Susannah hurtled back across the floor and wound her arms around Layla’s neck from behind. “Susannah does not care about the size of your stomach,” Edie pointed out.

“Who’s this?” Layla cried, capturing a squirming body that she promptly started tickling. “Not this absurd creature who woke me up before it was even light outside!”

Edie would have guessed that Susannah’s shrieks indicated pain, but Layla obviously knew the difference. “I thought I would ask Gowan to a private supper tonight,” she said.

Layla’s fingers stilled. “Brilliant!” She set Susannah free, and the little girl sat back down next to her soldiers. “I suggest champagne. In fact, Edie, you should get properly tipsy.”

“What’s ‘tipsy’?” Susannah asked, raising her head.

“Tipsy is what you are when you spin around,” Layla said, pulling her onto her lap as if she couldn’t stop touching her. “Come here, you horrid child; you’ve worn me out. I refuse to stage another battle with those soldiers.”

“You think so?” Edie asked, a bit dubiously.

“Do you remember the evening when we went to Lady Chuttle’s ball?”

“Of course.”

“I had drunk rather more champagne than was strictly good for me.”

“You were pickled!” Edie said with a gurgle of laughter.

“That evening, I forgot all about babies and just enjoyed myself. If you stop worrying, all will be well.”

“I hope so,” Edie said. “At any rate, I must go. I have to work.”

“Play for him,” Layla whispered. “There is nothing more erotic. When your father plays something just for me, it makes me melt all over.”

Edie walked back to the small sitting room thinking about what she might play for Gowan, but Bardolph was there to inform her that His Grace had asked to see her. She went downstairs to her husband’s study, where a pudding-faced footman informed her that he would have to ascertain whether His Grace was free, as he had left strict orders with regard to interruptions.

A moment later, it appeared that Gowan was able to see her, so, trailed by Bardolph, she followed the footman into the room. There was a new bailiff to meet, and the mayors of two neighboring villages.

Then her husband made an apology and drew her slightly to the side. The three visitors had the good manners to withdraw to the other side of the room, but Bardolph walked over to the desk that stood to the side of Gowan’s own desk and sat down. He could hear their conversation perfectly well from there.

Edie took a deep breath. Bardolph was not a problem she could address at the moment.

“I summoned—” Gowan broke off and gave her an entirely charming smile. “Excuse me. I requested to speak to you because we must discuss the recital this afternoon.”

Edie blinked with surprise. “You can come, after all? That is wonderful.”

“I’m afraid that my press of work is such that I cannot lose an afternoon. But more to the point, Edie, I cannot allow you to play your cello before an audience, particularly one which includes a man.”

Edie was dismayed, but unsurprised by this. “I have a special drape that my father had made for just that circumstance. It’s made of pleated silk so it billows around the cello. But the truth is that a true musician is only interested in how I play, not what I look like doing it. I have hopes that Védrines is just such a musician, but of course I cannot know for certain until I hear him play.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Edie.”

“You do not disappoint me,” she assured him.

“I’m glad to hear it.” He gave her one of those caressing smiles that apparently indicated he had remembered how much fun their bed sport was. For him.

“You will not disappoint me,” Edie stated, “because I shall play when and where I please.” Her entire body had lit with an anger so incandescent that she felt as if she’d caught on fire.

His eyes narrowed. She held up her hand before he could speak. “Perhaps you have misapprehended, and believe that my father dictated the circumstances under which I played. He did not. I did him the honor of acquiescing to his wishes by not performing in public. I have been asked to practice with the Smythe-Smith girls and I declined. Although,” she added punctiliously, “that was not the sole reason for my refusal.”

“If you would like to come to such an agreement with me, that would be more than satisfactory.”

“An agreement,” Edie said, “involves agreement, Gowan. I do not agree to your directive. In fact, given your presumptuousness, I shall agree to no rule whatsoever. You shall have to be guided by my sense of priority, and if I choose to invite the entire Smythe-Smith clan up here and hold a public recital in the nearest town hall, I will do so!”

Gowan had gone utterly still, which struck Edie as ominous. She abhorred altercations. In fact, she never argued—but this was different. She had to make a stand. He was trying to infringe on her music. It was the most important thing to her. Her soul.

“What if I were to attend the recital this afternoon?” His lips hardly moved.

Edie could practically feel Bardolph’s interested stare boring into her shoulder blades.

“I would be happy to see you.”

“But you will not agree to my request that you not play in front of men.”

“I did not hear a request, but a command,” she observed.

“Please, will you refrain from playing in the presence of men?”

“I will not play public recitals, if you wish.”

“Thank you,” Gowan said. His face was expressionless, but the image of an icy lake came into her mind as she looked at his eyes.

“You are welcome to join me during the recital, as I gather you are worried that I . . .” What? Did he imagine that she would start flirting with that young Frenchman? Throw aside her cello and embark on an act that she found not only painful, but distasteful?

His eyes hardened. “I trust you implicitly. What I do not like is the fact that your partner will be able to savor his lust during every moment in which you play together.”

She shook her head and, against all odds, felt a pang of sympathy for him. “You do not understand what duets are like. I would play only with a true musician. If I hadn’t talked to Védrines for two hours last night, I would never have considered it. I assure you that he will be thinking about the music, not my posture.

“We shall practice this afternoon in the orchard, if you would like to join us.” Then she turned, curtsied rather blindly to the room at large, and fled.

She didn’t get far. Mrs. Grisle caught her, dragged her into the housekeeper’s sitting room, and plied her with question after question. Two hours passed. Bardolph joined them, and droned on for fifteen minutes about the linen closet at the Highlands estate near Comrie. They had mice.

Mice?

Mice were everywhere. She managed to impress upon Bardolph the concept that said mice—indeed, all mice—were his concern.

It took another hour before Edie realized that if she didn’t organize the household better, she would never have time to put bow to strings.

There were bound to be a few problems in running a household of this size. Every once in a while, she thought about how Gowan had stated that she should not play in front of men. It lent her a spark of rage that she had never experienced before.