Passion's Song (A Georgian Historical Romance) (11 page)

John Faircourt had no small reputation as a
composer, and he was said to be highly discriminating about whom he
chose to study with him.

“
I think I might have some
influence with him,” Julia said. “My father was his patron, you
know.”

“
If I was a man, Mr. Walters would
not have hesitated to work with me.”

“
I’m sure Mr. Faircourt will have
no such hesitation. Do promise me you’ll go to him. I’ll even write
you a letter of introduction.”

When Isobel and Bridget arrived at John Faircourt’s
house, Isobel’s mouth was dry and she swallowed nervously before
knocking. What would she do if he refused to accept her? He was,
after all, one of London’s most well known musicians. “Is Mr.
Faircourt at home?” she asked the servant who opened the door.

“
Who shall I say is
calling?”

“
Miss Isobel St. James. I’ve a
letter of introduction.” She presented Julia’s letter.

She did not have to wait long before the servant
came back to usher her into Mr. Faircourt’s drawing room. He rose
when she came in and, smiling warmly, bent over her hand.

“
So, you desire to continue your
music lessons with me, do you, Miss St. James?” He held Julia’s
letter in his other hand. He was about fifty years of age and was
not a particularly tall man. His prodigious stomach was proof he
enjoyed his roast beef and pudding to the utmost. He wore gray
breeches, none too loose at that, and a gold-embroidered waistcoat
of the same color. His shirt was a fine silk, and frothy point lace
fairly dripped from his cuffs and cravat. His receding hair was
worn long and was excessively pomaded and curled, Isobel
thought.

“
Yes, Mr. Faircourt, I
do.”

“
Tell me, Miss St. James, have you
a favorite musician?” He refolded Julia’s letter and slipped it
into his pocket. “Is there someone you wish to style yourself
after?”

Isobel could not help suspecting that he was
humoring her and it rankled her. “I wish to style myself after no
one but myself, Mr. Faircourt. But, if I may say so, I think there
is a great deal for me to learn from you.” Faircourt chuckled at
that. “I want to be a composer,” she rushed on, “not merely a
fortepiano player. I may never be as great as Wolfgang Mozart, but
I feel I have something.”

“
So, you think Herr Mozart is
great, do you?”

“
I believe he is a genius, Mr.
Faircourt,” she said fervently.

“
I do not share your enthusiasm
for the Austrians.” He looked down his nose at her and raised his
eyebrows. “However, I suppose my students are entitled to an
opinion or two of their own.”

“
Would you care to hear me
play?”

“
Oh, I don’t think that will be
necessary, Miss St. James. Lady Julia’s recommendation is quite
enough for me.”

“
But, what if I have no
talent?”

“
If the Lady Julia says you have
talent, then it is so!”

Isobel must have looked surprised, because he
coughed and said, “Well, perhaps you might play something, if only
to prove your patroness right.” He indicated the fortepiano with
one hand.

She sat down, hands poised over the keys, looking at
him expectantly.

“
Anything you like, Miss St.
James,” he said with a little shrug of his shoulders. She chose
Mozart’s C- minor sonata for fortepiano, and when she finished, he
cleared his throat. “I think that is adequate. I should, of course,
be most pleased to have you as a pupil.”

“
Thank you, Mr. Faircourt, I am
honored, indeed!” Isobel smiled triumphantly.

“
Though Lady Julia intimated in
her letter you may not be able to devote all your energies to
music, I should be happy to help you when you may come.”

“
Yes, I’m afraid my father
heartily disapproves of my musical inclination,” Isobel
said.

“
How very unfortunate.”

“
Is now too soon to
start?”

II

Although their sessions were shorter than Isobel
would have liked, Faircourt agreed he could work with her at least
twice a week without risking unpleasant gossip. She was delighted
when the two-hour practices soon stretched to three hours and then
gradually to four. It was not long before she was encouraged enough
at her progress to play one of her own compositions for
Faircourt.

Isobel winced at the expression on his face. “Well,
what did you think?” she asked timidly. He was silent for so long
that she finally said, “Was it so terrible?”

“
Quite the contrary. Miss St.
James, you are talented, of that there can be no doubt. In addition
to talent, you possess something few others have: the ability to
work hard. Believe me, ‘tis a rare combination, and under different
circumstances your success would not be in doubt.” He looked at her
intently, lifting his eyebrows in an expression of uncertainty.
“Wednesday fortnight I am engaged to play at Lord Huntingdon’s. I
should like to have you perform, among other works, the piece you
just played for me. But,”—he held up his hand to stop her
interruption— “Miss St. James, how badly do you want to be a
musician?” Faircourt clasped his hands behind his back and began
pacing.

“
It’s all I’ve ever
wanted.”

“
Do you want it badly enough to do
something a little…er…unusual?”

“
What exactly do you
mean?”

“
I mean that you should play at
Lord Huntingdon’s in the guise of a man.”

“
You can’t mean it!” She
laughed.

“
Miss St. James, which do you want
to be—a musician, or a woman musician? If you performed as a man,
they would hear only your music.” He paused. “I admit the idea is a
shocking one,” he said, when he saw Isobel was staring at
him.

“
I think the idea is a splendid
one.”

Isobel was surprised at how easily Julia was
convinced to help her. “You Americans are so daring,” she said.
“But think of the scandal if you are discovered!”

“
If you help me, I won’t be
discovered, Julia. I need to change my clothes here at Hartforde
House. If my father or Mrs. Godwaite ever found out, it would be
the end of everything. You’ve simply got to help me!”

“
You’re not going to be talked out
of this, are you?”

“
No.”

“
I suppose it’s my fault for
sending you to Mr. Faircourt.” She sighed.

“
Then you’ll help me?”

They spent two entire afternoons during the week
before her performance sequestered in Julia’s room altering the
suit she was to wear.

They chose the finest clothes from those Julia had
procured from her brother’s valet by telling him she needed
clothing to donate to the poor. Most of them were more than
acceptable for a young gentleman; many of the shirts were a fine
white lawn, a little worn about the cuffs, but with tolerably lacy
cravats. There were also three waistcoats, two frock coats, three
pairs of breeches, and Isobel had succeeded in obtaining a pair of
soft leather boots and a pair of buckled shoes that fit her well
enough.

It was the things that had belonged to Lord
Hartforde that they were frantically altering. There was a
hardly-worn silk shirt, a frothy cravat, and a pair of gray
breeches along with a matching waistcoat sporting gold-embroidered
pockets. But the glory of her suit was to be the frock coat. It was
green satin lined in a darker green with gold buttons in the shape
of a lion’s head, and, most impressive of all, the entire coat was
embroidered with gold thread. Worn but once, it was marred only by
a small stain at the bottom of the hem that was cut away in making
it small enough to fit Isobel’s considerably smaller frame.

The day before the performance, Julia watched as
Isobel pulled on a pair of hose and secured them to garters before
pulling on the breeches, fastened at the bottom with a row of
silver buttons and tied with a bow just below the knee. She
examined her reflection in the mirror.

“
It’s hopeless, Julia!”

Julia pursed her lips thoughtfully while shaking her
head. “Put on the waistcoat. Maybe you won’t show so much.” But the
waistcoat made little difference; the curves of Isobel’s bosom were
still obvious.

“
I just knew it was too good to be
true.” She threw a small pillow across the room before plopping
down on the bed.

“
What if you keep your coat
fastened all the time?”

“
That won’t work—I’ll have to take
it off sometime.” She stared morosely at the spot where the pillow
had landed. “But, of course!” She jumped up and started to loosen
her shirt, smiling gleefully as she pulled it over her
head.

“
What is it?”

“
If I cannot flatten myself, then
I must do the opposite.” She grabbed another pillow and held it to
her stomach so the top of it was level with the bottom of her
breasts. “Give me a sash or something.” She held out a hand. She
took the stocking Julia handed her and tied it securely around
herself. This time when she had her clothes buttoned—shirt,
waistcoat and frock coat—the effect was to make her look slightly
plump. After she had secured a black wig on her head, she no longer
recognized herself. “Well?” She held her hands out to Julia for her
approval after she had pulled on the boots.

“
How pleasant to meet you, Mr.
Boxham!” Julia curtsied prettily, calling her by the name Isobel
had chosen—Boxham, after her mother’s maiden name, and Ian
Frederick, after her initials.

Isobel took up a handkerchief and waved it about in
a foppish manner. “Oh, Lady Julia,” she minced, “M’pon honor,
you’re a devilishly pretty woman! Has anyone ever told you that?”
They dissolved into giggles when she rested all her weight on one
leg and made a show of brushing at the lace of her cuffs. “A bloody
shame if you’re engaged, I vow!”

III

The concert at Lord Huntingdon’s was a
nerve-wracking affair, for though Isobel was entirely ignored
before she played, afterward she became the darling of the guests.
She was amazed to find no one seemed even the least bit suspicious.
There were several inquiries about where to send invitations for
future playing engagements, which she answered by responding that
at the moment she was entirely in the hands of Mr. Faircourt.

In the carriage on the way home, she leaned back in
the seat and closed her eyes. “Thank God that’s over!” she said. “I
thought I was going to faint from nerves! Can you believe not one
person guessed?” She opened her eyes to look at Faircourt.

“
You were a huge success, Miss St.
James, as I knew you would be.”

“
Is everything all right?” she
asked, concerned at the odd tone of his voice.

“
Perfectly.”

“
I’m exhausted.”

“
You had better get used to it,
for you have a future in this.”

“
Then, I have everything I could
possibly want.”

“
No one must suspect you, Miss St.
James. We must be more careful than ever, now society’s eye is
fixed on Master Ian Boxham.” Faircourt leaned forward and tapped
her knee with his knuckles. “Isobel St. James must take care to
develop habits that will provide explanations for her absences from
society, once you are formally introduced, that is.”

“
Whatever you say, Mr. Faircourt.
We are, both of us, entirely in your hands.”

I

Isobel and her father spent Christmas at Marblestone
Park, in South Oxon, the seat of the Chessingham earldom. She spent
a great many hours at the fortepiano, much to the pleasure of her
father, though it concerned him that she spent so long at the
instrument. The countryside was lovely and, until the house was
overrun by guests, going on long morning rides with her father and
afternoon walks by herself were her chief recreations while they
remained there.

Once, during one of her walks, she came upon what
looked to be an ancient Roman ruin, and that night she anxiously
awaited her father’s explanation. Was it a pagan temple? The
residence of some provincial Caesar? She was deflated to learn the
ruins were nothing more than the landscaper’s conception of the
picturesque. The ruined building was hardly much older than
herself. She laughed outright when her father told her the copse of
trees in the rear gardens had been deliberately planted with dead
trees for the same reason. The earl agreed it was ridiculous, but,
he told her, at the time it was all the fashion and, feeling like a
fool, he had let the man haul in dead trees and one or two boulders
to complete the scene. “Luckily I stopped short of letting him have
a go at the hedges,” he remarked. “If I had, the place would be
uninhabitable!”

Shortly after Christmas, a shooting party descended
on Marblestone Park at the invitation of the earl, but although
some of the gentlemen had brought their wives, until she was
officially “out,” the earl did not permit her to talk with any of
the guests. Consequently, she was forced to have most of her meals
in her room. Also, consequently, there was rampant speculation
about and admiration of Lord Chessingham’s terribly handsome
daughter. On the inevitable occasions when she came upon one of the
guests, she could do no more than nod her head politely and either
leave the room or continue on her way if they had happened to pass
in the halls. Until she was introduced, it would be exceedingly
improper to do any more, and at any rate, her experience with Mr.
Selwynn had made her a great deal more cautious.