Chapter 9
Out of the corner of her eye, Sophie noticed Nicholas stuffing small balls of cotton into his ears.
Her eyes narrowed and she jabbed his arm. “Why are you doing that?”
His wide-eyed, innocent expression did nothing to fool her. Giving up the act, he grinned and winked. “I’m protecting my ears.”
Her jaw dropped. “From what?”
“Amateur musicians with more enthusiasm than skill.” He didn’t sound the least bit repentant.
Sophie glanced at her mother, who was seated on her other side, and was relieved that she was deep in conversation with another woman and not paying them any attention. “They’re not that bad. You’re being dramatic.”
“Am I?” He was clearly dubious.
At that moment, the beautifully rich notes of a cello played by someone who truly knew how to wield a bow flowed through the elegantly appointed music room, silencing them all.
Sophie gave him a knowing look and mouthed, “See?”
Everyone knew that Mrs. Helena Durant was a virtuoso on her cello. Even if she tried to put on a poor performance, she’d still be better than anyone else present.
She was that good.
Sophie leaned forward, eager to hear more. She’d admired Mrs. Durant from afar since her first season. They’d only exchanged a handful of words, but that had been enough.
Not only did Helena have hair that was just as red as Sophie’s and could create music capable of making grown men weep, but she possessed a confidence and sense of self that Sophie could only dream of.
As the song wrapped around them, she closed her eyes and lost herself in the rise and fall of a faultless melody played with a passion that was exceedingly rare. The music ended far sooner than she wanted, and she sighed as she opened her eyes and clapped, her heart aching for more.
“That was lovely, I grant you,” Nicholas said quietly.
“It was more than lovely.” Sophie dabbed at her eyes, embarrassed to find they were wet. “It was perfect.”
Brows furrowed, he looked down at her. “Hopefully, she’ll play again.”
“I’m sure she will. Likely to close out the event.” In Sophie’s opinion, it was always best to open and close a musicale with the best musicians possible so that people remembered them rather than any fumbling attempts in the middle.
Drawing in a deep breath, Sophie pulled herself together. She forced herself to look around the room rather than moon over Helena’s sheer talent and skill.
As far as she could tell, the room had been purpose-built for hosting events like this. There were rows of seats curved around a central dais, where there was an impressive collection of instruments just waiting to be played.
The colors were bold—predominantly shades of blue and gold—but the decor itself was understated. Sophisticated. The chairs were plush and comfortable, and she’d spotted at least one priceless work of art on the walls.
That was to be expected, of course.
Mr. Durant may not be an aristocrat, but he was exceedingly wealthy. He could buy and sell most of the peerage, if he so desired.
The next performance began. A young woman—perhaps a relation of the Wembley’s—played the harp. She was reasonably skilled, but her face was taut with nerves—hardly surprising given that she was following Mrs. Durant—and Sophie applauded louder than necessary when she was done.
A gentleman replaced the harpist and positioned a violin on his shoulder with a flourish. He then proceeded to play it very, very badly.
His body swayed to the music, and he seemed lost in a melody that existed only in his head.
Nicholas raised an eyebrow and pointed to the cotton in his ears. Sophie scowled. Perhaps he hadn’t been entirely wrong about the need for ear protection. She’d gratefully block out this ruckus if she could.
At least the poor man didn’t realize how terrible he was.
As he—finally—finished, she leaned close. “All right, I understand, but don’t you dare wear those while I’m playing.”
His fathomless black eyes crinkled at the corners, humor dancing in them. “I would never.”
She waited until her name was called and made her way onto the dais, the nerves she’d been trying to ignore curling in her gut.
She glanced at Nicholas, mollified to find him in the process of removing the cotton from his ears.
Her mother beamed at her and sent her a subtle gesture of encouragement.
Sitting at the piano, she was pleased to see that the music book was already open to the song she’d informed them she intended to play. She rested her fingers on the keys, inhaled slowly, and waited a moment before allowing herself to plunge into the deep, soulful piece.
The song was one she could easily perform. She tended not to stretch herself too much during performances. They unnerved her enough without making her worry that she might stumble over a note.
Her gaze on the page didn’t keep pace with her fingers, and she closed her eyes so the musical notes wouldn’t distract her, intent on feeling the music in her heart and letting that guide her.
The melody grew to a crescendo, layers of harmony collapsing in on each other until only one remained, true and clear. At the top, she paused for half a breath. Just long enough to build anticipation before surrendering to the song once more.
When she finished, she remained at the instrument for a few seconds, catching her breath. When she’d gathered herself enough that her legs could hold her weight, she stood, turned to the audience, and curtsied, then she hurried down the stairs and toward her seat.
As Sophie passed her mother, she smiled and whispered, “Well done.”
Sophie warmed inside. It wasn’t often that Lady Carlisle praised her. More often, she was chastised for being too forthright or, inversely, for holding too much of herself back.
She knew her own flaws. Sophie tended to either leap into things wholeheartedly or keep them at a distance and display no interest at all.
“Bravo,” Nicholas murmured. “That was exquisite, Lady Sophie.”
Her cheeks heated, and she pressed her fingertips to them, silently reminding herself that he was referring to her playing and not to Sophie herself. She was not exquisite. “Thank you.”
He uncurled his hand to show the cotton on his palm. “I wasn’t even tempted to put it in.”
Lady Carlisle leaned closer on her other side. “Excellently done, my dear. You should be very proud of yourself.” Catching Nicholas’s eye, she continued, “Shouldn’t she, Mr. Blackwell? Playing such as Sophie’s is rare indeed.”
His lips pressed into a thin line. “It is.”
“Certainly a trait to be admired,” her mother went on, doing her best to draw Nicholas’s attention to Sophie’s accomplishments.
Sophie wasn’t sure what she felt worse about: the fact that Lady Carlisle didn’t know that Nicholas wasn’t a real suitor or that he was subjected to her mother’s best attempts at matchmaking.
Potentially the former. Lady Carlisle had been so excited the first time Nicholas had called on Sophie to escort her on a walk in the park. When he’d offered to accompany them to the musicale, she had been ecstatic, confident that Sophie was finally allowing a worthwhile suitor to court her.
She’d be devastated if she knew the truth.
“I hold Lady Sophie and her musical prowess in the highest esteem,” Nicholas said, then fell quiet when the next performer ascended the dais.
The remainder of the performances passed quickly. There were many Sophie enjoyed and only a couple she’d rather have avoided. When Helena retook the stage, Sophie relaxed into her chair, closed her eyes, and basked in the unrivalled delight of her perfection.
Afterward, the guests were invited to partake in refreshments and mingle.
Nicholas escorted Sophie and her mother to the drinks table, and Sophie helped herself to a glass of cool, tart lemonade.
She stood to the side as she sipped, hiding her amusement at the fact that her mother had opted for the punch, which smelled strongly of wine.
Lady Carlisle had always enjoyed a drink or two.
When her glass was empty, she set it down and was about to start a conversation with her mother about an upcoming ball when the woman in question exclaimed that Lady Wembley was summoning her and hurried away.
Nicholas ducked his head, his breath whispering over the shell of Sophie’s ear. “How long must we stay before we can make our escape?”
She laughed. “It’s just as well you don’t regularly attend the balls of the marriage mart. You wouldn’t have the patience for them.”
“Hey now, that’s not fair. I love to dance. It’s just standing around and talking about nothing for the sake of propriety that confounds me.”
He stiffened beside her.
“Is something wrong?” Sophie asked.
Before he had the chance to reply, a familiar figure emerged from behind a lady in a rather large hat and smiled at Sophie.
“Good afternoon, Lady Sophie,” Mr. Garfield said, his brown eyes warm and open. “Your playing was lovely.”
Sophie’s spirits lifted. “Thank you, Mr. Garfield. That’s very nice of you to say.”
She had always been prone to falling for flattery. But wasn’t everyone? Who didn’t want to be told how talented and wonderful they were?
“I mean every word.” His earnest expression supported this.
“Lady Sophie.” This voice was rough and masculine, belonging to a distinguished but equally rugged man.
Colonel Moore. He bowed to her as he stopped beside Mr. Garfield.
“I’ve always appreciated music, and besides that of our especially skilled hostess, your performance tonight was the one that moved me most.”
Her heart gave a little flutter and her cheeks burned—no doubt turning the color of ripe strawberries. When the colonel focused those emerald-green eyes on her, any sensible thoughts fled her mind.
“Thank you, Colonel. That means more than I can say. I practice frequently, and it’s reassuring to know that it isn’t in vain.” Gosh, could she sound any more ninny-headed? “Do you have a favorite instrument?”