CHAPTER TWO
A satisfied smile graced Emily’s lips as the melody flowed from her fingertips.
She closed her eyes, warmth radiating through her as she gracefully moved her fingers across the keys of pianoforte.
A stark contrast to the cold, judgmental world of high society and the ton was the local orphanage she supported.
Teaching the children here how to play the pianoforte—an instrument she was pretty skilled in—and offering her organizational skills where needed had become her solace. It gave her a sense of purpose other than finding a worthy match and being wed.
Six years after her debut and the unfortunate circumstances that followed, she withdrew to her family’s country estate, spending time by herself or at the orphanage.
The sound of the children’s laughter and voices, accompanied by the soft notes she played, were seemingly enough consolation for the heartaches she felt due to the status society held her to.
“Remember, Josephine, you don’t have to force anything. Let the music flow through and from you,” she told the young girl seated next to her. A gentle smile curled her lips. “You have to feel to be able to play well.”
Some of the children surrounded them, watching with a mix of eagerness, curiosity and concentration.
Josephine nodded, her eyes keen on her instructor’s fingers as the music slowly faded out.
“Your turn,” Emily urged, moving slightly so Josephine could play.
The young girl positioned herself to try. Closing her eyes, she brought her fingers to the keys and began playing. Seconds later, she opened her eyes, and a disbelieving smile crossed her face. She glanced at Emily, who was beaming with pride.
“Like this, Lady Emily?” she asked.
Emily placed a hand on her back. “You’re doing great, Josephine.
Exactly like that. You possess a natural talent.
” She listened until Josephine’s number was done, relishing the melodious notes that floated in the air.
Some of the other children swayed their heads to the tune. While others watched with wide eyes.
Everyone knew how Josephine had struggled for a while with her lessons, and to some, it was incredible how well she had eventually progressed. Emily always knew she would be great at it. The girl had immense potential.
When Josephine hit the last note, a loud cheer erupted from the children. A roar of applause followed, and Emily joined in. Gratitude flashed in Josephine’s eyes, and she grinned toothily, excitement bubbling within her.
“Well done, Josephine,” Emily told her. The young girl wrapped her arms around Emily’s waist, hugging her tightly.
“Thank you, Lady Emily,” she squealed.
“You’re most welcome, my darling. You see, music is as much about feeling as it is about technique. Continue to trust yourself and never shy away from your feelings. You’ll find the beauty in every note.”
The other children listened intently—as did Josephine—a look of admiration in their eyes.
A sense of fulfilment washed over her, and contentment swelled inside her.
Every single time she came here, she was reminded that there were people—regardless of status—who valued her for who she was and not her ability—or inability-to be married.
That was enough for her, and it always would be.
Here, she was away from the pressures of society and the ton’s judgment. Here, she was free to just be herself.
One by one, she patiently taught each child who showed interest in the pianoforte, and they took turns playing.
“Lady Clifton, please can we play the duet you taught us last week?” One of the children, a boy named Peter, asked with enthusiasm. “I’ve been practising every day.”
Emily chuckled heartily. “Of course, Peter. I don’t see why not. Come show me what you’ve been practising.”
***
Marcus Holbrooke grimaced. He stood watching his reflection as his valet, Thompson, tucked his shirt in. He cast one glance at the window, noting the approaching dusk.
Left to him, he would instead be tucked away in his study, attending to matters that were surely of greater importance to him than the dinner party he was about to attend.
He groaned internally.
Thompson cast him a curious look, noticing his master’s tension.
“Your Grace, has something occurred to trouble you? You appear distressed,” he remarked in a polite tone. “Is something not to your liking?”
Marcus finally let out a groan, feeling the need to share his plight with someone. “I find this situation most unsatisfactory.”
Thompson’s eyebrows drew in confusion. It took him a moment to understand what his master was referring to.
“Ah, you must mean the dinner party you are to attend, I suppose.”
A sigh left Marcus. “And the upcoming Season,” he added tensely. “I am not quite ready to offer myself to the barrage of matchmaking mamas and the young ladies of the ton. I’d much rather be doing something else.”
Thompson held back a chuckle, but one edge of his mouth tugged upward a little.
“I presume Your Grace is not looking forward to this year’s Season.”
“I am not.”
“Permit me to say, Your Grace, I have a good feeling about this Season particularly. The ton’s eyes would be focused on you, but you have always been able to command any room you walk into with ease. I’m confident that you’ll make a great impression at the dinner party.”
The duke smiled wryly at his valet, no doubt appreciating the confidence boost but nonetheless unsure about the events the Season would unfold.
He tilted his head up as Thompson’s hands carefully repositioned his cravat. Involuntarily, his mind travelled to the sequence of events that led him to this point.
If everything had gone ideally five years ago, he would have been attending any social event he had this Season with his wife.
Marcus winced as the memories of his life five years ago flooded his mind.
He had been the blithe second son of his father, the late duke, with his major passions surrounding agriculture and estate management. He couldn’t have cared less about high society and the ton.
But as life would have it, he was thrust into unexpected circumstances and responsibilities following the death of his older brother—who inherited the dukedom after his father’s passing—only to pass on due to a fever.
That was two years ago, and three years prior to that, he had nursed a broken heart and painful loss caused by the betrayal of his former fiancée and now sister-in-law.
Lady Selina Holbrooke would have earned his family name by marrying him.
They had been courting before she abruptly ended their courtship, transferring her affection to his older brother, Henry, not long after she met him.
She would have gotten their last name from marrying Marcus, but instead, she wanted to secure her way to being Duchess by marrying the heir to the Dukedom.
No matter how much Marcus had tried to shake off the effect of her betrayal on him, even till now, he struggled at the thought of it.
How unfortunate it must have been for her when her husband died two years ago after only three years of marriage.
And with no child to their name. Marcus had sometimes wished she’d been around to see him become the duke—not because he wished death for his brother, but to show her how unpredictable life was.
Unfortunately for him, too, Marcus hadn’t had the chance to sit down fully before the increasing pressures of his new role were poured down on him.
From the pressure to marry and produce an heir soon to the estate and tenants that he was responsible for and to his family’s business, which he gave himself targets for, it was like a never-ending cycle.
His mother, bless her heart, while understanding the sting of Selina’s betrayal, still found ways to convince him of the importance of settling down and having children.
“You have to open your heart to someone again, Marcus,” she’d often say. “I want you to be happy.”
“I am happy, Mother,” was his often counter.
But he knew she could read him like an open book—better than most. She knew how deep his scars ran and how guarded and distrustful the betrayal made him, keeping any romantic entanglements at bay with the high walls that surrounded his heart.
Sighing, Marcus took one final look at the fitting of his clothes.
“Thank you, Thompson. I always appreciate your attention to detail,” he said.
The valet took a slight bow. “Your Grace’s words are far too kind. It is always a pleasure.”
Without wasting any moment longer, Marcus strolled out of his room, Thompson in tow, as he made his way down the hallway. Approaching the foot of the stairs, his mother came into view.
The Dowager Duchess of Milwood, Judith Holbrooke, stood regal with a bright smile. She watched her son descend the stairs with pride in her eyes.
“Mother.”
“Your Grace.” Thompson bowed in respect.
“Thompson, thank you for always having His Grace ready in time,” Judith said.
Turning to her son, she added, “You look quite dashing tonight, Marcus. For someone who doesn’t like these functions, you sure do manage to keep the ladies of the ton in awe of your presence despite how rarely you attend these events. ”
“If it were up to me, I’d rather their awe was directed elsewhere and that I stay in the comfort of my study worrying only about matters that are important to me. Not the ton or its gossip.”
Judith’s smile widened. Her son was ever so stubborn whenever it came to these events. “Well, you don’t have to sulk so much about it. It’s one dinner and declining the invitation was not an option.”
“It is the company of the dinner party’s hostess that I do not look forward to, mother,” Marcus retorted.