Vivian tilted her head toward Thomas. “I have always thought that such things were best expressed in music.”
“Music evokes feelings; it does not describe them.” Thomas shrugged. “It is too abstract, in my opinion, to give form to thoughts.”
‘Always agree with him; that will win him to your cause.’For a moment, she nearly gave in to her mother’s voice in her head, but then she pushed it to one side.I do not have to trick him; I do not want to.“But surely that is the point? Most concepts are abstract rather than universal. Music captures the abstract and makes it real, transcending the limitations of language.”
“I will grant you that prose is limited, but poetry is not.” Thomas brushed his hair from his forehead. “Poetry plays with language to create meaning, using both words and form to create the image, to capture the feeling and lay it on the page where all might see it and know that it holds a truth.”
“I had not realized you were such a romantic at heart.” Vivian teased. “However, there is a flaw in your logic. Poetry in and of itself is limited by language and literacy.”
“Not true. One does not need to read to experience poetry. In fact, the reading of the poetry aloud often makes its meaning clearer.” Thomas grinned at her, his eyes flashing.
Vivian felt her heart race as she shook her head. “Or the interpretation of its meaning to the speaker. After all, the tone, timbre, and intonation can make all the difference. It is the speaker who evokes emotion, not the poetry itself.”
“And does that not also happen with music? The performance of one piece can greatly vary from one conductor to another, each pulling out the themes and motifs he feels most relevant.” Thomas countered.
“And yet he cannot control how people will respond to the piece. He cannot control what feelings the notes will evoke, what melodies will remain long after the music has stopped.” Vivian tilted her chin up, meeting Thomas’s appraising eyes. “If you insist that poetry is the truest expression, then why do we have songs?”
“Songs are just poetry set to music.” He made a dismissive motion with his left hand. “You are proving my point.”
“Yet if you remove the melody, are they as impactful? I think not. You can hear someone recite the words, but to hear them sing them is to add a depth of meaning that words alone cannot do.” She folded her arms across her chest.
“And yet, when young lovers court one another, they write poetry. They do not write songs.” The smugness on Thomas’s face stoked Vivian’s irritation.
We shall see about that.She rolled out her shoulders. “Perhaps that is because poetry is an easier composition than music. I expect that if music were easier to send to one another, then lovers would send each other songs that made them think of one another. In fact, I am fairly certain an earl once did something along those lines for his intended.”
His eyes widened, and he took a step closer. “Exactly. If music were truly better at this, we would find ways to share it more easily. Yet we do not. We opt for poetry because we think in words. It speaks truth in a way that music cannot.”
“Just because something is easy or popular does not make it better.” Vivian did not back away from him; instead, she took a step toward him. “It simply means more people are doing it.”
“Music is entirely too woolly, too vacuous to drill down into the specifics of the human condition.” Thomas’s mouth quirked intoa half smile. “Poetry, on the other hand, gets right to the heart of the matter.”
Vivian arched an eyebrow at him, placing a hand on her chest as she thought of the last moving concert she had been to. “Music speaks to a primal part of us. A concerto can take you from the very heights of euphoria to the depths of despair and back to joy.”
“And you think poetry cannot?” Thomas’s brow furrowed.
“I think that there are some things that lose their magic when we try to confine them with words.” Vivian was so close to Thomas now that all she could smell was amber.
She watched his mouth open, every muscle tense as he prepared to respond, ready to counter. Her heart raced, blood pounding through her body. She could see from his expression that he was enjoying this just as much as she was.
“Your wife makes an excellent point, Thomas,” the Dowager Duchess said from behind them, making everyone whip around. “Besides, you have not considered the most important thing.”
Vivian blushed furiously.How did I not hear her approach?She swallowed as the Dowager Duchess continued to look at her, as though she were a book that had fallen open to a particularly interesting page.
“Which would be?” Thomas asked, and Vivian noticed a faint flush to his cheeks.
“One cannot dance to poetry.” The Dowager Duchess put an arm through Vivian’s. “And a life without dancing is hardly worth living. And now that we have settled that, I believe your wife and I must adjourn and ready ourselves for this evening’s festivities.”
Before Vivian could fully understand what was going on, she found herself being led up the stairs and to the chamber that had been given to her and Thomas for the night.
Several gowns had been laid out on the bed by Henrietta, and as they walked into the room, the Dowager Duchess turned to Vivian and looked her up and down.
“Now, Vivian—you do not mind if I call you by your Christian name, do you? I find that at my age, every second counts, and Lady this and Lord that only wastes my precious time.”
“No, of course not, your Grace. I mean. Yes, you may call me Vivian if it pleases you.”
“You need not be frightened of me. I do not bite… Well, not often.” The Dowager Duchess winked at her and gestured for a seat to be brought closer to her. “Come sit beside me. I wish to see what we are working with.”
“What do you mean?” Vivian sat opposite the old woman, her mind still whirring with her conversation with Thomas.
