Chapter 2
“Slower… slower… do not rush…”
Sophia could hear her mother’s silent commands as if she was speaking them directly into her ear.
“Do not flourish, do not excite, let the music do the work for you…”
Sophia glanced quickly to her side, taking note of her mother who watched on in silence. But even in that silence, she could see the look in her mother’s eyes, the warning they held to concentrate and not to get ahead of herself.
It was when their eyes met that her mother widened her own, a warning to pay attention. Sophia snapped her attention back to the task at hand: playing the pianoforte as if her life depended on it.
In many ways it does. After all, is this not what I have been practicing for? Is this not the entire purpose of all the hard work I have put in? If not for this, then for what?
Although her parents often said that perfection did not exist, and the most that one could hope for was to touch perfection if only for a moment, Sophia admitted silently to herself that the way she played was indeed the very thing that she strode for: perfection like never before.
She was seated at the pianoforte, her back was straight, her shoulders were square, her chin was parallel with the floor, and her fingers sang as they danced across the ivory keys. Behind her sat two dozen spectators, and each to the last listened on in rapture.
Sophia was careful not to smile as she played. She was sure not to become lost in the music. She knew this song as if she had written it, but her eyes stayed fixed on the sheet of music, as if it were a leash used to tether her in place.
And when she was finished, striking the final note…
“Bravo!” a voice declared.
“Well done!”
“Masterful!”
The room broke into applause for her performance, and many people cheered as if it was the most wonderful piece of music they had ever heard.
Sophia, expecting this reaction, turned and offered a grateful smile for the room.
But it was a smile that was soft, not at all abrasive, and humble to its very core.
“She plays so well,” a gentleman at the front noted to the woman he was seated by.
“I have never heard its equal,” she heard a woman comment from somewhere among the audience.
“I wish I could play half as well,” another voice chortled.
Sophia found her mother, who did not smile with pride, but nodded once with acceptance.
Sophia was to play again at the end of the day, but this first performance was exactly what they had been working toward.
Even better, Sophia had been able to control herself, at no point allowing her passion or zest to take over.
“Sophia, dear…” Her mother was gesturing for her to move away from the pianoforte.
“Oh, yes…” Sophia smiled once more and stepped around the small crowd.
The small gathering was in the main hall, the manor itself belonging to a friend of Sophia’s mother.
Sophia knew most who were there, but there were plenty of faces she did not recognize on sight.
They were all older than she was, all lords and ladies of high reputation.
As she stepped away from the pianoforte, many smiled in appraisement.
She moved around the edges of the crowd, her first thought to approach her mother and sister. There, she would sit and listen as others performed, while her mother would be sure to point out faults in their performance, or highlight things that Sophia needed to do.
However, it was as she shuffled around the back of the guests, that Sophia heard something which gave her pause. Worse than that, she nearly tripped over herself in outright surprise.
“… no doubt she played beautifully,” the deep voice was saying from somewhere in the crowd. “But it was a little stale for my taste.”
“Stale how?” someone questioned.
“Her hands struck the keys, but her heart was noticeably absent,” the deep voice confirmed. “Music does not come from the head but from the heart, and until she learns to use it, I doubt she will ever be more than passable.”
Sophia’s eyes widened and what felt suspiciously like anger flooded through her. No… not anger, because Sophia did not get angry. Perhaps frustration? A need to find who was sullying her abilities, while setting the record straight. Yes, that’s what it was.
She searched the crowd, eyes narrowed, until they landed on the man who had spoken. She knew it was him too, because he found her watching and rather than appearing embarrassed at being overheard, he beamed with triumph and amusement.
It is as if he is proud to have slandered my performance!
His name was Lord Gabriel St. Clair, the Duke of Rothbury, and Sophia should not have been surprised one bit by what she heard.
She knew little of his reputation, enough to know that he was one to be avoided at all costs.
A known rake, a scoundrel of the highest order, and a damn embarrassment to his title… or so her father said.
He was tall and well proportioned. His hair was dark and far too messy.
His eyes were amber and somehow both cool and burning hot at the same time.
A square jaw, a pronounced chin, a perfectly shaped nose, that he was handsome was obvious and not worth noting.
Rather, it was how darn confident in himself he was which caused alarm, the type that mirrors seemed made for, as if they needed his presence about to make them feel useful.
Sophia’s stomach flipped when their eyes met. And her eyes widened in panic when he started toward her, gliding through the crowd as if he was able to float.
She took a calming breath. She centered herself. She remembered all the lessons her father and mother had taught her. And most of all, she did not focus on his looks! Doing such a thing would surely unsettle her more than words ever could.
“Good morning, Miss Sophia,” he greeted with an affable smile and a twinkle in his eyes. “A congratulations are in order, I believe. For that wonderful performance you have just now blessed us with.”
“I thank you, Your Grace,” she said politely. “But please, as any artist knows, criticism is an important part of improvement. Do not feel the need to coddle me.”
He grinned. “Ah, I take it you overheard my comments just now.”
“I did,” she said simply.
“And your thoughts?” He tilted his head as he studied her.
“I disagree with them, respectfully,” she said.
“So long as you are respectful about it,” he chuckled. “Pray do tell, what precisely do you disagree with? And please, honesty is encouraged.”
“I…” She considered what to say and how to say it. “I heard you refer to my rendition as stale.”
“I did.”
“I think you will agree that no one else would say as much. My performance was perfect, perhaps the best I have ever played. So, I cannot imagine how you could find such a thing stale. Perhaps it was the piece itself that failed to move you?”
He did not speak right away. Rather, he watched her in silence, a coy smirk on his plump lips, his amber eyes brimming with amusement that she did not fully understand. His entire presence unsettled her, and she sensed that even without him speaking, that she was being made fun of.
“On the contrary,” he spoke finally. “Would you believe that it is one of my favorite pieces? Why, there have been times where it has been known to move me to tears.”
“But not today?”
He shrugged. “Do not take offense, my lady, for I do not mean to give it. Better to be called stale and talented, than stale and lacking in talent.”
She frowned. “So, you think I am talented?”
“Unquestionably.”
“But you still did not like my performance?”
His coy smile grew, as did the twinkle in his eyes “How can I possibly, when I suspect that even you did not like it. Oh yes, you struck the key, you kept the melody, and you did exactly what was written on the page so that the average listener could enjoy themselves. But Miss Sophia…” He clicked his tongue.
“Honesty now, please. Surely, you cannot claim that what you just played had any real…” He clicked his tongue again. “Heart.”
“Heart?” Sophia frowned. “I am afraid I do not understand.”
“Yes, you do,” he laughed. “You just don’t want to admit it.”
“And why would I not want to admit such a thing?”
“Because doing so would be to admit your failings, and I doubt one with a reputation such that you have would dare to do such a thing as that…” He winked. “You play well, but lifelessly. You know this to be fact.”
“I…” Sophia felt it again… anger, she was sure. But she was careful not to let it show, because that would not do. “I disagree.”
“I am not surprised,” he said simply. “Will you admit, at least, that music is about more than the notes and the order in which they are played and arranged?”
“That is precisely what music is.”
He sighed and shook his head. “It is so much more than that. It is…” He considered and his smile grew as he touched his chest. “It is a feeling. It is life given sound. It is passion breaking through perception so that the only way to contain it – no, to let it shine, is to play it as you feel it in your soul.”
Sophia licked her lips as she tried to ignore the racing of her heart. The Duke’s words were… quite frankly, absurd. And was her father here, he would tell the Duke as much, she was sure of it.
And yet, deep down in the pit of her soul, Sophia knew exactly what the Duke meant. What was more, she knew that feeling well, at times had tried to contain this very feeling, but was always careful not to get too close lest it corrupt her.
“You and I have different opinions on the matter,” she said simply.
He laughed. “Is that all?”
“Is that all? What do you mean?”
“You are not going to argue? Defend your point?” He looked around them and flashed his eyes. “From what I have heard, most here thought your music transcendent, and I am in the minority. That alone should give you reason to fight for your beliefs.”