been saying. He smiled sheepishly and rolled the dice.
“Yes?” he said with a questioning tone.
She smiled, turning to her sister. “Oh, wonderful! Isn’t that wonderful, Natalie?”
“It most certainly is,” added her sister without skipping a beat.
“We shall be seeing you soon then, my Lord,” said Lady Elizabeth.
Levi had no idea where or when they would be seeing him. He’d have to ask Edward what the hell she was talking about later.
He accompanied Edward to escort the ladies to their carriage and excused himself to return to the theatre. His friend seemed curious but did not badger him further about it.
He stepped into the theatre and immediately sought out Jasper. Catching sight of him, he beckoned him close.
“My Lord?” Jasper inquired.
Levi spoke in a low tone. “That singer, the lady, who is she?”
Jasper raised an eyebrow. “She… as far as I’m aware is just an opera singer, my Lord.”
“That’s not what I’m asking. I mean, what is her name?”
He stared at Levi, confused. “Her name is, well, Diana, my Lord.”
Levi straightened. Diana.
He wet his lips and put a hand on Jasper’s shoulder. “Do we have a moment?”
“Of course, my Lord.”
Together, they found a quaint florist at the corner of the street. Levi picked out all the finest flowers he could find. Orchids, lilies, roses, and moonflowers. The storekeeper’s eyes widened as she watched him select only her most exotic and expensive flowers.
The bouquet, when assembled, cost a pretty penny, but Levi barely glanced at the storekeeper’s tally when presented to him. He produced a small coin pouch and summoned Jasper.
“Deliver these to Diana. Please.”
“Of course, my Lord,” Jasper said, taking the bouquet. “Will you not be leaving a note, my Lord?”
Levi scratched his chin. “Yes, I will.”
ONE
Diana took a long sip from her teacup. Her nervousness from hours before was slowly being replaced with relief. She could always tell if a performance had gone well by the look on people’s faces. Tonight, they looked shocked when she had started singing. That was a good sign. It meant that, in one way or another, she had exceeded their expectations.
A knock sounded on her dressing room door, but before she had time to answer, the door swung open. She quickly pulled her dressing gown around her shoulders as the theatre manager, Mr. Solomon Caney, stepped into the room.
A man of forty years, Solomon Caney’s spectacles hung from a black cord around his neck. He had a large, aquiline nose and a gold fixture where a canine tooth ought to have been. He was a short man but wore platform shoes that gave him two inches in height he didn’t deserve. His cravat was deep burgundy, and his tailcoat of the same colour extended to his calves. The gold pocket-watch visible from his waist pocket was one of several gaudy accessories, and the insufferable half smirk on his lips carried the smug belief that he was a man of means.
When he spoke, his breath carried the musk of whiskey and onions. “You were fantastic tonight,” he said smiling.
He looked at her with the appraising eyes of a veteran pawnbroker appraising a golden necklace.
Diana drew the dressing gown closer around herself. “Thank you.”
“I need a performance like that out of you every night,” he said as he produced a small coin pouch.
Diana accepted the payment and frowned. She could tell from the weight alone that she had been underpaid. Heavily underpaid. “This is less than we agreed, Mr. Caney.”
“And more than you deserve, Miss Brook. You must be a fool if you think I would pay you that for just singing. You’re a pretty girl and a decent singer, but you’re not half as pretty as you think. If I step out into the street and toss two coppers in the air, there would be a dozen girls just as pretty and talented as you grovelling at my feet before the coins hit the ground. They’d be willing to do more to get on that stage too. Much more. If you want to get paid, you’re going to have get off your high horse and find a way to prove your value to me.”
Diana did not want to ask what he meant by that. She just wanted him out of her dressing room.
He stepped towards her. “You’re many things, but you’re not stupid. You’re a clever girl. Clever enough to turn this into a real opportunity for yourself.”
She tried to move back, and he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. She jerked back at his touch, and the teacup slipped from her fingers, spun from her control, and shattered.
He glanced down at the shards of porcelain. “That’s coming out of your next pay. If I were you, I wouldn’t be so…inhospitable. This business is all about give and take.”
He leaned in closer and made a sucking sound with his teeth. “And I know you’ve got a lot more to give.”
Diana spasmed. This time there was no doubt what he meant. Some part of her wanted to give him a slap. To wipe that oil-slick smile from his face. She couldn’t do that, not with this being her only means of making the money she needed to care for her sister, Eliza. She gritted her teeth and lifted her chin, swallowing her disgust.
“Thank you,” she said, tucking the coins into her dressing gown pocket. She then stooped to pick up the shards from the ground.
He chuckled like a gleeful schoolboy and turned to leave. “I’ll see you tomorrow night. Wear something nice.”
Diana waited for the door to close behind him and immediately turned the key in the lock, letting out a heavy sigh when it was done. Just like that, all the joy and elation from her performance had leaked out of her like wine from a pierced wineskin. She stared into the dressing room mirror. Don’t weep, Diana. No matter what you do, don’t weep. Her lip quivered, but she didn’t let the tears fall. Solomon intended to bend her until she broke, but he would not have his way of things. She gritted her teeth. Without the pay from the theatre, she couldn’t afford the laudanum, which gave her sister relief from the incessant pain that had plagued her for the last year. As loathsome as Solomon Caney was, Diana would not let him stop her from doing what needed to be done.
When she was dressed to leave, another knock came at her door. She remastered herself before stepping up to it. “Who is it?”
A soft, chirpy voice replied, “It’s me.”
She smiled as she unlocked the door. Her friend Lydia appeared in the doorway, holding the most magnificently beautiful bouquet of flowers Diana had ever seen.
“Someone has a secret admirer,” Lydia said with a girlish smile as she hopped into the room.
Diana’s eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?”
“A man asked me to give you these,” Lydia replied, handing over the flowers.
The soft, pleasant scent of orchids and lilies made her feel immediately more settled than she had been mere moments ago. She knew at a glance that this was no ten-penny arrangement. There were moonflowers in the bouquet. Even the most purse-friendly florist would only part with moonflowers at an inordinate cost. They had to be imported from the Caribbean and stored in very particular conditions. Whoever her admirer was, he had given her an extremely generous gift.
She could barely find purchase on the words to speak. “What man?” she asked.
Lydia huddled close, taking the stool beside her. “A valet or a footman or some such. He refused to tell me who it’s from.”
Diana took the small note, embedded amongst the moonflowers.
‘Go forth and conquer, for the world is small and you are a giant. – Cee’
She gasped repeating the words to herself and folded the note away. This incredible gesture of kindness had given her the kernel of encouragement that she did not know she needed. Like a morsel of bread in the age of starvation, it nourished her more than she expected. Despite every effort, she found herself finally succumbing to the tears.
“Aww, Diana, don’t cry. You’ll make me cry too,” Lydia said, gathering her into an embrace.
Diana wiped the tears away and smiled. “I guess there are some nice people out there.”
Lydia snorted. “A few.”
They laughed together and allowed themselves to share gossip from the night’s performance. How Lydia had almost missed her cue, how Solomon was an utter wart and how they would soon both be centre stage at finer theatres than this.
When the gossip was well and truly done, Diana bid her goodbye and made her way home.
She lived on King Street, a street where its greatest claim to fame came from being connected to St. James Street and, by extension, the theatre of the same name. The name was incredibly ironic. Of all the streets in London, few were as indubitably unfit for kings as King Street was. Unfit for Diana as well if she told herself the truth. However, hard times meant for undesirable measures, and she was well in the throes of her hardest time. She felt uncomfortable carrying such beautiful flowers through a neighborhood so unabashedly ugly. Some things just didn’t belong in the squalor.
At this hour of the night, King’s Street possessed a subtle danger from the desperate. From nothing-to-lose cutpurses and men who were far in their cups. Any person who came within touching distance was likely trying to pick your pocket or cut your purse. She walked with the quiet hurry of a cat in a dog’s neighborhood.
As soon as Diana ducked into her tenement, she darted up the stairs. She quietly unlocked the door to her apartment and nudged it open with her toe. A dull lantern light from the only bedchamber indicated that her sister was awake.
“Diana?” Eliza called out, hearing the door shut.
Diana stepped into the room. “It’s me.”
Eliza sat up. She was holding a dull grey dress that she had plainly been trying to mend. When her eyes caught sight of the flowers, she pushed back her spectacles, and her lips twisted in a mischievous smile. “Have you found a lover at the opera, dear sister?”
Diana laughed. “A secret admirer, it appears.”
Eliza put the dress aside and moved towards her. The movements were weak and laboured, that of a girl beaten down by illness and infirmity. It broke Diana’s heart seeing her sister so weak. Eliza had always been the stronger of the two of them, and now she looked much older and weaker. She stared into Eliza’s eyes, their mother’s eyes. Diana thought them windows to her staying power. Eliza still bore some strength, but she had been fighting a long time now.
“Have you taken your laudanum?” Diana asked.
Eliza frowned. “It’s run out.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Diana snapped, incredulous.
Eliza stared up at the ceiling, refusing to meet Diana’s eye. “It’s expensive, Diana. I don’t want to be a burden on you. I’m getting back to work.”
It made Diana’s heart sink. That was why Eliza was mending the dress. She was trying to make some money. Eliza was like their mother in that way. Some women wait for a hero, others wait for a sword. Eliza was the type to wait for a sword. But she couldn’t be a warrior now, not when she could barely lift a weapon. Diana had to be her warrior and get them through this rough patch unscathed.
Diana pulled her sister into an embrace. “You could never be a burden on me. The only thing I care about is that you are happy and healthy. Nothing else matters.”
She gripped her sister by the shoulders. “Good thing I got these flowers. There are moonflowers in there. I can get good money for the moonflowers and orchids at the market.”
“Don’t do that. They’re so pretty,” Eliza whispered.
“You’re far prettier. Especially when you’re strong and healthy. I won’t have any argument on it. Tomorrow I’m going to get you more laudanum, Eliza.”
Eliza sighed, adjusted her skewed spectacles, and buried her face in the gap between Diana’s head and shoulder. They stayed like that for what felt like a piece of eternity. Neither of them cried; at least not outwardly. That was the strength of their sisterhood; they shared both their pain and their joy.
When morning came, Diana did get good money for the flowers. It hurt to sell them, but they were able to pay for her sister’s treatment with some leftover. For a month at least, they would be alright. As a reminder of that beautiful gesture from the mysterious “Cee,” Diana kept a single yellow orchid. Later, when she arrived at the opera house for the night’s performance, she retrieved the note and reread it. Go forth and conquer, for the world is small, and you are a giant.
Like a dead candlewick pricked with flame, those words stirred something within her. Sitting there, preparing to go on stage, she made a decision. No more suffering. No more late nights for next-to-nothing wages. Something had to change. But she wasn’t going to find a hero; she was going to find a sword.
TWO
It was the same sinking feeling every time Levi entered his father’s study. Under normal circumstances, it would have been a paradise to him; bookshelves lined the room from wall to wall with books on every matter of importance, every sweet word of poetry, every inspired telling of a story. His mother had made the room what it was, and yet his father’s energy lingered over it. Perhaps it was the large painting that hung from the far wall. It depicted a young, handsome gentleman with broad shoulders, bold eyes, and the winning Cooper smile. The subject was Levi’s late uncle Ethan, the very image of the perfect specimen from the Cooper line.
The more Levi looked at the painting, the more it seemed his uncle Ethan was mocking him. His winning smile was almost a smirk, the look of a gentleman on the verge of laughter.
It was customary for the Earl of Exeter to make him wait. The unease in Levi’s stomach seemed to build with the waiting, every second was more uncomfortable than the last. He drummed his thigh with increasing speed as the soft tick-tock of the grandfather clock beside the door made a mockery of his patience. He tried to tell himself he wasn’t nervous. Surely you can’t be afraid of an old gentleman.
As though an actor on perfect cue, his father stepped into the room. He wore a dark waistcoat and breeches over a white linen shirt. He was still a tall, powerfully built gentleman, though he now carried more paunch around his arms and stomach than the lean muscle of days gone by. He had dark, arresting eyes that seemed to bore into anything they settled on.
Levi rose to his feet and bowed. “Father.”
“Son. So good of you to choose to visit me.”
Levi let the jibe pass without comment. It was a silent slap in the face. Levi hadn’t chosen to visit; he had been summoned. His father had that way of rebuking him. Even when he was saying something sweet, there was always an under-taste of something bitter.
“Tell me, son, have you found a wife yet?”
Levi opened his mouth to speak, but his father cut his sentence in half.
“Of course, you haven’t. You’ve hardly ever done anything on your own. In this, too, I have come to your aid.”
“I…I beg your pardon, Father.”
His father smiled. “I’ve found a wife for you.”
A chill shot down Levi’s spine. He took a slow breath before speaking. “You’ve found a wife for me?”
“An excellent one. Beautiful too. You’ll see for yourself.”
“Father, I –”
“Speak up when you’re talking to me, boy,” his father snapped. “Project your voice.”
Levi drew in breath, swallowed and remastered himself. “Father, I appreciate what you are trying to do, but I don’t need you to find me a wife. I can handle that myself when the time arises.”
“Nonsense. Don’t be stupid, boy. You’ve never been able to make a good decision about anything, and I won’t risk you messing this up like you do everything else. This isn’t about you; it’s about our legacy.”
“I –”
“I’ve already arranged it with the Duke of Gloucester. You’re to marry his daughter, Lady Katherine. Impeccable breeding, good blood, and pretty, too, if I may say so. It will ally our two great families and bring some much-needed stability to the earldom.”
“Father, I –”
“Listen to me. I’ve arranged a dinner party next week at Gatton Hall. It will last seven days, and the Duke will attend with his wife and daughter. I anticipate your attendance, and you will not disappoint me in this. You are my son and I am your father, and if nothing else, you will give me every drop of respect you owe me, understood?”
Levi balled up his fist and bit down hard on his lip. His father was a bull in a tight corral, and he was a broken-legged matador. No matter what he did, he could find no escape from his horns. The man simply didn’t listen. When he felt his mind was made up, he tried to dominate Levi into compliance. Levi wouldn’t let him win in this, but here in his study, it was neither the time nor the place to give his father a piece of his mind. So, he had to make a show of interest to some nobleman’s daughter; he could do that if he had to. He couldn’t win this battle, but he would win the war. He would marry when he was good and ready, no matter what his father said.
He gave his father an ingratiating smile. “Understood, Father.”
His father returned the smile. His voice took on a light, musing quality. “Good.”
As a child, Levi had treasured his father. In those days, he seemed a colossus – proud and strong. As he grew older and his father began to wield his pride and strength as weapons against him, Levi heard all manner of excuses from his relatives. They all said the same thing, the Earl was a kind gentleman until his brother Ethan died. After that, everything changed.
His father had become a gentleman who was slow to praise and lightning-quick to criticize. In times past, he had ripped Levi to shreds with his words, making him feel absolutely minuscule. Whenever Levi had managed to do anything well, or make a success of anything, his father would tell him how his uncle would have done it better or faster.
There was a time when he believed that his father would have loved him if he was better. That time was long gone and Levi had learned the truth: nothing would ever be enough for him. When he discovered the futility of trying to get in his father’s good graces, Levi decided to become the disgraceful gentleman his father accused him of being. He poured his energy into gambling and youthful hellraising, giving himself to every excess. For every act of rebuke from his father, Levi retaliated with an act of rascality. It was the only weapon he had in their proxy war.
Years of being the victim of his father’s manipulations had taught him a fair bit about his tricks. Sometimes, when his father was being cruel, it was only to throw him off and distract him from some ulterior purpose. He was a master of misdirection. Levi had only one defensive technique when his father was trying to bludgeon his senses: close his hands behind his back and look away to hide his irritation. He was doing that now as his father went on about how he was going to marry someone he had never met for reasons that were not his own.
His mind drifted away from his father’s study, back to the opera. Where he had heard that remarkable woman sing. The texture of that voice, the intensity of it, the way every word seemed to speak deeply to his heart. He would be back at the opera soon. He had to be.
“What are you looking at?” his father asked, pulling Levi back to the study.
“I beg your pardon, Father?”
His father followed Levi’s eyes. He was turned directly to the painting of Ethan.
His father narrowed his eyes. “Your uncle was twenty when he died. He was strong, intelligent, and a born leader. He always took on his responsibility and respected others. When he heard someone cry out from the woods, he stopped his carriage to assist them when someone robbed and killed him. My brother died because he had the decency to help those he thought were in need. Ethan bore the weight of the earldom on his shoulders, and he carried it light as a feather.” His father’s eyes turned to Levi. “You might look like him, but you’ll never be half the gentleman he was. All you have ever cared about is yourself. Drinking, womanizing, and gambling with your friends. Spurning the good name that I worked for and that your uncle died for. This is your chance – do something right and prove me wrong. Be a gentleman for the very first time in your life.”
Levi was stunned for a moment. Then he snapped back to consciousness, and the rage was there, everywhere. He stepped towards his father, intending to clip the old gentleman around the ears. But then he saw the look in his father’s eyes. He was goading him. Manipulating him so he could have something against him to use in one of his schemes.
Just like that, Levi’s anger started to recede. He let out a deep breath and let the candle of fury within burn out. Steeling himself, he spoke slowly. “Father, I am going to leave now. I will be back for the party and look forward to meeting Lady Katherine.”
His father made a dismissive gesture with his hands as though to say “be gone.” “I’ll send a formal invitation. Don’t be late.”
As Levi walked over to his carriage pulsing with anger, he made a promise to himself. He was going to live true to himself, no matter what it would cost him. No matter the consequences, something had to change.
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