He and his chums at the club had joked about how the dimwitted members of society were inviting the rooster into the henhouse. Imagine, paying a gentleman like him to be alone in close quarters with their young and innocent darlings.
But then again, Damian had always excelled at selling himself. His one skill, apart from a knack for music, was to play the role that was expected of him. If an elderly lady in the countryside wanted an upright, studious disciplinarian to teach her great niece the pianoforte, then by golly, he would be the strictest, most serious music instructor the old bat had ever seen.
His uncle sighed again, this time in defeat. “That is it, isn’t it. You are trying to make a fool of me.”
“No, Uncle, I swear it.” He leaned forward so his uncle could see that he was in earnest. Damian might have been able to fool the world with his acting, but there was only one person on this earth who could see through all that, and that was the man who’d taken him in as a child and raised him as if he were his own son.
“Uncle, I promise you, I am not trying to make a fool of you.” He cleared his throat. “You know I’ve always been grateful for everything you’ve done for me.”
“Hmph.” Despite his huff, Uncle Edward seemed to lose some of his anger with that concession. “Then what do you mean to prove by—”
“I mean to prove that I can make my own way.” The moment the disturbingly upstanding words were out of his mouth, Damian had the alarming realization that there was some truth there.
Judging by his uncle’s wide-eyed stare, he’d come to the same conclusion. “So it means that much to you then?”
“It does.”
Even more alarming? That too was the truth. This whole endeavor had started as a joke. A prank, of sorts, at the very least. But then he’d found that, much to his dismay, he actually liked teaching music.
It helped when the young ladies in question were beautiful, of course. It was very nearly a joy when the girl in question proved to be a flirt. But, above and beyond the divertisement of watching young ladies swoon when he performed for them, there was something else. Something he was loath to name.
Something very similar to...pride.
He shifted uncomfortably again, wishing he was anywhere but here. It was all fine and good to enjoy his new career. It was even better that he’d found some form of pride in what his peers would likely see as a humiliating downgrade in status.
But while it was one thing to feel that way, it was quite another to have to stop and acknowledge the fact.
Intentionally or not, his uncle was rubbing Damian’s nose in the fact that he’d gone and found an—oh curse it. He’d found a work ethic, plain and simple.
As if he could read his mind, his uncle wore a thoroughly satisfied, completely off putting smile when he next spoke. “In that case, I see I have no choice but to condone this new pastime of yours.”
Damian let out a sigh of relief. Not so much because he’d been granted permission—for years now he’d been acting blithely with or without permission of any sort. He was merely relieved that this wretched interview had come to a close.
“But Damian—”
He froze halfway to the door. Of course it couldn’t be that easy. Next his uncle would no doubt make him admit that he was beginning to harbor hopes for the future. He’d make him call it something utterly vile like a ‘life plan’ or some such nonsense.
“If I find out that you are doing this to get close to Miss Pottermouth—”
His short laugh of amusement cut Uncle Edward off before he could finish. Damian turned around. “I assure you, Uncle, I have no nefarious intentions toward the Dowager Demon’s niece.”
Uncle Edward scowled at the nickname but did not argue.
How could he? The dowager duchess’s property had adjoined theirs since time immemorial and his uncle knew their neighbor's character as well as anyone.
Was it any wonder that her ward had been such an unpleasant little brat?
Likely not.
He felt his lips curling in disgust at this flicker of sympathy for the girl who’d made his childhood miserable with her relentless tattling and her ceaseless nagging.
Certainly, she’d been the victim of bad fortune to be raised by the Dowager Demon but that hardly excused her for being a prig.
Uncle Edward was watching him closely. “Are you certain you have no ulterior motives when it comes to Miss Pottermouth?”
Damian rolled his eyes. Did he really have to repeat himself? Couldn’t his uncle have a little trust just this once? But as soon as Damian thought it, he dismissed the idea.
Of course his uncle didn’t trust his word. Why should he? Aside from the fact that his uncle knew very well of his questionable parentage, he had a lifetime of bad behavior to live down.
Or to live up to, depending how one looked at it.
The thought made him grin.
Uncle Edward groaned as he ran a weary hand over his face. “That smile only ever leads to trouble.”
Damian laughed, heading toward the door. “Perhaps. But I can promise you this.” He paused in the doorway. “I have no nefarious hidden agendas when it comes to Miss Prudence Pottermouth.”
Uncle Edward’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “So you don’t have any…” He waved a hand, his expression pained. “Feelings for the girl.”
Damian laughed again, because honestly, the thought was ludicrous. He knew what his uncle meant by ‘feelings.’ He meant attraction. Desire.
It had been years since he’d seen the girl but all he felt when he thought of Miss Prudence Pottermouth was contempt.
3
Prudence’s great aunt wasted no time.
The very next morning, Prudence was summoned from the breakfast table—a table at which the servants had been ordered to provide only the bare minimum because of her ‘weight troubles.’
How mortifying.
Her stomach still rumbled with hunger as she left
