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handkerchief in one hand and what appeared to be a note in the other.
    “Miss Shelby,” he asked, trying not to let his anger for her current state infuse his voice. “Are you well?”
    She looked up, her eyes bright with tears. Stricken, she dabbed at her eyes with the handkerchief, made to stand.
    “Lord Deveril, I did not hear you come in,” she said, her voice shaking, but strong. “If you will give me but a moment I will be back to finish our lesson.”
    “Do not trouble yourself, Miss Shelby,” he said, moving closer, wishing he could take her into his arms to offer comfort. But even the Duchess of Winterson, with her liberal ideas, would frown upon that, he suspected.
    He settled for a comforting hand on Juliet’s shoulder.
    “Is there something I may assist you with?” he asked. “Shall I bring your cousin to you?”
    She closed her eyes, as if to give herself strength, then shook her head.
    “No,” she said softly. “No, I will be all right in a moment. I just needed a bit of time to myself.”
    Her words implied that she wished him to leave, and he could not blame her. But he also knew that such situations, if left to be handled on their own, could lead to dire consequences.
    “Miss Shelby,” he said. “Was your mother very angry about the dancing, then?”
    She stared at him blankly for a moment. As if she didn’t understand his question. Perhaps she had been struck by her mother? He didn’t see any signs of it on her person, but clothing could hide bruises. He knew as well as anyone.
    But her words suggested otherwise. “Yes, my lord, she was quite angry, but that’s not why I am overset.”
    She sighed, and looked into the fire, as if choosing her words carefully. He gave her the space she needed.
    Finally, she spoke.
    “My mother is fearful that my injury will bring shame on the Shelby name,” she said. Her tears had gone now, leaving only resignation in their wake. “But I am accustomed to her histrionics now. The only real power she has over me is that of public embarrassment.”
    Her lips curved upward in a wry smile.
    “I find it ironic that in her efforts to save herself from scandal, she creates them all on her own.”
    She held up the note between her slim fingers. “It is this which caused my outburst,” she said. “I am sorry to have given you the wrong impression.”
    He pulled the chair opposite hers closer and took a seat. “Is it your friend? The one you spoke of the other evening?”
    “Yes.” She tucked her handkerchief into the sleeve of her gown, and smoothed the silk of her skirts. Then, as if she had decided something, she handed him the note. “You can read it if you like.”
    He took it from her, his gloved fingers brushing hers as he clasped the missive.
    The paper was inexpensive. The sort that could be had at any common stationers’. On the outside Juliet’s name was written in a neat, curving hand. The direction of her father’s London town house beneath.
    My dear Juliet,
    I am afraid that circumstances have come to a head, and I am no longer able to remain in London. I know this will mean an end to our lessons, but I am confident that you will find someone to take my place. Your talents are such that any musician of sense will take you on without hesitation.
    I beg that you will not try to contact me. Your mother will not care to have our acquaintance furthered. Especially given my altered situation. I have seen to it that Alice is well cared for. I will not give you my direction, lest you be tempted to follow me.
    Take care of yourself, dear friend, and know that I will always remember your friendship in my time of need.
    Anna Turner
    *   *   *
    Juliet watched as Deveril scanned Anna’s brief note. His expression revealed nothing of his reaction to it. In the firelight, his dark blond hair, fashionably tousled, sparked with hints of gold. He really was a breathtakingly beautiful man. It was not difficult to understand why he had risen to such