Chapter 1
“Keep your back straight…”
The Honorable Miss Sophia Ashbury straightened her back, as commanded. It was uncomfortable to do, as the seat upon which she sat had no cushion; removed on account of its comfort encouraging ‘complacency,’ she was told.
Comfort did not matter. The only thing that mattered was how perfectly Sophia’s fingers moved across the keys of the pianoforte.
Each note struck in time, the melody held precisely, and beauty created through the art of music in ways that might bring a tear to the eye…
was Sophia allowed to express such an emotion as that.
“Your chin, dear, keep it parallel with the floor.”
Sophia did as she was told, making certain that she did not bend her neck and look downwards.
Doing so would have surely made the task at hand easier, as it allowed her to see more clearly what she was doing.
But that was irrelevant, as by now she should have been able to do this with her eyes closed.
“Posture… your shoulders back, dear. And do not smile when you play. A straight face always, thank you.”
“Sorry, Mother,” she said. “I did not mean –”
“And no talking,” her mother, Lady Ashbury, corrected sharply. “Concentrate, dear. Perfection is what we seek, and as far as I can tell, we have some way until it is found. Not to mention, committed to.”
Sophia very nearly apologized a second time, but she caught herself before that fateful apology escaped her tongue. Rather, she did as she was told, striving to demonstrate the very perfection that her mother was so insistent would never be Sophia’s to call her own.
It was just Sophia and her mother in the music room this morning.
This was preferable for Sophia, as her mother was not quite as strict as her father… still strict in the most traditional sense, but when compared to Father, she is practically as soft as a kitten.
And because it was just the two of them, once Sophia found her rhythm, she was able to relax and let the music flow from her in ways that were second nature.
She almost closed her eyes as she played, because this was easier to do.
Once she found her fingers and the pacing, she could play as if she was born to it.
That was when she did something that she knew she never should: she smiled.
“Straight faced,” her mother corrected her immediately. “You do not want to give the impression that you are enjoying yourself too much.”
“But I am enjoying myself,” Sophia said lightly as she played. “As I hope those who listen will be too.”
Her mother exhaled sharply. “That is not the point, Sophia.”
“I know, Mother,” she said, sure to keep her tone level. “I only mean to highlight the very purpose of music.”
“And what is this purpose?”
“To invoke feelings of joy, and happiness… even sadness, depending on the song chosen.” Sophia played freely as she spoke, able to do both at once.
In fact, she had always found that it was when she wasn’t concentrating as hard, when she wasn’t so determined to hit all the keys precisely, that the music sounded even sweeter.
“The music yes,” her mother agreed. “But not the person playing it. You are not the maker, Sophia. You are merely the vessel. Let those whom music is played for decide how it should make them feel. They should not be influenced by your…” She breathed out sharply through her nose. “By your lack of self-control.”
“I understand, Mother,” Sophia said. “Well explained. Thank you.”
In answer to that, her mother nodded once. And all the while, she watched Sophia like a hawk so that nothing would be missed.
Although Sophia would never say it out loud, she did not agree entirely with her mother’s assessment. Where she understood the concept of her mother’s argument, she simply could not bring herself to accept its merits.
Why should I not enjoy the music I play as others do when they listen? If they feel joy and hope, why can I not experience the same? Why are emotions felt considered so wrong?
It was an age-old point of contention with Sophia, one that she had lived with her entire life. And not just where her music was concerned, but in all aspects of her life.
Sophia was the first daughter of a viscount and had thus been raised in a house of expectation and propriety.
From a young age, she had been molded to fit the image of a perfect lady of the ton; one who knew her role in society and what she could and not do to fulfill that role.
She was to be polite. She was to be behaved.
She was to be agreeable, emotionless, and never one to argue or cause a fuss.
Most of all, she was to be perfect.
“Yes, yes…” her mother crooned as Sophia played. “Just like that… no, no, don’t rush it… there it is, good girl.” Her mother nodded with approval. “Just as you have been taught.”
Sophia did not need the sheet of music that was set in front of her, but she held her gaze on it, nonetheless, because it reminded her not to get carried away as she might have liked.
Having been playing the pianoforte now for as long as she could remember, she yearned to push her skills beyond what was written on the page.
No, no… there is no need for it. It is perfect as written. And even were it not so, it is not up to me to correct it. Never correct it.
“Music to my ears.” From behind where Sophia was practicing, she heard her father, the Viscount of Ashbury, commend her playing. “Well done, Sophia.”
Sophia finished her piece and turned to see her father striding toward her. She offered him a grateful smile but was sure not to let it grow too vivacious. Pois and control were what her father wanted to see.
“Thank you, Father,” she said simply. “I think I am ready.”
“No doubt you do.” He walked to her mother and rested a loving hand on her shoulder. He then gave that shoulder a light squeeze, her mother returned it with a grateful smile, and that was as much affection as the two ever showed one another.
“Do we know who will be attending tomorrow?” Sophia asked.
“Does it matter?” her father asked.
“No,” Sophia said. “Just curious, Father.”
“You could be playing for the King, and I would expect the same performance, Sophia. It is what you have been working toward.” He nodded once to confirm the comment. “Let me worry about who is there. From you, all that is needed is perfection.”
“I am still not entirely satisfied,” her mother said with a click of her tongue. “It sounded rushed. A little…” She considered. “Hyper.”
“I do not think I was rushing,” Sophia said. She then saw the way her mother’s lip tightened. “But if you think that I was…”
“I will leave the two of you to it,” her father said. “I just wished to stop in and remind you of the importance of tomorrow, Sophia. Everything must be perfect.”
“It will be, Father.”
“The confidence I admire,” he said. “But do not allow yourself to get carried away. An overly confident nature leads to complacency, which leads to error, which forces one to improvise through mistakes that should not have occurred in the first place. Sophia…” He stepped toward her.
“Do you understand what I am telling you?”
Sophia knew very well what her father was telling her. And was it not for his perfectly clear explanation of the matter, it was the hundred times he had told her before. Thousands even, if one countered the many times he had said as much to her since the day she was old enough to talk.
In Sophia’s mind, her father was being a tad too cautious.
After all, tomorrow was nothing more than a small gathering of her family’s friends where Sophia was expected to play for them.
She had done as much a hundred times, and despite her father’s warning, was feeling perfectly confident in her ability.
Although, and she knew this well enough by now, tomorrow was not the only concern that her father had.
Sophia was twenty years old now, officially a lady, and as a lady this coming Season promised to be the most important in her life.
It was when she was expected to meet the man who she would one day call her husband, and if this man was to live up to standards her family had set, so to did Sophia have to live up to those same standards.
She needed to be the perfect lady. If she was not perfect, then she would not find the perfect husband, and then all her parents’ plans for her would be in ruins.
Did it matter that Sophia often felt like a fraud in the way that she was forced to act? Time and time again, she wanted to laugh, to argue, to play music how she wanted to play it. Dammit, she wanted to enjoy herself!
But if I did that, I would not be who my parents raised me to be. And if I am not that, then what am I? Who would have me? What would my life become, but one of chaos and loneliness?
A dreary and depressing thought, it might be, but her parents insisted it was the truth. And who was Sophia to argue against such rationale as that?
“I understand, Father,” Sophia answered because she knew that was what her father wished to hear.
“I know you do…” His smile was soft, and it vanished almost as soon as it appeared. “I shall leave you both to it.” A nod of the head and he strode from the room.
“Again.” Her mother indicated for Sophia to face the keys. “And this time, Sophia, do not rush. You know how it is to sound, you know the melody, do not try and play around what has already been perfected. You are the vessel, not the creator.”
“Sorry, Mother…” Sophia turned to face the keys, gently placing the tips of her fingers on the ivory. “I promise to do better this time.”
“I know you will. Now…” She clapped her hands. “Again.”
Sophia did as she had been taught. And not just as it concerned her skills with the pianoforte, but all aspects of her life. It was unbecoming for a lady to make herself the center of attention, as to blend in and go unnoticed was infinitely more refined.