“She is a good friend,” he said. “I admire her. She is a genius.”
“I have never met a person proclaimed agenius.” That emerged too pointedly, so I said more gently, “Not sincerely, at least.”
“I knew another genius, so I know something of genius and the world. I insist on proclaiming her. She composes music before its time, but she is ignored outside of ladies’ salons. I fear her work will be forgotten, as brilliance from unexpected sources often is.”
“That is sad,” I said, and meant it. I forced a playful tone. “I am glad she has an admirer.”
“It is not a romantic admiration. Her heart is elsewhere.”
Discussing romance felt like flirtation, and it left me off balance, as if our frozen ship had swayed. Perhaps I was starved for the little rituals that pass between men and women. Or out of practice. I hugged my padded arms and turned back to Chathford House, but it had vanished in the spreading night. “What a strange conversation we are having.”
“Have I made you uncomfortable?”
“Not at all. I say whatever is on my mind. You may, as well. Now I am wondering why Mary Bennet dislikes me. I do not recall her seeing my furry coat.”
“She is jealous. Georgiana is intrigued by you.”
I chuckled. “I do not believethat. Georgiana must have scores of friends. I think you are protecting Miss Bennet. I know she disapproves of my assistance for Harriet.” Mr. Knightley stirred, but he remained silent. “Doyoudisapprove?”
“May I ask what you intend for Miss Smith?”
His tone was neutral, but a protective heat rose in my chest. “Harriet must marry a gentleman. She is a lady. Her status must be secured and irreproachable.”
“What if she chooses an easier path to happiness? With her status unclear, she risks humiliation—”
“You speak ofmydear friend, sir,” I said coldly.
“Your pardon.” He bowed. “I will leave you.”
“No,” I said quickly. “That is, not on my account. May we speak of something else?”
He nodded, but no other topics came to mind, and he was silent. I watched the night. Finally, I said, “You know the Darcys well.”
“I met the Darcys when I returned from my studies in Germany. I was to perform Herr Beethoven’s ninth sonata at a musical soiree, but the pianist refused to accompany me.”
“Refused?”
Mr. Knightley extended his arm into the deepening night, fingers flared. His dark skin was vivid against the white river ice. “He had not known I was the ‘mulatto violinist’ and refused to participate in a coarse stunt.”
I spun to him so fast that my hem swatted the gunwale. “That is unutterably rude! Did you call him out?”
“If I called out every man who insulted my skin, I would be dead or hanged.”
“Well, I am very angry with that man!” Mr. Knightley bowed in acknowledgement. Less heatedly, I asked, “How were the Darcys involved?”
“Miss Darcy offered to accompany me. She was a slip of a girl, not yet fifteen. I thought it a joke at first, or the naivete of a child, but the excitement of the guests was so obvious that I realized she must be a prodigy. I brashly declared we would perform. Thatwasa stunt, but I wanted to prove myself. The sonata is fiendishly difficult for both the violin and pianoforte, so performing it without joint rehearsal was absurd. The audience knew that.”
“I hope the story ends happily, and the performance was a great triumph, and that rude man was shamed!”
“It was all that, and more. My understanding of the piece was enlightened with no more communication than the intimacy of performance. Afterward, I met Georgiana’s brother, who towered over me and scowled, which Georgiana explained was Darcy exhibiting delight. Then she apologized for her performance, as she had missed notes at a page turn because she was unfamiliar with the composition. She had played the score sight unseen—” Mr. Knightley interrupted his story with an amazed laugh, shaking hishead.
“I must hear her play,” I said. “And you, too. Perhaps you will play together?”
“I would be honored.”
I realized his answer was not a polite nicety. He could arrive at breakfast with his instrument. “We are both intertwined with Darcys.”
“It seems so,” he said. “I have wondered at your connection. I know you carry a burden.” I did not answer, and he added, “You and I meet in strange ways. I carry you up flights of stairs. We flee angry crowds. That is unusual for a lady of Surrey visiting London.”
