“Hear, hear!” Mr. Atwater cried.

She shook their hands. She couldn’t tell them about accepting commissions in her father’s name and the risk she was taking of discovery. But the thought had struck her that perhaps her fears were baseless. People might be more inclined to think that she had copied her father’s ideas for her own compositions, rather than completing his works in secret.

“I’ve never had such a sum of money, gentlemen.” She tucked the envelope into her reticule. She felt rich. And she felt a little bit reckless.

Publishing the symphony under her own name had been a bold step to take. A very big leap into an unknown future.

Maybe it was time to be even more bold.

“What will you do with your earnings?” Mr. Atwater asked.

“Settle some debts.”

“I do hope you’ll indulge yourself a little, my dear.” Mr. Herrick patted her arm. “You should celebrate.”

Perhaps she should.

She was sick of being backstage. Her friends were right. She was tired of telling West to choose another woman. And she was weary of always putting the needs of others before her own.

She was always making these impassioned speeches about love and how it made life worth living but it was always about other people.

In this one crystallized moment in time she wasn’t going to think about everyone else. This was for her. Her needs. Her desires.

She wanted West and she didn’t know what that meant for the future. Or whether they even had a future together. But right now she had money in her reticule and her new red gown had been delivered this morning.

She’d claimed her publishing prize.

Now it was time to claim her duke.

Chapter Twenty-Four

West was back at The Devil’s Staircase, but he wasn’t there to drink or gamble. He wanted to talk to a friend.

“Westbury. You look terrible,” Jax said. “Haven’t seen you here for ages.”

“I’m reformed.”

“So I hear. Didn’t believe it until Ravenwood came in and confirmed that it was true. Said he saw you strolling through Hyde Park surrounded by elegant ladies.”

“My sisters.”

“And their music instructor. What was her name?”

“Viola Beaton.”

“Ah yes . . . Viola. Ravenwood seems to think you’re quite taken with her.”

West propped his elbows on the bar. “Doesn’t matter one way or the other. I’m supposed to propose to Lady Winifred Woolfrey.”

“Don’t do it, man. You’ll regret marrying someone you don’t love.”

“I always thought that marriage should be a business contract and that if too many feelings were involved it would end badly. But now that I’m facing the prospect of life with Lady Winifred . . . she’s kind, gentle, gracious, elegant and . . . boring. She’d bore me to tears. She doesn’t challenge me, there’s no fire in her.”

“She’s not Viola.”