“We don’t, of course.”
May closed her eyes. Agnes’s words sounded impertinent, even dangerous.
“We rely on our mamas to tell us,” Agnes went on sweetly, “as proper young women should.”
To May’s vast relief, Lady Wolverton took Agnes’s statement at face value, unable to even dream that someone might address her with a hint of sarcasm. Only May seemed to have heard the amusement in her friend’s voice.
“Yes, a proper young woman should obey her mother in all things. A sentiment that my own daughters have, sadly, failed to internalize,” Lady Wolverton said slowly. “Welcome to London, Miss Endicott.”
It was a far more ringing endorsement than May had expected.
Recognizing the dismissal, May led Agnes away, and conversation hummed through the room once more. May couldn’t be certain, but she heard snatches of words likefifty thousand a yearandstands to inherit everything.If Agnes heard it, too, she revealed nothing.
Then May glanced up and realized, surprised, that Princess Maud was here.
She was seated at the piano, her fingers drifting over the keyboard as she played a gentle background piece—Beethoven, maybe?
Agnes wandered closer. May reached out to pluck at her sleeve, but her friend ignored the warning. She stood there, waiting patiently, until Maud’s hands finally came to a rest.
“That was lovely, Your Royal Highness.” Agnes sank into her lowest curtsy, tipping her head forward so that her twist of chestnut hair was visible.
“Thank you.” Maud paused, and May hurried to step in and make a proper introduction. She expected the princess to turn aside once she realized she was speaking to an American commoner, but Maud studied Agnes with curiosity. “Do youplay?”
“Not so well as you! Which has always been a disappointment, as I love listening to music. Your rendition of Schubert was so moving.”
So it hadn’t been Beethoven after all. May didn’t play the piano very often anymore; she only dared practice when her father was out of the house.
“Have you heard his duets? They are even more powerful than the Andante.” Maud scooted over on the bench. “We could attempt one now, if you like.”
Agnes smiled dazzlingly. “I fear that Schubert is far beyond my abilities. Perhaps Her Serene Highness might play with you?”
May tried to hide her frustration at Agnes’s interference. She looked at Maud with a smile that probably came out like a grimace.
“Of course,” Maud agreed, seeming bemused.
“Thank you.” May sat next to her on the bench, tucking her skirts about her legs. A few other guests glanced over, then quickly lost interest when they saw that it was just May and Maud—the two overlooked, unremarkable princesses.
Maud flipped through the music atop the piano. “What about this one?”
May quickly scanned the page. Neither part looked easy, semiquavers dancing wildly up and down across the bars. Was Maud trying to intimidate her?
“I’ll take the top part,” she decided, choosing the slightly less terrifying of the two.
Maud held her hands over the keys. May drew off her gloves and set them carefully atop the piano next to Maud’s—at least they were new ones, she noted with relief.
The piece began with a disingenuous calm, as Schubert was wont to do, but it escalated quickly. There were several moments when May’s hands danced over Maud’s, but after a minute she no longer noticed; the music required every ounce of her concentration.
May was aware that she lacked the innate talent of a truly great musician. But she’d always appreciated the piano for rewarding diligence: if you kept at it with enough stubbornness, you could muscle your way into a level of competency. As a child, she used to chain herself to the bench for hours, practicing various pieces over and over until she could perform them with her eyes closed. She might as well be good at something ornamental, she had thought, since she wasn’t destined to be a great beauty.
When the duet drew to a close, she and Maud struck their final chord at exactly the same moment. May looked up, meeting Maud’s gaze, and was surprised to see a smile there.
Perhaps Agnes was right; perhaps Maud wasn’t as pretentious as May had assumed. It was unnerving, realizing that she had likely misjudged her cousin the way everyone was always misjudging her.
But how was anyone supposed to know the truth about another person when society forbade you from revealing your true self? When all you spoke about was insignificant gossip and trivial details? May realized with a shock that she knewmore about Agnes after a matter of weeks than she knew about most people in her life—because Agnes had peeled back the veneer of polite conversation and spoken frankly.
“I enjoyed that,” Maud ventured.
May smiled. “We should do it again, though I would prefer to practice before performing in public once more.”
