But the duke had towered over her, telling her that she was wrong, that she had no business interfering in the lives of his sisters, and something just snapped. Something inside her, something stretched so taut that she hadn’t known it had worn thin, gave way and a dam of emotion poured forth.

She loved those young ladies as though they were her own sisters. Their fate felt like her fate. Their happiness, her own. She’d become emotionally entwined with them . . . and with their brother. She’d tried so hard to vanquish this impossible longing, this forbidden desire, but it was tenacious. It grabbed hold of her mind and infiltrated her dreams.

She’d tried to convince herself that she cared nothing about the duke. She’d been lying to herself.

Why else would the news of his engagement throw her into such a turbulent state of mind? He had to marry an heiress out of necessity. She’d known this day would come. What had she been hoping? That London’s most wicked, and yet most eligible, duke would suddenly realize he was madly in love with a music teacher with no money, no pedigree, no connections, and sweep her off her feet?

He hadn’t even bothered to learn her name.

A gust of wind caught her black silk umbrella and turned it inside out. As she was wrestling it back into shape, one of the metal ribs snapped in half. Useless. She tucked the broken umbrella under her arm. Perhaps she’d be able to find a way to mend it—Lord knows they had no funds to buy a new one.

The drizzle became a downpour. She wiped rain out of her eyes.

Even if the duke had fallen in love with her, marriage would have been out of the question.

Her father was distantly related to an earl, but that didn’t change the fact that she was the daughter of a disgraced composer and an Italian opera singer whose marriage had lasted only one year, whereupon her mother had abandoned them to continue her career.

Viola had toured Europe with him as a child, watching as his symphonies were performed in crowded concert halls and royal reception chambers.

Music was her life. And teaching gave her great joy. And the salary she made helped keep them afloat. And now she’d thrown away her employment and the duke wouldn’t give her a reference after that outburst.

She was the worst kind of fool. The kind that harbored secret hopes and dreams that she hadn’t even admitted to herself until they’d been torn to bits and scattered to the winds.

She didn’t want the duke to marry anyone else, but she’d learned that life didn’t usually give her what she wanted. And that meant she’d had to lower her expectations. She’d learned not to want anything too far out of reach.