Viola’s eyes were still screwed shut to block out the pain. She had to open them sometime. The girls would be staring at her with concern and their brother . . . he would gaze at her with tender solicitation as he knelt to help her lift the sheet music and accidentally on purpose brush his hand against hers.

Miss Beaton, I feel as though I’ve never truly seen you before this moment.

“Miss Beetle,” the duke said impatiently. “Are you quite all right? I hope you didn’t hit your head too forcefully. Allow me to help you up.”

Viola opened her eyes. There was a hand extended in front of her. His hand. She was meant to take it, to be lifted by him, lifted from the floor and into his . . .

On no account would she touch the Duke of Westbury.

She had an irrational feeling that if she touched him, her foolish, forbidden fantasies would be communicated through the contact.

She lifted herself upright and sank onto the piano bench, holding the sheet music to her chest like a shield against dukes.

Westbury gazed at her with what could only be described as fleeting concern, the same momentary pity one might feel when witnessing a stranger stumble on an uneven cobblestone.

“I’m quite well, Your Grace. We were rehearsing for the musicale.”

“You can stop rehearsing. This”—he gestured toward the pianoforte—“is unnecessary now. We’ll send out a notice of cancellation to the invitees.”

“But the ladies have worked so very hard,” Viola said with dismay.

“Why should we cancel it?” Blanche asked. “We must have the musicale. We simply must!”

“We must!” Belinda agreed. “I’ve a new gown to wear with the most adorable cherry blossoms embroidered around the hem.”

“Bully!” Betsy raised her fist. “The musicale is canceled!”

She and Bernadette exchanged delighted grins.

“The musicale isn’t necessary,” the duke repeated. “You don’t have to display your talents in an antiquated mating ritual. I’ve procured husbands for you.”

“Pardon?” Blanche, who prided herself on always maintaining her composure, even when severely tried by her recalcitrant sisters, was actually seen to gape. “You’ve procured what?”

“Husbands, dear Blanche. Two for you to choose from, one likely gentleman suitor for Bernadette, that was a rather more difficult task, I must say, and several promising prospects for the fine ladies Belinda and Betsy, though you two may take your time in making a decision since you’re still so young.”

The room erupted into chaos, the ladies speaking over one another.

“I don’t want a husband!” said Bernadette.

“We haven’t even had our first Season,” cried Belinda. “You can’t steal my moment in the sun!”