Tonight was a very special concert, featuring the worldwide acclaimed cellist, Peter Spencer.
And as a special guest, his most favored protégé: Miss Josephine Spencer.
Her husband never embarked on a year-long tour where he performed for hundreds of thousands, but since then he had been invited to play in Paris, Rome, and even Moscow as a soloist in his own right. After some discussion, as a family, they’d traveled to each venue so that he could perform.
The journeys had made for wonderful family holidays, but once home, Peter insisted he much preferred England, where he sometimes played in London, a few times in Essex, and Brighton, and near his father’s estate, at the grand abbey in Bath.
But mostly he enjoyed managing their estate and raising their family, both of which they did as a team.
The melody built slowly as Peter played softly beside his daughter. Miranda doubted she’d ever seen him more excited for a concert. Nor as nervous.
Wiping away a tear, Miranda shook her head. Josie showed incredible promise, even she realized that. She and Peter had discussed their daughter’s talent. They would do everything they could do to encourage her but they also encouraged her to follow her dreams.
And both of them made sure she had other interests in her life.
When the third suite came to an end, Miranda let out a breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding, and, shifting Samuel to one side, applauded softly.
Samuel joined in the fun, clapping his tiny hands against one another. “My turn now, Mama?” he whispered in her ear.
“Soon enough,” she answered. “You’re still Mama’s baby.”
“Not a baby.”
“Of course not,” she agreed solemnly, meeting Peter’s gaze when he glanced to the edge of the stage as he bowed.
Josephine curtsied prettily. She’d practiced that nearly as much as she’d practiced the composition.
A moment later, Peter and Josie were striding toward her, her daughter smiling victoriously, her husband’s that of a very proud Papa.
At her side, Peter took Samuel out of her arms, instinctively knowing she would need her hands to give Josie the flowers she’d purchased for this oh, so very special occasion.
Wide blue eyes stared up at her, in awe, but also relief. “I did it, Mama!”
“You did!”
Miranda carefully placed the flowers in her daughter’s arms and then squeezed her slender shoulders. “I’m so proud of you.”
Not only because Josie had played the piece flawlessly but because she’d had the courage to do so for an audience.
“Mr. Spencer.” Mr. Keplar, the theater manager, gestured back toward the stage. “They are asking for an encore.”
Peter glanced down at Josie. “What do you say, sweet pea? Shall we play the remaining suites?”
If possible, their daughter’s eyes grew even larger. “They want more? Are we ready, Papa?”
“You were born ready, love. Let me just give Sammy here back to Mama.” Peter winked at Miranda, as he did just that. “And you and I shall whip up some more magic for these people, shall we?”
Miranda couldn’t help but let out a laugh when Josie nearly leapt in excitement. Her daughter moved to return on stage but halted when Peter grasped her shoulder.
“Shall we leave the flowers, here, sweet pea?”
Practically dancing, Josie dropped them at Miranda’s feet and then, taking Peter’s hand, all but dragged her father back onto the stage.
“I think you have a true musician on your hands,” Mr. Kepler commented at the cheering and applause coming from the audience.
“I wanna play,” Samuel protested.
“I have more than one of them,” Miranda laughed. And what a lucky woman that made her. “I’ll never lack for music in my life.”
