Everyone rose to their feet when the final notes died away, and the applause was loud. Vincent’s mother darted forwardas he stood and bowed. She grabbed his hands and kissed his cheek.
Brilliance wished she could do the same, although she would aim for his mouth. Regardless, he did glance her way. When their gazes met, she was infused with hope. He looked as he had in the past, relaxed and smiling, and as if he played a private concert every night, instead of once a year.
When he raised an eyebrow over his spectacles, she tried to decipher the message he was sending but couldn’t. His mother thanked him and asked him to continue.
“I shall if you release my hands,” Vincent said.
Everyone laughed, and Lady Winthrop resumed her chair in the front row beside her husband. It might have been the flickering gas lamp, but Brilliance thought Vincent winked at her before he sat once more on the stool.
“Another recent composition,” he said, and then he began to play.
At first, Brilliance simply enjoyed the music, but soon, she knew she’d heard it before. And with awful realization, she knew when, where, and by whom.
Ambrose Castern had ended his concert with this music, his new work.
Brilliance began to feel ill. Maybe it was the large helping of the rich cabinet pudding with raisins and cherries buried under thick creamy custard which she had scoffed during the dessert course. In any case, she wanted to cover her ears.
At its conclusion, the applause was even louder. And then little by little, people rose to their feet and filed through the doorway, invited by Lord and Lady Winthrop to the drawing room for brandy or sherry.
When the room emptied, Vincent was still standing by the piano.
“What did you think?” he asked.
Brilliance took a breath. She was in his parents’ home. She must conduct herself like a polite guest, even as she wanted to rail at him for stealing the piece and going to the trouble to memorize it.
Was“Essence of Brilliance”even truly written by him?
“The music you played for me in your home —”
“The one you inspired,” he interrupted.
“Yes, am I wrong in thinking you have changed it?”
“I told you at the time it wasn’t finished,” he reminded her. “And after what transpired, I realized it was a tad frothy.”
“I see.” He no longer considered her simply a joyful, light-hearted person.
“I hope you don’t mind,” he said.
“Not at all. It isyourmusic, isn’t it?”
He smiled slightly. “I actually wrote it for you.”
She bit her lip.Should she remain silent?
“What are you thinking? Some unflattering thoughts, I warrant, by your expression. Am I to understand you did not like it?”
“I enjoyed it,” she said. “And sinceyouwrote it, as you say, you may change it as you wish.”
Vincent frowned at her words. “I suppose I may. What did you think of the second piece?”
Brilliance was wringing her hands, not something she usually did. Dropping them to her sides, she said, “I enjoyed it very much.”Sweet Mary!She couldn’t leave a lie between them. “I liked it thefirsttime I heard it, too.”
“The first time?” His frown deepened. “You couldn’t possibly have heard this before.”
“Yet I have. I heard it at its public debut by its composer.”
He cocked his head with obvious confusion.
