Page 89 of Regency in Color

Lady Bodmin’s jaw visibly clenched. Her sons were in their forties and fifties with children of their own, uniformly serious and hawkishly handsome. Andie had thought they were all married, but perhaps there was a widower among them; the very idea seemed to scandalize the dowager into silence.

Small mercies.

Feeling more cheerful already, Andie rose and took a seat behind the piano. No matter the situation, people always spoke over her or spoke for her. Living with it day to day was an exercise in frustration. The only time anyone ever listened to her was when she sang.

The world seemed to drift as she found her way through her favorite Beethoven sonata. The conversation turned to her own brothers—Alex, the heir apparent to St. Croix Imports; Raphael, a tireless lawyer; and Toussaint, a naval officer in the West Africa Squadron. They were all working to make the world a better place; it hardly seemed fair that the same society that lauded them expected Andie and Zélie merely to marry and remain indoors.

Dismayed by the injustice of it all, she missed a note. Irritated, Andie let her mind go blank and focused on the music.

The rest of the afternoon melted away. By the time her mother bid the last guest goodbye, Andie had made it through a folio of sheet music and her wrists ached.

Sidonie sat on a stool beside her. “All you all right, darling?”

Andie let out an exasperated breath. “Lord Bude?”

Her mother laughed, pure joy on her face. “Leave them to their useless scheming. I would never permit such a thing. No daughter of mine will ever belong to anyone but herself, and certainly not for the sake of something so ridiculous as convention.” Sidonie took Andie’s hands in hers. “How was your audition? Things have been so busy, I quite forgot to ask.”

Andie warmed at her mother’s support, desperately wanting to tell her everything but afraid she’d forbid her to return to The Crow’s Nest. “They weren’t interested.”

Sidonie pursed her lips. “Let me have a word.”

“Please don’t. I couldn’t bear it.” Andie shuffled the sheet music, needing somewhere else to look. “But it’s not all bad. I met an actress there who told me of another theater to try. I auditioned straightaway, and they…they offered me a part.”

Her mother clapped with delight. “Oh, darling, that’s wonderful! Is it an opera?”

Andie bit her lip. “Not exactly. It’s erm…more of a series of musical performances.” Her mind returned to the giant spider, the fiddling cadavers, and the acrobats swinging from the moon. And Frank, his eyes sparkling with mischief and his lips on her glove. “We’re still discussing particulars.”

Sidonie beamed with pride. “I knew you could do it, dear. I can’t wait to attend opening night. Where is it?”

“Oh, nowhere you’d know.” Andie tensed. “It’s a smaller theater.” She took a breath. “Alex is fond of it, actually. It’s in Shoreditch.”

Her mother blinked in confusion. “Shoreditch? Well, I suppose if it’s good enough for the Bard...” Her smile faded somewhat. “That must be an awfully long drive. You should take Toussaint’s carriage. We’ve just replaced the wheels, and he won’t be back until Christmas.”

“You—you don’t mind?” Andie couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. “I know it’s not the West End…”

Sidonie waved a dismissive hand. “Everyone starts somewhere. The Theatre-Royal will eventually see their error, and you can keep up with your music in the meantime.” The matter quite settled, her mother stood. “Are you still going by ‘Archer?’”

Andie nodded.

“Let’s keep it that way for the time being. Zélie does want to marry, so we should keep this quiet. Once she’s settled, you can do anything you like, as far as I’m concerned.” Sidonie laughed. “Within reason, you understand.”

Andie very much doubted Frank’s Phantasmagoria would be considered reasonable by any measure, but she’d cross that bridge when she got to it. “Thank you, Mother.” Remembering the earlier exchange with Lady Bodmin, Andie asked about something that had been bothering her. “Before I forget—I thought Lady Bodmin only had five sons. Did something happen to the sixth? I didn’t want to ask.”

Sidonie sighed deeply. “There was a terrible scandal years ago. It was around the time the war started. I believe he returned from an extended Grand Tour and decided he didn’t want any part of polite society, so he quite removed himself from it. Lady Bodmin all but disowned him. For years, she told people he had never returned from Italy. We knew better than to pry.”

Andie could understand that. As fortunate as they were to live in safety and comfort in London after escaping the Terror, the societal expectations for a family of their class were arbitrary and unforgiving. If she had the chance to remove herself from that for the sake of her music without harming her family or their business, she’d do it. “I can sympathize.”

Her mother nodded. “I thought you might.”

“That’s not to say I’m not appreciative of our place in the world,” Andie hastened to add. “It’s only that I find the ton’s priorities infuriating. It’s a society built on false assumptions and wishful thinking. They keep up appearances at the expense of everyone who toils, suffers, and dies to enable them. They have the means to do anything they want, and they make an art of idleness.”

Sidonie laughed. No one knew this better than she did. Born to an enslaved mother in Guadalupe, they had escaped together to the safe haven of St. Croix, where Sidonie had grown up in freedom and fallen in love with Boniface, the marquis’s war hero son, returned from serving in the Légion Saint-Georges, France’s first Black regiment. Three decades, five children, and two wars later, she presided over her empire from a palace in Mayfair. “The people with the fewest limitations do take the most comfort from creating them.” She smiled. “I’m so glad I raised my daughters to know better.”

Andie rolled her eyes. “Well, one of us.”

“Ah, let Zélie have her fairy tale. Marriage does work out for some people, you know.” Her mother raised an eyebrow. Andie’s parents had been hopelessly in love for as long as she could remember. “After all, your cousin Apollo married his actress, and she continues to perform to this day. Perhaps you’ll find that too. And if you don’t”—she paused at the door and looked back over her shoulder—“there’s always Lord Bude.”

Her mother’s laugh echoed down the hall as Andie shuffled the sheet music and filed it safely away. She could not be more thankful for her liberty, but how far would it extend?