The Melody of A Lady’s Heart (Preview)

Chapter One

Helena paced the attic floor, tapping a paintbrush against her mouth. Inspiration continued to elude her, frustrating each of her efforts to complete her latest painting. Her canvas was currently a blob of colours, but no picture would emerge no matter how hard she tried.

“Why do I continue to torture myself? A simple painting of a meadow or a mountain would have sufficed!”

Alas, Helena could not bring herself to dabble in the usual boring landscapes that so many amateur artists preferred. She was bone-weary of creating conventional paintings. However, if Helena didn’t complete this painting soon, people would go without.

“Charlotte requires a new coat before the winter sets in, and Murphy could do with some trousers.”

The rest of the money she would get from selling the painting would be set aside for the ever-present needs of the less fortunate.

Selling her growing hoard of paintings had been a marvellous idea. Not only had it rid the attic of clutter, but it had also enabled Helena to help others. The buyers had no notion that Helena was the artist behind the paintings. They believed the artist to be an eccentric gentleman by the name of H A Pembar. In fact, it was actually Helena Anastasia, and Pembar was a mixture of Pembroke (her father’s title right) and Barclay (her family name).

“I do not think that many would buy my paintings if they knew a woman had painted them.”

Lady Helena Anastasia Barclay was respected and adored by many, but she was still a woman in a male-dominated society.

She could not count the number of times I have seen my paintings grace the walls of men who would be simply horrified to discover that a woman had painted their masterpieces.

Blowing away a few wisps of golden hair that had settled on her brow, Helena sat before her unfinished canvas, tilting her head this way and that. Perhaps looking at it from a different angle would help her creativity flow.

Three knocks, a pause, and two knocks sounded on the door. That could only be one person. Smiling, Helena crossed the room, unlocking the door.

“Have I been summoned already?” she asked. “Who is it this time?”

Rose, her handmaiden and best friend shook her head. “Have you forgotten already? Miss Torrey and Miss Ahlers have come for afternoon tea.”

Helena looked heavenward, slapping her brow with her palm. “Goodness! Is it Tuesday already? I was almost certain it was Monday.”

“Is it any wonder? You’ve been in this room for nigh three hours without a break. It’s a Godsend to have your friends occupy you for an hour or two. What good is it to stare at a canvas and do nothing? Surely a walk about the garden or reading a book would serve to stimulate your creativity better?”

Perhaps Rose was right. Helena had been staring at her unfinished work for some time, thinking that she would receive some inspiration from the colours she had already applied to the canvas.

“You have the annoying habit of being the voice of reason in my life.”

Rose choked out a little chuckle. “Annoying habit? I would think ’tis a fine habit to have! You spend your days in the clouds, and I simply bring you down to earth when ’tis required.” The woman leaned forward, rubbing a spot on Helena’s face. “I suggest you give your face a wash unless green is an acceptable rouge for your cheeks.”

“Yes, Mother,” Helena replied.

Rose laughed. “Cheeky! I will let your friends know that you will be down soon. And do try to make an effort this time. One would think I’m not doing my job by allowing you to greet your guests with paint-stained clothing.”

Helena nodded, tapping her friend’s nose with her paintbrush. “Yes, Rose,” she said, grinning at the paint smudge. “Yellow is certainly your colour.”

Pursing her lips, Rose rubbed the paint away. “Be thankful, I adore you. Do not be a minute later than ten,” she said, turning away.

Helena quickly put her art supplies away, soaking her paintbrushes in water. She would have to return later to thoroughly clean and dry them or risk ruining them. They had belonged to Helena’s grandfather before he passed them down to her after discovering her love for the art form.

Giving the attic a last glance, she locked it behind her. This room was her sanctuary, and few people were allowed inside.

Much like my mind. She thought. I show only what I wish to, and the rest remains hidden. Only a few people can boast to truly know me.

Some people believed Helena to be rather eccentric in her behaviour and beliefs, while others thought her the spoilt daughter of an Earl. Helena was both, but also neither. She knew herself to be a complicated creature with thoughts that did not fit the current society constructs. Nevertheless, her charm and beauty disarmed everyone, and they forgave her ‘oddities.’ Helena longed to be in the company of someone who appreciated her passion for life, and didn’t put it down to restlessness. She snorted, shaking her head as she made her way to her bedchamber.

That person, male or female, must live on the other side of the world.

Still, it would be wonderful, wouldn’t it?

Wearing a clean dress and spotless face, Helena entered her private parlour twelve minutes later. She wasn’t one for rules, anyway.

“Helena!” Sophie exclaimed, rising from her chair. “We wondered what was keeping you. We sent your handmaiden to find you well over ten minutes ago.”

Helena turned her cheek, lightly tapping it against Sophie’s cheek. She did the same to Candace before settling in her usual chair.

“Oh, you know I cannot be bothered by keeping time, but I am glad that you both came to see me. I see you’ve been served refreshments already.”

Candace, short and unfashionably plump, held up her teacup. “We certainly have. Rose never keeps us waiting. She always sees to us immediately. I wish my handmaiden was as mindful.”

Poor Candace was gifted a handmaiden that was about as useful as a candle without a wick. The woman- Clara- was slow, hard of hearing, and spoke with a broad accent that made it difficult for the hearer to understand her.

“At least you know Clara adores you,” Helena offered. “She simply needs some guidance.”

“I suppose there’s that,” Candace conceded. “Perhaps Rose can take my Clara under her wing and school her in the art of servantship.”

Helena almost laughed out loud. Rose had no patience for people who could not grasp the simplest of concepts. There was the slim chance that Rose would show pity and long-suffering, but the odds were not in Clara’s favour.

“I will speak to her for you,” Helena assured. “But I cannot promise anything. Rose is always quite busy. She’s my handmaiden, but Mama tends to borrow her as well. Her efficiency is in demand.”

“Oh,” said Candace, a tad disappointed. “Well, I suppose that will have to do.”

Helena turned sharply to Sophie when she blew out a gust of exasperated air.

“What has you so bothered?” Helena questioned.

“All this talk of servants is boring me!” her friend replied. “Surely we can find a better topic?”

Sophie always seemed to be chasing excitement wherever she could find it. She would chase her own tail if she could.

Slightly amused, Helena raised her eyebrows. “Then, by all means, tell us what you wish for us to converse about.”

“Well, the London Season, for starters. ‘Tis right around the corner, and neither one of us have discussed our outfit ideas yet.”

“There are still months left, Sophie,” Candace countered. “I cannot think so far in advance.”

Sophie rolled her eyes. “That is what you always say, and then you end up procrastinating. You of all people should be worried about what you will wear to flatter your corpulent figure.”

Helena groaned. It was just like Sophie to put her foot in her mouth. The young woman didn’t mean anything nasty by her words, but her mouth did tend to run away with her.

Candace’s corn blue eyes watered, her little nose growing bright red.

“You do say the most horrid things, Sophie,” the tearful woman accused.

Helena merely sat back and let her friends sort out their little spat. A stranger to their quarrelling would try to step in and fix things, but Helena knew better. Pouring herself a cup of tea, she got comfortable.

“Upon my word, that’s not what I meant, Candace,” Sophie insisted. “What I meant to say is that it might be a little more challenging to disguise a pudgy belly.”

Candace uttered a despairing cry, burying her round face behind a lace handkerchief. Sophie’s face showed pure horror as she grabbed her mouth with both hands. Dear me. Sophie has never learnt to filter her words, has she?

“Oh, for the love of England,” Sophie exclaimed. “I don’t know how to make your weight sound any better!”

Helena’s mouth twitched. She’s digging herself a hole. I might just have to step in after all. I suppose I shall have to use a bit of gossip, although I loathe all it stands for.

“Did you hear that Meredith Slanger ran away with her beau?”

Candace’s sniffles immediately ceased. “Prudent Meredith? The vicar’s daughter?”

“The very same,” Helena affirmed. “Her father wished her to marry another, and poor Meredith couldn’t handle the thought of living without Mark Henry. Her mother is beside herself with worry.”

“Oh, how awful!” Sophie empathised. “I too would elope if my father ever thought to marry me off to a man I do not love.”

Candace did not feel the same way. “But to elope? Surely there are other ways to deal with such matters? What will they do for money? Imagine going without food for even a day!”

And there it is. Helena was waiting for Candace to centre the conversation around food. This must be her new record. She usually brings up food much earlier.

Sophie rolled her eyes. “Oh, Candace! Not everything is about food. We’re speaking about the sake of true love, and you’re worried about where the couple will get their next meal. I assure you that one day without food will not kill them.”

“But it will make things rather challenging,” Candace said, defending her statement. “Imagine sitting alone under some bridge in this cold weather with growling bellies. They might frighten each other and think it an animal prowling around them.”

Helena burst out laughing, startling her friends. She hadn’t meant to laugh, she really hadn’t, but the image Candace had painted was too amusing to ignore.

“What has tickled you?” a bemused Candace asked.

“You and your ridiculous arguments, that’s what,” Sophie said. “Growling bellies frightening them? The thought! Oh, let’s speak of something else now. I tire of this topic.”

“Addle-pate,” Candace muttered.

Sophie must not have heard the comment because she gave no reaction, but Helena had definitely heard it. Thank goodness, Sophie did not hear Candace refer to her as a fool. I have no patience for her temper today.

“The London Season is set to have a record amount of suitors,” Sophie related excitedly. “And if I am to impress, I simply must have the right dresses and gowns. I’ll need at least eight gowns for the balls, several riding outfits, and a few walking dresses. And do not get me started about the accessories! Mother has promised to give me her sapphire set to wear at the opening ball.”

“The one she wore to the Blake dinner party last week?” Candace asked.

“The very same,” Sophie boasted. “She received numerous compliments that evening. I cannot help but think that if I wore them, I would be noticed as well. Then I will be sure to find a suitor by the end of the Season!”

Their quarrel forgotten about, Helena’s friends launched into a detailed conversation about the London Season, what they will possibly wear, which men would be attending, and who their competition was. This Season would be Helena’s first, but she would have prolonged it if she could. However, at eighteen, it was almost mandatory to be presented as an eligible woman. I am not at all looking forward to being bombarded by men all looking to marry Lord Pembroke’s daughter. I think I must walk around with a sign above my head that advertises the wealth and prestige a man would obtain by marrying me. Helena could quite happily avoid the entire Season and stay at home while the Ton exhausted themselves on the countless frivolities available at their fingertips.

Pushing the Season aside, Helena’s mind drifted to the painting that lay unfinished upstairs. I hate that my creativity has come to a dead end. There was nothing worse than a stagnant imagination, but Helena could do nothing about it. She just needed something to stimulate her once again and bring her mind to life. Helena could not recall any other time in her life where her creativity had simply ceased, and it worried her. Was she losing her joie de vivre?

“You’ve gone quiet all of a sudden,” Candace commented, reaching for another biscuit. “Are you not excited about the London Season? I am sure you will receive a great many offers for your hand. Not only are you beautiful, but you are also Lord Pembroke’s only daughter.”

That was just the problem, wasn’t it? “I cannot be excited about something I have never been to. Mama and Papa have attended countless Seasons, and have told me often enough about it, but it doesn’t appeal to me in the slightest. Perhaps I’ll change my mind once I get to London.”

That was unlikely to happen. Helena knew precisely what London was like, and she could appreciate its uniqueness lifestyle and pace of life, but she preferred the countryside.

“Must you always be so odd?” said Sophie. “If I were in your position, I would take full advantage of it. Could you imagine how many suitors would vie for my attention?”

Helena shook her head when Sophie’s face took on a dreamy expression. Her friend was far too preoccupied with thoughts of the opposite sex and was by far the more forward of them. Sophie wasn’t against a little flirtation with a handsome gentleman, but Helena often had to rein her in when the gentleman’s interest took a turn for the worse. Candace was the wallflower of their group, but with a little nudging she could gain just as much attention as Sophie did. Both women were pretty and would do well at the London Season.

Helena frowned when she heard scratching at the door. It took her a moment to realise it was likely her little Jack Russell wanting attention. The puppy usually stayed in the kitchen where it was warm, but every now and then it sought Helena out and demanded to be cuddled on her lap.

Leaving her seat, Helena opened the door for the little creature. “Hera,” she cooed. “Have you come to say hello?”

Helena scooped the animal into her arms, laughing when the puppy licked her cheek.

“Another puppy?” Candace asked, somewhat amused. “You might need to start an animal sanctuary at the rate you’re going.”

“There is plenty of space on the estate,” Helena assured. “And Hera is such a sweetheart that everyone falls in love with her immediately.”

Sophie eyed the dog distastefully. “Not me. I cannot understand anyone’s fixation on animals. They are simply dirty, stinky, and loud creatures that should be kept outside.”

Sophie had had a bad experience with a neighbour’s dog and now apparently had a phobia about all animals.

“Perhaps you should give them a chance,” Helena suggested, stroking Hera’s velvety head. “You might be surprised.”

“No, thank you,” Sophie affirmed. “Oh! I almost forgot to tell you that Father has arranged a box at the next opera performance. I know that Candace is not fond of theatre houses, but perhaps you would like to attend with me?”

“Oh? Which performance is it?”

Sophie scrunched up her face in concentration. “I don’t quite recall the name. I know that it’s a love story. The performance has received high acclaim in London, and now they are in town to give a few performances. I, for one, do not wish to miss it. What if I am asked about it once we get to London? The other women would think me uncultured if I cannot discuss it in great detail. Promise me that you’ll attend with me, Helena? The box is so close to the stage that you can see everything!”

It had been a while since their town had hosted an opera performance despite having one of the best music conservatoires and opera houses in England.

“When will this performance take place?” Helena inquired.

“About a week from today, I think. So, will you accompany me?” the woman pressed. “It will be great fun!”

Opera performances always tended to invoke a lot of emotion within a person. Perhaps if Helena attended it, she might find a solution to her dried-up well of creativity. I would do anything at this point to gain some inspiration and complete my painting.

“I would very much like to accompany you, Sophie. Will we arrive in separate carriages?”

Sophie’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “Indeed? You will come? Splendid! Oh, we could take your carriage as it is the fanciest. I remember we received much attention the last time we were all together in the same carriage.”

“Your life seems to revolve around gaining attention,” Candace remarked.

“While yours revolves around food,” Sophie bit back.

“Oh, dear,” Helena sighed. “It seems that the two of you are back at it again. Will I have to suffer your quarrelling for the remainder of the afternoon? Do warn me now. I am certain that neither one of you would want a potential suitor to know that you argue over petty things. Men do not like that sort of behaviour.”

That seemed to get through to the women. Candace’s face coloured as she stretched for another biscuit, but Sophie, ever the stubborn one, merely sipped her tea as though she were not to blame. Life is certainly never dull with these two around.

Chapter Two

Other than playing the violin, Nathaniel believed that musical training was his calling. His class had improved in leaps and bounds, surpassing even his expectations of what would be achieved before the summer season began. Nathaniel’s students were hungry for knowledge, and the prestige that music would bring. The hard truth was that not everyone would attain the heights of Mozart, Beethoven, or even Handel. He knew this only too well because he had yet to reach the acclaim of musical geniuses before him. One day, my talent will be noticed by the world, and my name will be added to history books.

At twenty-three, Nathaniel felt ready to take on the world and prove to everyone that he was someone to be recognised. However, until that moment happened, he was content to teach music to a class of eager students.

“Sir?” a student called.

“Yes, Mr Russo?”

“The class and I would appreciate it if you would play something for us. We feel that it will give us the encouragement we need to excel and possibly reach great musical heights.”

Nathaniel hesitated. He wasn’t one to deviate from a lesson plan, preferring to keep to a schedule.

“I don’t know about that, Mr Russo. We have a sizeable amount of theory to cover today, and I would hate for my class to be behind the others.”

The musical teachers had an ongoing competition that no one spoke about but was known by everyone. Each teacher wanted their class to produce the highest amount of musicians who will go on to attain some kind of attention for their art. Nathaniel was currently leading, but that could change at any moment.

“Please, sir,” the student pleaded. “We promise that we will make up for any lost lesson time. We’ll

stay in after everyone leaves if that is what it takes.”

Nathaniel looked at his students’ eager faces, torn between completing the lesson and giving in to their pleas. I suppose they do deserve something for all their hard work.

“Very well,” he acquiesced. “Which instrument will it be?”

“The violin, of course!” another student called out.

Nathaniel smiled. That was his preferred instrument; the one that had started his musical career. He remembered his grandfather handing him an old violin and telling Nathaniel to make use of it. To everyone’s surprise, Nathaniel had played something from memory without a bit of formal instruction in sight. Of course, the musical piece had not been perfect- far from it- but his ability to pick up music at the tender age of five had not gone unnoticed. From then on, the violin became a significant part of Nathaniel’s life, and although he learnt to play other instruments, he always came back to his beloved violin.

A ruddy-faced student brought Nathaniel’s violin, holding it in reverent awe. Non-musical people would mock this man’s respect for the art, but Nathaniel used it to flame his students’ passion for music.

The same student brought a stool to the front of the class, using a handkerchief to remove imaginary dust. Smiling, Nathaniel sat down, positioning the violin on his left side, resting his chin on the chin rest. He flexed his fingers once, twice stroking the smooth wood. Eyes closed, Nathaniel drew the bow against the taut strings, creating a symphony of sound that seemed to flow from his very body. He played one of his own pieces, one of the few he allowed others to hear. Some of Nathaniel’s music was far too intimate, baring parts of himself that no one was privy to. He wouldn’t call himself a composer just yet, but that was precisely what he was doing during his free time- composing music.

The piece Nathaniel played was dark, brooding, and angry. It was a taste of the feelings he kept hidden away; emotions that he blamed on his father. Nathaniel didn’t know the man personally, but James Maxwell, Viscount of Brooklyn, was undoubtedly a man known by most.

Opening his eyes, Nathaniel witnessed the effect his music was having on his students. Some looked horrifyingly spellbound, while others appeared to be sorrow-filled. Grimacing, he decided to end his personal piece and play a more jovial one by Vivaldi. The mood of the classroom immediately brightened, and Nathaniel could see his students come alive. Perhaps I should reserve the heavy pieces for my own ears.

Finishing off with a flick of his bow on the E string, Nathaniel stood up and bowed as the class clapped and cheered for him. He set the instrument aside, calling his class to order.

“Settle down now. We wouldn’t want Monsieur Debussy to come in here and give us all a sound scolding.”

Nathaniel’s students immediately calmed down, but their smiles remained. Glancing at his pocket watch, he calculated they had ten minutes left of the lesson. I don’t think I will be able to convince them to do theory when they can hardly stay in their seats. There was nothing worse than being abruptly kicked off one’s high mood.

“Monsieur Baudelaire, would you permit us to ask a few questions?” said Mr Russo.

I suppose that’s an idea to while away what’s left of our time. “That depends on whether it’s musical based.”

“It certainly is,” the young man assured.

“Very well. What is it you wish to know?”

“When were you discovered as a musical prodigy? I heard you were quite young, and it was wholly by mistake.”

Nathaniel could answer this question. “I was five when I was handed the violin. The rest is history.”

Another hand shot up. “Sir, your mother was once a highly acclaimed opera singer. Can you perhaps sing as well?”

Was? “She is still a highly acclaimed opera singer, Mr Kenneth. She is simply retired. And to answer your question, I can somewhat sing, although my mother might think differently.”

The class laughed. What Nathaniel said was true enough. Claudette Baudelaire-Collette was a puritan when it came to music, and if a person did not meet her standards, then they could not call themselves a musician. While Nathaniel’s talents lay with musical instruments, his mother had tried to push his singing abilities. However, he had fallen short of her expectations and was labelled a croaking bullfrog.

Nathaniel almost didn’t hear the heavy knocking at the door amidst his class’s excitement, but fortunately, he was close enough to the door to catch the end of it. And just as well he did because his employer stood on the other side of the door. The sixty-something-year-old stood with his hands behind his back, his bushy moustache twitching.

“Monsieur Debussy!” Nathaniel exclaimed. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”

Had the man heard the class commotion? I hope this will not be a slight against my reputation as a professional. I should have never let the class talk me into playing something for them.

“I need to speak with you in my office, Monsieur Baudelaire.”

That didn’t sound good. “Right now, sir?”

“That is what I said. Kindly follow me.”

“My class has mere five minutes left of their lesson, Monsieur Debussy. Shall I come once I have dismissed them?”

The older man’s eyebrows lifted a fraction. “Can you not elect someone to keep them in line? Are they so boisterous that they cannot be left for even five minutes?”

“No, sir. Please, one moment while I inform them I’ll be leaving the class.”

The man nodded. “Go ahead.”

After quick instructions about their coming lesson and what to prepare, Nathaniel hurried after his employer, his stomach in knots. I have never been called to his office during a lesson. What can this mean for me?

The man entered his office, not bothering to look backwards as he ordered Nathaniel to close the door. Polite manners do not hurt anyone, but his man seems beyond such common courtesy.

“Take a seat, Monsieur Baudelaire. I have much to tell you.”

Nathaniel did as he was told, but he kept to the edge of his seat. Monsieur Debussy linked his hands on his desk, his breathing a little heavier than necessary. Nathaniel found that men with thick moustaches tended to breathe louder than most as though their facial hair was some sort of obstruction.

“I have wonderful news for you, Monsieur Baudelaire. The town’s opera house has approached me with a plea to help them with their upcoming show.”

What did that have to do with him? “That’s wonderful, sir.”

“Indeed, it is. But you see, I need your assistance in order to help them.”

“Mine, sir? What can I do to help?”

The man smiled, putting a little fear into Nathaniel. The master of the Olivier Bizet School of Music was not a man who showed much emotion other than that of distaste and anger.

“I was hoping you would say those very words. You see, their main violinist has suddenly taken ill and can no longer be a part of the orchestra.”

Nathaniel could see where this was heading. “That is a shame.”

“For the man, yes, but for us, it isn’t. The opera house is in need of your skill to make the performance a success.”

“Which performance is it?”

“Giulio Cesare.”

That stopped Nathaniel cold. “I beg your pardon?”

“Giulio Cesare. I know that you are familiar with it.”

Nathaniel was more than familiar with it. This was the same performance where his mother had been the prima donna and had played the role of Cleopatra. This was the same time she met and fell in love with Nathaniel’s father, only to have him leave her for another woman whom he soon married. It didn’t matter that his mother had been five months pregnant at the time. The only thing that had mattered to Nathaniel’s father was marrying a woman with the right family, status, and power. As far as Nathaniel was concerned, the performance was a curse for his family.

“I’m afraid I cannot do it, sir.”

Monsieur Debussy was clearly taken aback. “I do not understand what you are saying. Are you attempting to turn down this once in a lifetime offer?”

“With all due respect, sir, that is precisely what I am saying.”

The man gave a short bark of laughter, fiddling with his moustache as he sat back in his chair.

“I don’t think that you understand what you are saying, Monsieur Baudelaire. Taking this temporary position will showcase your talent and bring attention to the conservatoire. This might even bring in donors willing to gift the school with much-needed funds. Do you understand what I am saying?”

Nathaniel understood perfectly. There was simply no way that he could say no to this offer or his employer might take action. Losing my job is not on the cards.

“Yes, sir. I understand, and I agree to take on this position.”

“Good on you, my good fellow!” the man said brusquely, standing up.

Nathaniel stood up as well, taking his employer’s outstretched hand. Monsieur Debussy squeezed Nathaniel’s hand a little more than was necessary, likely in a warning.

“This will be good for you and for us. I hear that many powerful and influential people will be attending the opera. I will have the opera house announce our conservatoire at least once to put our name out there. Who knows what will happen?”

The man’s excitement was palpable. It’s all well and good for me, but I doubt it will bring much of a change in my life. It looked like Monsieur Debussy was keen on taking all the credit for Nathaniel’s performance.

“How long do I have to practice the music?”

“One week.”

Nathaniel didn’t think he had heard right. “One week?”

“That’s right. I am sure you can learn the music by then, yes? Your future and that of the conservatoire depend on it.”

What the man truly meant was if Nathaniel did anything to bring embarrassment upon them, there would be consequences. I suppose I can do this.

“Well, I am always up for a challenge, sir.”

“That’s what I like to hear. Now, you may leave my office. Have a good day, Monsieur Baudelaire.”

“Yes, thank you, sir.”

Nathaniel left the office quickly, worried that the man might give him extra work to do. With the day officially ended, at least he could go home and prepare himself for the week ahead. On second thought, the best woman to talk to would be his mother. After all, she had played the leading female role in this very opera and had her life irreversibly changed by the events that followed it.

Gathering up his bag from his classroom, Nathaniel left the school a troubled man.

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“The Melody of A Lady’s Heart” is an Amazon Best-Selling novel, check it out here!

When Lady Helena Barclay is moved to tears by a violinist’s performance at the opera, she’s inspired to learn the instrument. The violin might not be suitable for a proper lady, but following the rules has never been Helena’s strong suit anyway. After convincing her parents to hire a tutor, she is shocked to discover her instructor is none other than the violinist she met at the opera. For the first time in her life a man has caught Helena’s interest, and she can’t stop thinking about him. When her parents start fearing she’s getting too close with the mysterious musician, they take her away to London. Will Helena lose her chance to explore the depths of her connection to this captivating man?

Ever since his noble father left his mother, Nathaniel Baudelaire is characterised by a deep detestation of aristocrats. When he is forced to tutor the spoiled daughter an earl, he immediately resolves to do everything in his power to make her give up. What he never expected was to come face to face with the very woman who enthralled him recently at the opera. She quickly proves his original assumptions wrong, and he is swept up in her colourful world. However, just when Nathaniel begins to come to terms with having feelings for her, she is taken away from him. Will he let the woman who gave his life meaning slip away, or will he set aside past hurts and follow his heart’s desire?

Misunderstandings, people with nefarious intentions and society are determined to keep Helena and Nathaniel apart. Still, neither can forget the magical moments they shared and the powerful feelings between them. As they’re torn apart and a new suitor is thrust into the mix for Helena, all hope seems to be lost. Will their love be strong enough to overcome impossible hurdles, or are they doomed to live a life of longing from afar? Will their broken hearts ever become whole again?

“The Melody of A Lady’s Heart” is a historical romance novel of approximately 80,000 words. No cheating, no cliffhangers, and a guaranteed happily ever after.

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