Secrets of a Soprano by Miranda Neville Page B

Allerton was there to save you from the rain.”
    “Assuredly,” Tessa agreed. “Though if he hadn’t kept me talking in the park I would never have been in danger of getting wet.”
    “From what Angela told me, Lord Allerton behaved like a true gentleman,” Sofie said.
    Angela didn’t know everything. Tessa wasn’t ready to confess to Sofie that Max had treated her with anything beyond common courtesy. And certainly not that she’d enjoyed it. Dwelling on just how good his kiss had felt made her muddled and stupid.
    Angela had arrived with an armful of dry clothing soon after the appearance of the footman with tea. Max had left the room, but the look in his eyes later when he kissed her hand and helped her into the carriage had spoken volumes. He admired her, yes, but perhaps he’d only kissed her because that’s what men did when they found themselves alone in a room with a half-clad lady of reasonably good looks.
    Did he feel anything beyond casual lust? And what about her? Could she possibly be thinking about Max Hawthorne, whom she’d sworn never to forgive, as a potential lover? He’d been very young when he deserted her. He could have changed.
    “We had an agreeable conversation in the park,” she told Sofie calmly, while inwardly she hugged herself in secret glee. She couldn’t discuss her complicated feelings for Max, but they could still talk about him. She wanted to talk about Max. “He knows opera and his taste is excellent. Perhaps I should consider singing at the Regent next season. What do you think?” Sofie liked him so that should be enough to get her started.
    Instead of launching into enthusiastic agreement, Sofie frowned. “Perhaps. But you should hear what I learned this morning.”
    “Did you manage to find Nancy Sturridge’s woman at the Tavistock?”
    Wishing to improve relations with her fellow soprano, she’d sent Sofie to open diplomatic channels.
    Sofie’s face held the intent look that heralded a particularly succulent piece of gossip. “It seems,” she said, her voice lowering confidentially, “that Miss Sturridge was upset because both Somerville and Allerton asked you to supper after your debut.”
    “Allerton?” The name came out more sharply than Tessa intended. “I know Nancy hopes to become Somerville’s mistress. I had no idea she was interested in Allerton.”
    Sofie cast aside her bonnet and settled on the end of Tessa’s sofa, obviously ready for a lengthy session. “For years, it seems, the two men have been rivals for different singers.”
    Pushing aside the shawl, Tessa swung her legs off the chaise and sat upright. “You mean both have had many singers under their protection?”
    “Yes. Allerton prefers great voices and the marquess is more attracted to…” Sofie moved her hands in exaggerated curves. “Allerton had Isabella Cavatini as his mistress for two years. A good voice, that one, but no bosom. Also some others I hadn’t heard of. English singers,” she explained dismissively. “Often he and the marquess fought over the same woman. Both were after Nancy—flowers, gifts, supper parties, the usual.” Tessa nodded. She was familiar with the negotiations of backstage liaisons, even if she’d never conducted them herself. “Nancy expected to gain excellent terms from whichever man she chose. Then—” Sofie paused for dramatic effect. “Then you came along. It’s bad enough that you are winning all the best roles. Now she’s afraid you’re going to get all the best men too!”
    “Really?” Tessa said, ice in her heart dripping into her voice. “And which does she favor? Who usually wins this contest for the favor of sopranos?”
    “Both men are rich, among the richest in England, but more often it is Somerville who has come out ahead. You remember Maria Tosti? A beautiful girl, though her voice is no more than mediocre. She was in London three seasons ago and they were both mad for her. She chose Somerville.” Sofie’s thin