Sonata for a Scoundrel by Anthea Lawson Read Free Book Online Page A

and a warm smile, he acknowledged his well-wishers and made his way through the admiring throng. He strode to the coach and mounted the steps. A final wave to the crowd, and then he ducked into the vehicle, settling across from Clara and her brother.
    “Good morning, Mr. Becker, Miss Becker.” He stowed his violin beneath the seat, then sat back. “I trust you’re ready to begin our adventure together.”
    Clara nodded, her voice trapped behind her teeth. That smile, when seen up close, had a rather disturbing effect on her senses. She did not remember him smiling like that before—except, perhaps, at the moment of her family’s capitulation. By then she had been too stunned to be much affected by it.
    Mr. Dubois hopped into the vehicle and swung the door closed behind him. He nodded at Clara and Nicholas.
    “Just look at them,” he said. “It is as I have told you.”
    Master Reynard glanced at her brother, then folded his arms. “My valet informs me there is a problem with your luggage.”
    “Ah—” Nicholas began.
    “Indeed,” Mr. Dubois said. “The fact that they have none . It simply won’t do.”
    “Your valet?” Clara blinked at the dapper fellow.
    “Of course.” Master Reynard’s tone was wry. “Whom else could I trust to ensure I’m properly turned out for every occasion?”
    “No one.” Mr. Dubois spoke the words with complete assurance. “But these two ragamuffins—they will not reflect well upon you.”
    Master Reynard considered for a moment, his gaze growing sharper as he looked first at Nicholas, and then at her. Heat flamed her cheeks as he studied her. Her Sunday best was no match for the understated elegance of his own attire or the fashionable flair of Mr. Dubois. The valet was right. She and Nicholas would be an embarrassment. She glanced out the window at two well-to-do misses in lace-edged walking dresses.
    Master Reynard shook his head, a sharp gesture of impatience. “I suppose we’ll have to make a detour. Bond Street is just ahead. Henri? No doubt you have a suggestion.”
    “Yes, of course.” Anticipation lit the small man’s face. “Weston’s for Mr. Becker, to be sure.”
    “But…” Nicholas shifted uncomfortably beside her. “Isn’t he the tailor to the king ?”
    “He is,” Mr. Dubois said. “And now he will have the good fortune to be the tailor to the soon-to-be renowned composer, Mr. Nicholas Becker.”

 
     
    CHAPTER SIX

     
    London sighs at the departure of Master Reynard. Lucky Brighton, to be the next stop on the maestro’s tour of England. Come back to us soon, Darien Reynard!
    -Tilly’s Mayfair Tattler
     
    T wo hours later, they stepped out of the polished interior of Weston’s. Nicholas wore a new suit of clothes that fit him better than anything he had ever owned before, and Clara thought he looked quite handsome. How clever of the tailor, to have a number of coats and trousers partially made up for customers who needed an immediate change of dress.
    Of course, she imagined the king would brook very little delay for himself or his courtiers, should any of them desire a new outfit.
    “You are entirely satisfactory, Mr. Becker.” Mr. Dubois gave a sharp nod of approval.
    Nicholas ran one hand down the dove-gray wool, his grin rather spoiling the impression of an effete young gentleman of the ton .
    “I believe my two new suits will do very well,” he said.
    “They will have to suffice until the rest of your wardrobe catches up with the tour,” Mr. Dubois said. “Certainly your trunks will arrive in time for the performance in Brighton.”
    “Speaking of which,” Master Reynard said, “here’s the coach now. We should be on our way.”
    Mr. Dubois cleared his throat and glanced pointedly at Clara. “We are not quite ready to depart, monsieur.”
    Annoyance flashed in the master’s eyes. Clearly he had forgotten or ignored the fact that she, too, was in need of new clothing.
    “What do you propose, Henri?” he asked. “We