Page 9 of How to Ruin a Duke
A wonderful idea began to form from the misty half plans at the back of Simon’s brain.“Then let’s work together.I’ll help you and we’ll settle things for you.”
She bit her lip.“Why should you help me?”
“Because you have too much to do and not enough money.”
Rocking the flat-bladed tool back and forth, she opened a gap between neck and fingerboard and moved down the length of the violoncello, doing the same.“That’s the case for everyone in London except the Duke of Amorous or Emory, if this book is to be believed.”
“Not quite.As of today, I have notenoughto do and not enough money.”He nodded at her hand.“And there’s the matter of your right hand.”
She halted her work at once as if blasted by frost, and he knew he’d said the wrong thing.“I just mean…” He wasn’t used to fumbling for words, but it was very important to put this correctly.“I have a friend with an injured right hand.I wish I could help him more.”
I wish it wasn’t my fault.I wish it never happened.I’ll never be able to help him enough.
He was still saying everything wrong.Too much, too little at once.For a long moment, she regarded him, and he felt as if she were a judge about to render a verdict.“I was born like this,” she said.“It is not an injury, and I don’t need extra help because of it.”
“I understand.I put that badly.”
“Indeed you did.”
“But you do need help,” he pressed.“You just said everyone in London does.I certainly do.So maybe we can help each other.”
She popped free the long strip of ebony from the neck of the violoncello.“I don’t have money to pay an assistant, Mr.Thorn.”
“Call me Simon,” he offered.“If you like.And I wouldn’t ask for any pay until you’ve exceeded what you need for your lease.I’ve a random assortment of possibly useful skills, so I’ll handle everything for your shop but the repairs.You might try a new marketing strategy, perhaps: How to Ruin a Violin.”
A surprised laugh burst from her lips.“Fairweather’s is the luthier to the Crown!Such publicity would be undignified.”
“Perfect.The Crown is undignified at present.”An understatement.The Prince Regent was notorious for his profligacy and scandals.
“True.And the Crown has not paid the shop for some years.”Miss Fairweather took up a piece of fine-grained sandpaper.“There’s too much work for me already.How can I keep up if your methods succeed?”
Simon thought about this, then ticked off three possibilities.“You could charge more.Be more exclusive.Or you could move the shop elsewhere.”
“No.I can’t move the shop.”With the sandpaper, she rubbed at the roughened wood face exposed by the missing fingerboard.“For more than a century, people have found Fairweather’s here.Without the building, there’s no shop.Without the address, there’s no Fairweather’s.”
“All right, then you’ll have to charge more.That’s the best way to appear more exclusive while actually being less exclusive.”
“I would be excluding anyone who can’t pay an exorbitant price.”
“And why should you not?This is a business and your livelihood.You’ve the endorsement of the Crown, so why chase further blue bloods?You should be basing your decisions on money, not rank.”
“That’s a fair idea,” Miss Fairweather mused.“Thetonis the worst at paying their bills.”
“Ah!Maybe you need a skull-cracker to dun your clients who don’t pay.”
She choked.“Is that one of your random assortment of possibly useful skills?”
“Not so far, but I’m keen to try it out.”He shrugged.“I’ll do whatever’s needed to help you.What do you have to lose?”
“My home, my business, the reputation laboriously built by my forebears.But I suppose that’s the case whether you help or not.”
Drawing a lamp closer to the instrument, she eyed its sanded surface.Her every action indicated expertise, experience, a certainty that she was doing what she ought.It was lovely to watch, and he realized that he envied her.Not only her skill, but her place in the world.
For years, Simon had avoided having a place in the world.Or a home or a business.His reputation in Market Thistleton?Best not to think of that—which was why he had left, moved on, tried new employment, moved on again.
Miss Fairweather spoke up.“What do you want out of this partnership, if I agree?Are you keen to become a skull-cracker, or do you just need a way to make money?”
“My wishes are purely mercenary,” he admitted.“I need to send money home, and teaching one horn lesson at a time would never be enough.I need something steadier.Right now, I’m not busy enough for my own liking.”
