Page 28 of The Duke’s Duet

Chapter Eight

Harper stood at the edge of Westfield's opulent ballroom, a barely touched glass of wine in his hand, listening to the subtle currents of conversation that swirled around him. The ton's whispers were like music of a different sort - here a note of admiration, there a sharp discord of disapproval, all weaving together into a symphony of judgment.

"...most unusual for a Duke to perform publicly..."

"...but for charity, you know, and the veterans..."

"...quite accomplished, I hear, though one wonders if it's entirely proper..."

The words washed over him like tepid wine, neither pleasant nor particularly objectionable. He had expected this scrutiny - had known from the moment that he agreed to step in as accompanist that society would have opinions. What he hadn't expected was how little their judgment seemed to matter, compared to the memory of amber eyes alight with passion for music.

"Brightwood!" Lord Westfield's booming voice cut through his reverie. "There you are, old fellow. Come, you must meet my sister - she's quite the musical enthusiast herself."

Harper suppressed a sigh as he allowed himself to be led across the room.

He knew exactly what this was - another carefully orchestrated introduction to a potential bride. The fact that Lady Harriet was Westfield's sister only made it more pointed.

She stood with a small group near the pianoforte, and Harper had to admit that she made a striking picture.

She was tall and elegant, with classic English beauty - golden hair, blue eyes, perfect posture. She wore a gown of pale blue silk that had probably cost more than most families earned in a year.

"Lady Harriet." He bowed over her hand, performing the expected courtesies with practiced ease. "I understand that you share my interest in music?"

"Oh yes, Your Grace." Her voice was perfectly modulated, sweet without being cloying. "I found your performance at the charity concert most... impressive."

But the way that she said it made it clear that she found it impressive in the way that one might find a trained dog impressive - an amusing novelty, nothing more. There was no understanding in her eyes of what the music truly meant, no passion for the art itself.

"Do you play yourself?"

He asked the question, though he already knew the answer. Every well-bred young lady played something, just as they all painted insipid watercolours and spoke schoolgirl French.

"The harp, Your Grace. Though I confess, I find it terribly difficult to maintain the proper feminine posture while playing. One must be so careful of one's appearance, mustn't one?"

Unbidden, an image of Melody rose in Harper's mind - her complete abandonment to the music, her utter disregard for anything but the pure expression of art. She would never worry about maintaining a ‘proper feminine posture’ while performing. The contrast made his chest ache.

"Indeed," he managed, though the word tasted false. "Most challenging."

"I should love to hear you play again," Lady Harriet continued, her fan moving in what he supposed was meant to be an alluring manner. "Perhaps something more... appropriate to your station? Mozart's simpler pieces are quite suitable for evening entertainment."

The subtle criticism in her words - of his choice to perform more complex pieces, of his willingness to accompany a professional singer - scraped against his nerves like a bow drawn wrongly across strings. Before he could formulate a suitably diplomatic response, Lord Pembroke appeared at his elbow.

"Lady Harriet, you must forgive me for stealing His Grace away. Business matters, you understand."

She simpered and agreed, though Harper caught the flash of disappointment in her brother's eyes as they moved away.

Once safely distant, Pembroke's diplomatic expression dissolved into barely suppressed mirth.

"Good God, man, you looked ready to expire from sheer boredom. Surely you can manage a more convincing show of interest in your future Duchess?"

"My future..." Harper nearly choked on his wine. "Hardly that."

"No? The ton seems quite convinced of the match. She's perfect for you, after all - beautiful, well-bred, impeccably trained in all the proper accomplishments. And her brother's connections would be most advantageous."

"Charles..."

The warning in Harper's voice only made his friend grin wider.

"Of course, she's not quite as... passionate... about music as some. I noticed she called Mozart's works 'simple pieces’. One wonders what she'd make of your midnight practice sessions, or your rather spectacular performances with Miss Piper."