She hurried out of the changing room before the gossips revealed themselves.

“Lady Blanche, I feel a little faint. I’m going home,” she said.

“Let our coachman drive you.”

“I’ll walk. It will clear my head.”

Viola hastened outside, keeping her head low, and set off toward her temporary home. She’d been living in a fantasy world. She’d had no legitimate cause to accompany the ladies on this shopping excursion. She’d only wanted to be close to West.

When she should have been at home, helping her father finish the symphony and composing the Christmas carol. The due date for both was nearly at hand. She should be focusing on her own work, preparing for a future independent of the duke.

Instead, here she was gallivanting about London, ordering fancy gowns which she’d never have an occasion to wear.

Dreaming impossible dreams.

Chapter Eighteen

“Why did you run away without saying goodbye yesterday?” West asked Viola in a low voice as they waited for his sisters to arrive for the musicale. “And you didn’t come to Vauxhall. We missed you.”

He wanted to say that he’d missed her. The night at the pleasure gardens had seemed empty and cold without a smile that glowed brighter than lanterns strung in trees. And when the famous fireworks had splashed the night sky they’d been colorless without green eyes to reflect them.

Viola avoided his eyes. “I wasn’t feeling very well. I’m better now.”

He searched her face. “Did something happen at the modiste’s shop? You went to bed early. I came by after Vauxhall but you were already asleep.”

“I was nervous about today’s performance. I want your sisters to shine.”

They stood behind the blue velvet curtains that had been hung in the music conservatory at Westbury House. His sisters would arrive soon wearing fine silks and jewels in their hair.

Viola wore the same simple off-white gown she’d worn to the ball, this time with a green sash about her waist and a single white rose tucked into her hair. She was as lovely as ever, but something was wrong. Her smile was nowhere in evidence and there were faint mauve shadows under her eyes.

“And shine they will,” West replied, “if only with vigor and pluck. I don’t expect you to have achieved a miracle with Bernadette, Bets, or Belinda, but I know this performance means much to Blanche and Birdie. The last time Blanche performed for a crowd of this size she forgot her place in the music and was mortified. That’s why I hired you.”

“Really? She never told me that.”

“I don’t think it’s something she wants to remember. Today is her way of reclaiming her confidence. She puts on a very convincing show of unflappable composure and serene elegance, but she’s very sensitive and feels things deeply.”