No, no… there is no need for it. It is perfect as written. And even were it not so, it is not up to me to correct it. Never correct it.
“Music to my ears.” From behind where Sophia was practicing, she heard her father, the Viscount of Ashbury, commend her playing. “Well done, Sophia.”
Sophia finished her piece and turned to see her father striding toward her. She offered him a grateful smile but was sure not to let it grow too vivacious. Pois and control were what her father wanted to see.
“Thank you, Father,” she said simply. “I think I am ready.”
“No doubt you do.” He walked to her mother and rested a loving hand on her shoulder. He then gave that shoulder a lightsqueeze, her mother returned it with a grateful smile, and that was as much affection as the two ever showed one another.
“Do we know who will be attending tomorrow?” Sophia asked.
“Does it matter?” her father asked.
“No,” Sophia said. “Just curious, Father.”
“You could be playing for the King, and I would expect the same performance, Sophia. It is what you have been working toward.” He nodded once to confirm the comment. “Let me worry about who is there. From you, all that is needed is perfection.”
“I am still not entirely satisfied,” her mother said with a click of her tongue. “It sounded rushed. A little…” She considered. “Hyper.”
“I do not think I was rushing,” Sophia said. She then saw the way her mother’s lip tightened. “But if you think that I was…”
“I will leave the two of you to it,” her father said. “I just wished to stop in and remind you of the importance of tomorrow, Sophia. Everything must be perfect.”
“It will be, Father.”
“The confidence I admire,” he said. “But do not allow yourself to get carried away. An overly confident nature leadsto complacency, which leads to error, which forces one to improvise through mistakes that should not have occurred in the first place. Sophia…” He stepped toward her. “Do you understand what I am telling you?”
Sophia knew very well what her father was telling her. And was it not for his perfectly clear explanation of the matter, it was the hundred times he had told her before. Thousands even, if one countered the many times he had said as much to her since the day she was old enough to talk.
In Sophia’s mind, her father was being a tad too cautious. After all, tomorrow was nothing more than a small gathering of her family’s friends where Sophia was expected to play for them. She had done as much a hundred times, and despite her father’s warning, was feeling perfectly confident in her ability.
Although, and she knew this well enough by now, tomorrow was not the only concern that her father had.
Sophia was twenty years old now, officially a lady, and as a lady this coming Season promised to be the most important in her life. It was when she was expected to meet the man who she would one day call her husband, and if this man was to live up to standards her family had set, so to did Sophia have to live up to those same standards.
She needed to be the perfect lady. If she was not perfect, then she would not find the perfect husband, and then all her parents’ plans for her would be in ruins.
Did it matter that Sophia often felt like a fraud in the way that she was forced to act? Time and time again, she wanted to laugh, to argue, to play music how she wanted to play it. Dammit, she wanted to enjoy herself!
But if I did that, I would not be who my parents raised me to be. And if I am not that, then what am I? Who would have me? What would my life become, but one of chaos and loneliness?
A dreary and depressing thought, it might be, but her parents insisted it was the truth. And who was Sophia to argue against such rationale as that?
“I understand, Father,” Sophia answered because she knew that was what her father wished to hear.
“I know you do…” His smile was soft, and it vanished almost as soon as it appeared. “I shall leave you both to it.” A nod of the head and he strode from the room.
“Again.” Her mother indicated for Sophia to face the keys. “And this time, Sophia, do not rush. You know how it is to sound, you know the melody, do not try and play around what has already been perfected. You are the vessel, not the creator.”
“Sorry, Mother…” Sophia turned to face the keys, gently placing the tips of her fingers on the ivory. “I promise to do better this time.”
“I know you will. Now…” She clapped her hands. “Again.”
Sophia did as she had been taught. And not just as it concerned her skills with the pianoforte, but all aspects of her life. It was unbecoming for a lady to make herself the center of attention, as to blend in and go unnoticed was infinitely more refined.
Her music was to be the same. Perfectly beautiful, but not the type to stand out and turn heads. She was a lady of the ton, she had been raised accordingly, and if there was one thing that Sophia knew how to do, it was follow rules as they had been taught to her.
“Perfection,” the modiste gushed as she circled Sophia. “Absolute perfection.”
