Rosalie’s rather sure it’s just that Mr.Dean isn’t that interested in anything.
“MissPine used to serenade our tenants weekly; she’s utterly gifted on the instrument,” Mrs.Pine says quickly.
Rosalie glances at MissPine, who’s blushing, but not entirely out of embarrassment. “More than just a hobby?” Rosalie asks.
Miss Pine meets her eyes, straightening up. “I’m good,” she admits. There’s a spark of confidence in her that makes Rosalie’s fingers tingle.
Mother opens her mouth—
“Perhaps you should play as well,” Rosalie says impulsively. All three women stare at her. “Perhaps we should all play. Mother, you play so beautifully and rarely show off your talents. Didn’t you used to perform with a friend in your season?”
“Oh, Mother, you should join us too,” MissPine says before Rosalie’s mother can manage words. “You played in your season as well. Duets. Could we find your duet partner?”
Mother’s surprise turns to discomfort. Rosalie glances at Mrs.Pine, who’s also gone slightly white, and realizes with a flash: Mrs.Pine was the friend Mother used to play with. And now they haven’t spoken in over two decades.
Oh, dear.
They stand for a moment in uncomfortable silence as their mothers refuse to look at each other. Rosalie glances at MissPine, who looks as discomfited as her mother, and won’t meet Rosalie’s eyes all of a sudden. All that challenge gone in the face of whatever happened twenty-five years ago.
“Or each of you could play separately,” Rosalie says quickly. “I know you’ve been practicing the Haydn, Mother. It would be a shame to waste that effort.”
That seems to bring her mother back. “It would hardly be a waste, as it wasn’t so much effort. But as I don’t believe my former duet partner would be... amenable, I agree. But only if Mrs.Pine will play as well.”
They all look to Mrs.Pine, who hesitates.
“It would be a wonderful opportunity to reintroduce yourself to the ton,” Mother continues. “As long as you’ve kept up with the pianoforte since our season.”
The color returns to Mrs.Pine’s face quickly. It seems she’s as reactive as her daughter. “I would be delighted to play. MissPine and I both enjoy performing, don’t we, dearest?”
“Yes, we do,” MissPine says confidently, smiling at her mother before looking at Rosalie, challenge back in her eyes.
Mother hates performing as much as Rosalie does. What has she gotten them into?
But she can’t show weakness, not now. “Looking forward to it.”
“Yes,” Mother adds, and gestures for them all to keep walking.
They turn to head up the path, Mr.Dean and Mr.Sholle nearly specks in the distance.
Rosalie glances again at MissPine, who’s staring straight ahead. But there’s a quirk to her lips, like she’s won something. It’s infuriating, and alluring.
Nope. No. Just infuriating.
Rosalie needs to practice. Her performance must be the best of the bunch. To impress Mr.Dean, of course.
And to wipe that smug smile off MissPine’s face.
Chapter Four
Catherine
Catherine paces the hallway outside her bedroom on the third floor of their new townhouse, the floorboards creaking unfamiliarly beneath her feet. The sound of the pianoforte fills the house. Catherine twists her fingers together, hoping that this time Mother will get through the final few flourishes of Bach’s Fugue No.9 in E Maj—
BANG.
Mother’s shout of rage rings up the staircase and Catherine winces. Mother’s been practicing for hours. She wants to best Lady Tisend. Wants to rise to her cruel challenge, and utterly impress the ton, proving that she has returned triumphant after leaving Bath in such haste all those years ago. Why she’s chosen such a fiddly, technical piece, Catherine doesn’t know. Catherine hasn’t had even a minute with the pianoforte.
She’s confident in her choice of music, but it would be nice to get a chance to run through it even once before the concert tomorrow. She’s not as intense as Mother, but she does want to impress the ton. And Mr.Dean, of course, the whole purported reason for the performance.
