Dearest Nancy,
I hope this letter finds you well. I write with a rather direct request that I pray will not seem too presumptuous.
I require ball invitations—as many as you might reasonably secure for me. The Harrington musicale, Lady Whitmore's garden party, even the Thomasons' card evening would suffice.
Lavinia
Any event that might place her in the path of an eligible gentleman would do. She set down her quill, staring at the words she had written. Marriage had always seemed a distant prospectfor her—at twenty-seven, she had long since accepted her status as a spinster, focusing instead on Frances's prospects.
But now, with their situation growing more desperate and her new position balanced on the knife's edge of the Duke's approval, she needed a more certain solution.
CHAPTER 7
"Lady Sophia, your fingers should be curved, like holding a small orange," Lavinia said on the third day of their lessons, demonstrating with her own hand poised above the ivory keys.
The music room at Evermere Hall, with its imposing dimensions and sparse decoration, seemed to magnify every sound—including Lady Sophia's nervous breathing as she perched rigidly on the pianoforte bench, her small fingers hovering uncertainly above the instrument.
"Like this?" Sophia asked, her voice barely audible as she attempted to mimic Lavinia's posture.
Lavinia noticed the girl's hands trembling, her shoulders drawn up nearly to her ears with tension.
"Almost," she said gently, moving to sit beside Sophia on the bench. "May I?" At Sophia's timid nod, Lavinia took the child'sright hand in hers, carefully shaping the fingers into a more natural curve. "There. Your wrists should be level with the keys, not drooping down like wilting flowers. Strong, but not stiff."
Sophia adjusted her position, her brow furrowed in concentration.
"Much better. Now, let's try the C scale again, one note at a time." Lavinia pointed to the appropriate key. "Start here."
Sophia pressed down, producing a clear, resonant note that hung in the air between them. Her face remained a mask of intense focus as she moved to the next key.
"Good. And now D..."
The second note joined the first, slightly more hesitant. By the time Sophia reached F, her rhythm had faltered, her fourth finger landing heavily on an adjacent key. A discordant sound rang out, and Sophia winced, pulling her hands back as though the keys had burned her.
"I apologize, Lady Lavinia," she whispered, her cheeks flushing pink. "I've ruined it again."
"Nonsense," Lavinia countered, keeping her voice warm but matter-of-fact. "You've simply played the wrong note, which is entirely different from ruining anything. Even accomplished musicians strike wrong notes occasionally."
Sophia's expression remained doubtful.
"Let me show you a small trick," Lavinia continued, positioning her own hands over the keys. "When your fourth finger feels weak—and it is naturally the weakest of all fingers—think of it as having a tiny string attached to the third finger, pulling it along." She demonstrated, playing the troublesome passage. "Do you see? They work as a team."
Sophia nodded, her attention captured by the demonstration.
"Now you try."
The girl placed her fingers on the keys once more, this time with slightly more confidence. She made it through the entire scale, slower than before but without errors. Her exhale of relief was audible.
"Excellent," Lavinia praised. "Shall we try the simple piece we looked at yesterday?"
Sophia's shoulders tensed again, but she nodded and reached for the sheet music.
"Remember, music isn't about perfection, Lady Sophia. It's about feeling," Lavinia said, arranging the pages before them. "When I was first learning, my mother would tell me to think of the notes as stepping stones across a stream. Some steps might be wobbly, but the important thing was to keep moving forward toward the opposite bank."
Sophia glanced up, her interest plainly piqued. "Did you find it difficult when you were learning?"
"Terribly," Lavinia admitted, allowing herself a small laugh. "My first piano master was a dour German gentleman who would rap my knuckles with a wooden ruler whenever I played a wrong note. After three lessons, I was convinced I had no talent whatsoever."
"What happened?" Sophia asked, momentarily forgetting her own nervousness.
