My stomach tied itself into knots of worry. Whatever was I going to play?
“Lady Margaret, as our guest of honor, would you be so good as to share your talents with us this evening?”
With easy grace, Lady Margaret rose and made her way to the pianoforte. She exuded no hint of nerves, and I suspected she had a great deal of musical ability. I envied her tall, slender figure, the easy sway of her hips. She pursed her lips together as she looked through the music. “Ah,” she said at last.
She began playing an opera, and soon Italian flowed from her lips. She had a high register but hit every note, a perfect vibrato accentuating her words. My gaze wandered to Halstead as she played. His focus was trained on her, yet his mouth was grim, his posture stiff. I yearned to know what he was thinking. As she finished, the room filled with applause; Halstead clapped as well, his attention steadily fixed on her.
Almost as if he sensed my gaze, he looked toward me. I quickly turned back to Lady Margaret, heat creeping up my neck.
Lady Ellen was invited to go next, and a harp was moved toward the pianoforte. I groaned inwardly the moment she began to play. Despite her earlier claims, it was soon apparent she had received a great deal of musical tutoring. She plucked the strings with finesse. The worry in me grew, for I knew Aunt Agnes would compare my performance to those of two very accomplished young women.
When I was called forward, my heart began to palpitate erratically, much as I imagined a fox’s would at the baying of the hounds. If there was something I hated more than performing before others, I couldn’t think of it in this moment. It was the very thing I’d avoided since the night of our arrival.
The walk toward the pianoforte seemed to take ages. My mind grew numb, and I only pretended to sort through the music, not really seeing. Finally, I placed some music upon the pianoforte. But when I began to play, it was not the music set before me. My fingers seemed to have a mind of their own. It was a song I had learned from my father long ago. My fingers ran the length of the pianoforte, playing a memory I hadn’t known existed. It was simple; a lilting Scottish folk song.
The music washed over me as I remembered a happier time. I could almost see my mother dancing around the room as my father sang, the two of them encompassed in a world of their own making. In those moments the months Father had been gone at sea didn’t exist, and the disapproval of Mother’s family faded into the distance.
A hacking cough from the far side of the room pulled me from my reminiscence. I glanced out at the audience, a roomful of people staring at me, and all of a sudden my fingers tripped over each other, my memory faltering.
Out of nowhere the purest baritone I had ever heard began to sing. My head jerked up, searching the room before my gaze came to rest on Halstead. Though the evidence was right before me, I could hardly believe it. His gaze captured mine, and every note jolted through me, splintering and seeping into my limbs, filtering right down to my core.
Everyone in the room turned toward Halstead, astonishment playing over their faces. His voice rose and fell with the melody, each word and note telling a story I’d long since forgotten. It was a song about going away to war, one my father used to sing to us before he left for sea.
I grieve to leave my comrades dear,
I mourn to leave my native shore,
To leave my aged parents here,
And the bonnie lass whom I adore.
But tender thoughts must now be hushed,
When duty calls, I must obey;
Fate wills it so that part we must,
And the morn I will be far away.
He stood with the help of his cane, edging toward the pianoforte, where I played. His voice smoothed over my missed notes as I recovered. The music flowed easily once more. No longer was I looking at my hands as I played, for I could not look away from the Duke of Halstead.
I continued playing while he moved toward the pianoforte, still singing. The sleeve of his jacket brushed a loose curl at the nape of my neck as he came around me and stood at my left. The hypnotic tones of his voice lured me in and sent chills chasing down my arms. It seemed as though every word was meant for me.
Adieu! dear Scotland’s sea-beat coast!
Ye misty vales and mountains blue!
When on the heaving ocean tost,
I’ll cast a wishful look to you.
I glanced up, but his gaze no longer rested on me. Instead his eyes sparked with a look of defiance aimed at his mother and grandmother. My mind spiraled back to the conversation I had overheard earlier today. Of course. He hadn’t begun to sing because he wished to save me from embarrassment. No, this was his way of making clear that he had no intention of following along with their schemes. He’d seen the perfect opportunity and taken it.
Hurt slashed through me, disbelief that he would use me thus. Dash the consequences; I would not allow it. A dissonant chord sounded, and I looked down at the realization that it had come from me. “I am sorry; I seem to have forgotten the last part.”
Halstead’s gaze came to rest on me as everyone gave somewhat stilted applause. No doubt most were confused as to what had just taken place. Despite my efforts to stop it, my face began to crumple. I hurriedly stood, not bothering to excuse myself as I brushed by Halstead and made my way back to my seat.
“Well,
