Frederick smiled. “Thank you. As usual, send your account to me.”
Hellier bent to pack his various tools back into his canvas bag. “Aye—I will do that. And”—he glanced curiously at Stacie—“next time this fine instrument needs tuning, do not wait so long.”
Stacie smiled. “Rest assured, Mr. Hellier, I won’t.” She tugged the bellpull, and all but instantly, Hettie appeared.
With a bow to them both, Hellier hefted his bag and left with the maid.
Frederick rose from the piano stool and finally turned to Stacie, noting as he did the door to the drawing room silently closing; Stacie’s cousin, no doubt.
As for Stacie, she met his eyes with her usual candor, with pleasure, delight, and a certain eager excitement investing her expression, but no sign that he could see of the overwhelming, idolizing veneration that his playing all too often inspired in ladies of the ton.
Thank Heaven for that.
A weight he hadn’t known he was carrying slid from his shoulders.
“Well, my lord”—she smiled in the way of one sharing an adventure—“now we know we have an instrument sufficient to our task, might I suggest we pay another visit to the music school and consult with Mr. Protheroe as to which of his graduates we should invite to play at our first musical evening?”
He arched his brows. “An excellent idea.” As he waved her to the door, he accepted that, somehow, he’d grown to be as committed to her scheme as she.
Stacie led the way into the music school, her heels clicking purposefully on the worn wooden floor.
Mrs. Withers looked up from her station behind the counter and smiled welcomingly.
Aware of Frederick at her back and sharing the impatience she sensed in him, Stacie blithely said, “Good morning, Mrs. Withers. Would you please inquire of Mr. Protheroe if he has time to discuss which particular graduates would be most suitable to play at my upcoming event?”
Mrs. Withers brightened. “It would be a pleasure, my lady.”
Less than a minute later, Stacie and Frederick were seated in the master’s room, and Protheroe was flicking through a stack of papers on his desk. “I know I have a list of them here somewhere… Ah!” He drew out a sheet, scanned it, then set it triumphantly on his blotter. “Now we have a place to start.” He looked inquiringly at Stacie, then Frederick. “What particular music or instruments did you have in mind?”
Frederick looked at Stacie. She responded by outlining what she felt were their options—any and all types of soloists plus ensembles ranging from two to five or even six in number.
Protheroe confirmed he could recommend ex-graduates suitable to provide any of her suggestions.
Both Stacie and Protheroe looked at Frederick.
Stacie watched Frederick’s gaze turn inward. He spent several moments in internal debate, then refocused on her. A second later, he glanced at Protheroe. “Brandon Miller—is he on your list?”
“He is,” Protheroe confirmed. “He’s one of our most talented ex-students.”
“We stumbled on him practicing the other day,” Frederick said. “Unless you have another pianist of higher caliber…?” When Protheroe shook his head, Frederick nodded. “Miller, then, to open proceedings.”
He met Stacie’s eyes. “I suggest we have him play first—we can discuss which pieces with him and select something he’s confident with that will run for ten to fifteen minutes. That’s long enough for the ton—if he holds their attention that long, he’ll have done well.”
She nodded. “And then?”
Frederick looked at Protheroe. “For her ladyship’s first evening, I’d suggest a smaller group—perhaps just two. And as I’ll be playing the piano to end the evening, then stringed instruments would be preferable.”
Protheroe nodded and consulted his list. After a moment, he said, “We have Phillip Carpenter, an accomplished violinist, and George Goodes, who’s an excellent cellist. They’re friends and often play and practice together.” Protheroe glanced up, his gaze shifting from Frederick to Stacie. “They work not far away in Goodes’s father’s printing shop. I could send a boy to ask them to come in for an audition—I would feel happier if you both heard them before you made a decision.”
Stacie exchanged a swift glance with Frederick. “And Miller? Can we call him in as well?”
Protheroe nodded. “Brandon is playing harpsichord at one of the smaller theaters in the evenings. He’ll be at home—if he’s not already somewhere here, practicing. He often slips in. Our graduates are free to use any of our rooms and the larger instruments when they’re not being used for lessons.” Protheroe rose. “I’ll send messengers to summon those three, and meanwhile, may I invite you to take tea with me?”
Stacie smiled and declared that they would be delighted.
The following half hour passed in comfortable conversation over the teacups; given their shared interests in music, engaging topics were easy to come by. By the time Mrs. Withers looked in to say the messengers had returned along with all three musicians, Frederick had gained a deeper appreciation of Protheroe’s work and the man’s devotion to the cause of fostering musical talent.
With Stacie, Frederick followed Protheroe to the room in which they’d previously come upon Brandon Miller. Inside, the three young men stood waiting in a group beside the piano; all three were patently eager but, unsurprisingly, nervous as well.