This was his sonata, maybe an earlier version but very close to what he’d played tonight. I folded up the paper and held it to my bosom.
Mr. Steele appeared at the door. “The duke’s carriage is ready to take you to Ground Street.”
“Thank you, sir.”
About to put the paper on top of the musical instrument, I changed my mind. With careful creases, I folded it and put it into my pocket.
Upon retrieving my bonnet, I rushed through the hall toward the awaiting Berlin. The wide vehicle would take me across the river at sunset.
When I passed the hall mirror, I looked at myself. The proud woman looking back hadn’t run from the parade of suitors or after a man who made her feel like music. Like the sheet of notes in my pocket, I was a work in progress. I was beautiful art, something to behold.
Outside, Mr. Steele helped me inside the carriage. “This house will be transformed when you see it next, Miss Wilcox. The duke throws a massive celebration. He embraces life like there is no tomorrow.”
“I can’t wait. I’ll be ready to perform.”
“Yes, you and Lord Mark sound exquisite. The performance, the two of you together, will be wonderful.”
Yes. The two of us.
The music teacher and his student. No.
The composer and his muse. No.
The man and his fetish. No. No.
Partners, equally yoked. Yes.
“Good evening, sir.”
Mr. Steele shut the door. The carriage started and I settled in. Yanking out the sheet music, I stared at Mark’s careful handwriting and hummed.
This piece ran out of notes. No concluding bars, but Mark and I had them. We’d perform one last time. My heart had to accept that our song would end at the ball.
Chapter 36
GEORGINA—SISTERLYADVICE
Bright and early the duke’s dressmakers arrived at our house on Ground Street. It was chaos. The hullabaloo of designers and seamstresses pushing pins at us and draping silk about our arms and wrapping satin about our bosoms overwhelmed each of us.
Then the color choices. I didn’t know that many existed.
Scarlett might’ve known about pompadour rose or stifled sigh pink, but I didn’t. She did love to sew, the one appeasement she offered to Mama when she trained us in the domestic arts.
Just when I thought I could take no more pinning and spinning, the women announced they were done. Our new gowns, even one for Katherine, would arrive the morning of the ball.
They left and all the Wilcoxes remained in the parlor.
Scarlett and Lydia lay on a blanket on the floor. Bared toes warmed by the nice fire. Wilcox Coal heated everything just right.
Katherine stretched out on the sofa, while I sat at the pianoforte. I pulled out Mark’s piece and began to play, trying to remember how he moved forward on the more complete version of the sonata.
All my sisters seemed to be listening.
“It’s been a while since we’ve been here,” Lydia said. “You know, in the parlor, just us.”
Scarlett stroked her fingers in the little girl’s curly braided chignon. “Mama used to gather us here when she was strong.”
Katherine sat up. “Yes. And Papa would come through those doors after a coal run, smiling.”
