"I quit!" Exclaimed Mr. Wimple as he tottered down the front steps of the Bradshaw's fashionable London townhouse.
"Please Mr. Wimple, we'll double your fee." Mr. Bradshaw called out to the man's back.
He spun on his heels, pushing his spectacles further up his stubby nose. "I wouldn't venture to teach that young 'lady' for all the tea in China!"
Mrs. Bradshaw appeared behind her husband, pleading sweetly on her daughter's behalf. "I implore you Sir, if you could give her one more chance."
"I'm afraid, Madame, that a dozen more chances would make little difference. The word unteachable comes to mind. Good day and good luck!"
Lucy Bradshaw, the young 'lady' in question, observed the exchange from the window of the music room with a satisfied smile. Good riddance, she thought as she watched the music teacher flee from their posh Grosvenor Street address with all the speed his stocky legs could muster. Hopefully he would be the last. But probably not.
Catching her own reflection in the windowpane, Lucy sighed. She could find no obvious flaw. Deep brown locks and a sun kissed complexion, even if not in vogue amongst the
ton
, suited her well. Perhaps she was slightly too short for a high praise and a bit too dark for a fair praise, still no one ever faulted her beauty. Her dress too was flawless. Owing to her father's fortune she was always bedecked in beautiful gowns of the latest fashion. Yet at the age of one and twenty, Lucy was unattached. She had many qualities to commend her to a future husband and still the proposals were not forthcoming for one simple reason; her reputation.
As the only child of wealthy and indulgent parents Lucy had been allowed to run a bit wild as girl. Left to her own devises, her natural willfulness and short-temper only worsened with age. Lucy's coming out ball was quite the
cause celebre
after an unfortunate incident involving a glass of punch being introduced to the face of an impertinent Earl. And things had only gone downhill from there.
A series of similarly disastrous incidents lead her to acquire a kind of minor celebrity. Everywhere she went members of polite society whispered of her sharp tongue and explosive temper. The less polite among them used more direct and colorful language to describe her. The result of such gossip was that despite their daughter's substantial wit, beauty and wealth, Miss Bradshaw's parents were rather anxious to see her wed and settled in someone else's home.
It was with this view in mind that they summoned Lucy to the second-best drawing room not long after Mr. Wimple's substantial silhouette had disappeared around the corner. They were rather permissive parents but even they had their limits and judging by the stern expressions on their faces as she entered the room, Lucy had found them.
"What did you say to Mr. Wimple?"
"Merely that his foul breath was in danger of curling the harp strings."
"Lucy!" Both her parents exclaimed in unison.
"I'm sorry that you taught me the importance of honesty." Lucy nearly managed to conceal a cheeky smile. Nearly.
Mr. Bradshaw's mustache twitching in anger. "Well owing to your honesty, we must now find you a new music master. Again!"
"I don't want to play the harp." She folded her arms tightly across her chest.
"But darling, you simply must gain a few feminine accomplishments if you're ever to find a husband." Her mother reasoned, as she spoke the intricate lace of her cap trembled slightly with nervous energy.
"Reading poetry, embroidering cushions, learning French. It's all so- so- so bloody dull!" Lucy stomped her foot emphatically. "Perhaps if you got me a fencing teaching."
Judging from the way Mr. Bradshaw's eyes expanded to the size of half-crowns, the thought of his hotblooded daughter armed with a pointed weapon did not appeal. "Fencing is not ladylike."
"Hang your idea of what's ladylike. Hang your suitors and hang that bloody harp!"
They never let her have any fun. Lucy just wanted to go hunting, riding, running about. Anything besides being locked up in her shockingly dull gilded cage. When would her parents realize she would never be the perfect missish girl? The frustration made her want to scream. Or- or...
It was at that unfortunate moment that a servant entered carrying a tray for afternoon tea. Lucy abruptly seized the tea pot with both hands and held it threateningly over her head.
"Please dear, not the bone china, it belonged to your grandmoth-"
Her mother's words were cut off by the sound of the little pot smashing onto the floor. The pieces skittered and slid across the shining hardwood now wet with tea.
As Mr. Bradshaw looked over the damage his face became a starling shade of tomato red. "That's it! There's just no getting around it. I'll have to call in favors from half the members of White's. But we're getting Master Croft!"
Three days later Lucy found herself in the presence of the one and only Everett Croft.
For anyone with daughters in the marriage market he was quite simply the most sought-after music master in Town. The gentry looked to him to reform the most desperate cases, when all other avenues had been exhausted. Although his methods for working such musical miracles were purported to be on the authoritarian side. In short, Master Croft had the reputation of being something of a tyrant- but a tyrant who gets results.
Standing before her, Lucy thought he certainly looked the part. Tall, imposing, ramrod straight posture. No more than thirty, he was younger than she had expected. His black long-tailed coat and high-collared vest were as fine as they were somber. His lips, though full, were pressed into a grim line, as was his firm jaw. Dark, almost black, eyes seemed to miss very little. Begrudgingly Lucy had to admit that she found him handsome, in a lofty, brooding sort of way.
She was abruptly jarred from her admiration of his pensive good looks when he dropped a heavy black bag onto the glittering parquet floor.
"How do you do Mr. Croft?" Lucy curtseyed prettily.
