“I can’t have people scrutinizing the work I did as Mr. Beam. Someone could discover that I’ve been publishing more music using my father’s name. They might uncover the role I’ve been playing and discredit my father’s compositions. I must keep it a closely guarded secret. Especially with his final symphony nearly complete.”

Della placed a hand on her arm. “That’s a shame. It seems that you should be able to take credit for your work.”

“Winning second place in the competition was enough for me, even if I never collected my prize. I was gratified to know that they judged me fairly, and not with the bias they would have shown if they’d known it had been composed by a woman.”

“But the prize money, the payment for publication, and the royalties. I know how much those would mean to you,” Isobel insisted. “You earned them, Viola. You deserve to be paid for your accomplishment.”

“I’m sure it would only be a small remuneration. My father’s earnings have never been huge. He’s had to rely on patronage to finance his art.”

“And how is your father these days?” Isobel asked.

“At the moment he’s hiding from the bustle and activity in our house. As am I.”

“What’s happening at your house?”

“We’re moving.” She hadn’t wanted to tell her friends about her new living arrangements. Not just yet. They were bound to be very opiniated on the subject. “I should be going to the library.”

“Why are you moving?” Isobel asked.

“Because I wasn’t able to pay our rent and we were expelled from our home by our landlord.”

“Without giving you any notice?” Isobel asked.

“It’s already done. He sold the house to Lord Sprague.”

“Lord Sprague?” Della frowned. “Isn’t he that horrid baron who wants you for his mistress? Ugh. I’m sure this was all Sprague’s doing.”

“I fear the same. He arrived moments after the landlord informed me that he’d sold the building.” She pushed away the sickening memory of Lord Sprague gripping her shoulders. “He said some disgusting things and tried to kiss me, but I was prepared to defend myself with a knitting needle.”

“Well!” Della gulped her tea. “That must have been terrifying.”

“It was. Until Westbury arrived and terrified Lord Sprague in turn.”

“Wait,” Isobel said. “The Duke of Westbury was at your house?”

“He rescued her.” Della grinned. “It sounds very romantic.”

“It wasn’t romantic. He was only there because his sisters staged a mutiny and made him promise to rehire me. It was all for his convenience.”

“I heard that he’s to marry Miss Vanessa Chandler,” Della said gently, with a worried glance at Viola. “I read the announcement in the paper. She sounds like a handful.”

“It’s only what Westbury deserves,” said Isobel. “He’s a debased, debauched—”

“Jug-bitten blunderbuss,” Viola finished.

“Precisely.” Isobel nodded approvingly.