CHAPTER 1
“Keep your back straight…”
The Honorable Miss Sophia Ashbury straightened her back, as commanded. It was uncomfortable to do, as the seat upon which she sat had no cushion; removed on account of its comfort encouraging ‘complacency,’ she was told.
Comfort did not matter. The only thing that mattered was how perfectly Sophia’s fingers moved across the keys of the pianoforte. Each note struck in time, the melody held precisely, and beauty created through the art of music in ways that might bring a tear to the eye… was Sophia allowed to express such an emotion as that.
“Your chin, dear, keep it parallel with the floor.”
Sophia did as she was told, making certain that she did not bend her neck and look downwards. Doing so would have surely made the task at hand easier, as it allowed her to see more clearly whatshe was doing. But that was irrelevant, as by now she should have been able to do this with her eyes closed.
“Posture… your shoulders back, dear. And do not smile when you play. A straight face always, thank you.”
“Sorry, Mother,” she said. “I did not mean –”
“And no talking,” her mother, Lady Ashbury, corrected sharply. “Concentrate, dear. Perfection is what we seek, and as far as I can tell, we have some way until it is found. Not to mention, committed to.”
Sophia very nearly apologized a second time, but she caught herself before that fateful apology escaped her tongue. Rather, she did as she was told, striving to demonstrate the very perfection that her mother was so insistent would never be Sophia’s to call her own.
It was just Sophia and her mother in the music room this morning.
This was preferable for Sophia, as her mother was not quite as strict as her father…still strict in the most traditional sense, but when compared to Father, she is practically as soft as a kitten.
And because it was just the two of them, once Sophia found her rhythm, she was able to relax and let the music flow from her in ways that were second nature. She almost closed her eyes as sheplayed, because this was easier to do. Once she found her fingers and the pacing, she could play as if she was born to it.
That was when she did something that she knew she never should: she smiled.
“Straight faced,” her mother corrected her immediately. “You do not want to give the impression that you are enjoying yourself too much.”
“But I am enjoying myself,” Sophia said lightly as she played. “As I hope those who listen will be too.”
Her mother exhaled sharply. “That is not the point, Sophia.”
“I know, Mother,” she said, sure to keep her tone level. “I only mean to highlight the very purpose of music.”
“And what is this purpose?”
“To invoke feelings of joy, and happiness… even sadness, depending on the song chosen.” Sophia played freely as she spoke, able to do both at once. In fact, she had always found that it was when she wasn’t concentrating as hard, when she wasn’t so determined to hit all the keys precisely, that the music sounded even sweeter.
“The music yes,” her mother agreed. “But not the person playing it. You are not the maker, Sophia. You are merely the vessel. Let those whom music is played for decide how it should make themfeel. They should not be influenced by your…” She breathed out sharply through her nose. “By your lack of self-control.”
“I understand, Mother,” Sophia said. “Well explained. Thank you.”
In answer to that, her mother nodded once. And all the while, she watched Sophia like a hawk so that nothing would be missed.
Although Sophia would never say it out loud, she did not agree entirely with her mother’s assessment. Where she understood the concept of her mother’s argument, she simply could not bring herself to accept its merits.
Why should I not enjoy the music I play as others do when they listen? If they feel joy and hope, why can I not experience the same? Why are emotions felt considered so wrong?
It was an age-old point of contention with Sophia, one that she had lived with her entire life. And not just where her music was concerned, but in all aspects of her life.
Sophia was the first daughter of a viscount and had thus been raised in a house of expectation and propriety. From a young age, she had been molded to fit the image of a perfect lady of the ton; one who knew her role in society and what she could and not do to fulfill that role. She was to be polite. She was to be behaved. She was to be agreeable, emotionless, and never one to argue or cause a fuss.
Most of all, she was to be perfect.
“Yes, yes…” her mother crooned as Sophia played. “Just like that… no, no, don’t rush it… there it is, good girl.” Her mother nodded with approval. “Just as you have been taught.”
Sophia did not need the sheet of music that was set in front of her, but she held her gaze on it, nonetheless, because it reminded her not to get carried away as she might have liked. Having been playing the pianoforte now for as long as she could remember, she yearned to push her skills beyond what was written on the page.
