Sophie’s mouth dropped open. She hadn’t expected this. “Your friends are your family,” she said simply. “And they’re depending on you.”
“You are my family, too,” Maddie insisted. “You more than anyone.”
“Then let me help.” Sophie took Maddie’s hands, tucking those blue mittens against her heart. “If I were able to offer you a ring and a lifetime’s vow, I’d be asking you right now. But I can’t—so let me do something else instead, to show you how much I—how much I care.”
Maddie shook her head—not refusing, Sophie knew, but simply disbelieving.
But Sophie’s stubborn Roseingrave mind—and her heart—had already decided. “For most of this year, I’ve been trying to hide myself away from the world,” she said. “I thought if I were quiet enough, I would feel stronger. Instead I only felt small, and ignored, and lonelier than ever. Until you. I think it’s time I stopped making a habit of silence. I think it’s time I stood up—on a stage—and made people listen.”
“Aren’t you afraid?” Maddie asked.
Sophie gave a helpless little laugh. “Terrified. But what if I do it anyway?”
And there it was—that spark of hope, bright and clear, lighting up Maddie’s face like a sunrise coming over the horizon. Maddie’s eyes dipped down to Sophie’s mouth and then up; Sophie felt the ghost of that kiss, a promise to be fulfilled as soon as they were alone and safe.
“So now you’re an accomplice,” Maddie murmured, and on her tongue it became the sweetest of endearments. “Tell me: How much time do you need?”
Sophie pulled in a breath of cold, bracing air. “One month.”
Chapter Fourteen
The next morning, Sophie had screwed up her courage and told her family she agreed to a concert in one month—provided all the Roseingrave children would perform, not only herself. Mrs. Roseingrave looked satisfied and Julia smug; the boys were either thrilled (Freddie), terrified (Robbie), or overflowing with questions (Jasper, to whom Julia had apparently revealed nothing).
Her father’s face had the sort of intense euphoria she’d only ever seen when he’d worked out something clever to try with a piano action.
She squirmed, knowing that they would all be much less happy—and Jasper would probably haveeven morequestions—if they knew the concert was also a ruse to cover an elaborate criminal scheme. Mr. Roseingrave clearly took Sophie’s fidgeting as a sign that her nerves were still getting the better of her. “Practice, my dear,” he said. “You’ll feel much more up to it once you get a little more practice in.”
Unfortunately, the next morning, Mrs. Muchelney came into the store and bought the Dewhurst and Ffolkes.
“Harriet’s gone about as far as she can on our small instrument,” she said, beaming at Sophie. “Your instruction has given her so much encouragement, Miss Roseingrave. I want to see how much further she can go with a proper piano to practice on.”
“A very proper piano,” Sophie said, stroking one hand over the beloved cherry case. Some part of her had known she would have to part with it eventually—her father had repaired it specifically to sell it, after all—but her first impulse was still a wild urge to fling herself over the instrument like a soldier defending his queen from an assassin’s blow.
At least she would get to visit it when she gave Harriet her lessons. It might sting a little at first, but the thought of Harriet’s face lighting up when she realized she had this wonderful instrument for her very own... Well, that was going to be worth seeing.
As Mrs. Muchelney arranged for the delivery of the instrument, Sophie asked, “Mrs. Muchelney, do you think your daughter might perform in a concert we are planning?”
“A concert?” The woman blinked rapidly, clearly taken aback. “But she has only just started learning!”
“It’s a family concert,” Mr. Roseingrave put in. “There will be players of all abilities—Sophie, of course, my younger children, and possibly a few ladies and gentlemen from the Aeolian Club.”
The mention ofladies and gentlemenhad the intended effect of softening Mrs. Muchelney’s expression. “I shall have to ask Harriet—but I would be very proud if it were something she wished to do.” The widow made her farewells and departed for home. Within the hour, the cart and footmen had come and loaded away the Dewhurst and Ffolkes.
Sophie ached at the absence of the piano in the shop as though a tooth had been pulled from her jaw.
Her father patted her arm. “Come, my dear—there’s something I’ve been meaning to show you.”
He left Robbie in charge and towed her into the back repair room. Familiar smells of wood and sawdust, varnish and turpentine and metal wound around her. A large canvas hulked in the back corner; Mr. Roseingrave put one hand on this and smiled at his daughter. “I’ve only just finished this.”
He swirled off the canvas as though raising the curtain on a much-anticipated new opera.
Sophie gasped and clutched her hands to her chest.
She’d forgotten Julia had spoiled this surprise already: a new piano. No, not just a new piano—a newRoseingrave, a grand, with the name and the telltale rose logo painted in gold on the fallboard. The case was fine spruce with a gorgeous varnish the shade of fresh honey, and when she set one hand to the keys and played half a scale her heart soared at the sweetness of the instrument’s voice.
The only other time she’d fallen in love this fast was with Maddie Crewe. “Is this the new action?” she asked, raising the lid to peer beneath.
“It is,” her father confirmed. “With improvements, of course.”
