“What do you mean? I’m standing right here.”
He shook his head, played a few more chords before stilling his fingers. “No. You’re timid. You’re singing how you expect me to want to hear the music. There’s no freedom in your tone. It is very closeted. The slightest bit of distraction causes you to muffle your words, then your breathing gets ragged. You’re not singing with everything you can.”
“But I’m in tune. I’m singing the words. I honestly don’t understand.”
The duke came into the parlor. “What’s going on? Not arguing in here too.”
“No, Your Grace.” I bowed. “My tutor is trying to explain movement or singing. I don’t know.”
Torrance lifted my chin. “The bits I hear are good.”
“The bits over Lydia’s shrieks.” I shook my head. “I don’t know.”
The duke tugged on his emerald waistcoat and clapped his hands. “I don’t hear any music, but I don’t see any kissing. That must mean serious things are happening here.”
“Things are going, Your Grace,” I said. “Lord Mark is trying, but I’m still too nervous to sing with freedom.”
“She’s good, Torrance, but she’ll never gain the interest of the entire ballroom if she can only sing a few lines without becoming nervous.”
“Perhaps there needs to be other beautiful things to distract Miss Wilcox. You solve problems by running. Dancing is a different kind of movement.” The duke came to me with his hand extended. “Sebastian, play a good waltz. I wish to dance with the prettiest woman in the room.”
Being the only woman, I assumed he meant me. “I just talked with my music teacher about too many compliments.”
“Nonsense. There’s never enough.” To my teacher, he said, “Play something livelier.”
I looked at Lord Mark. He seemed a little uncomfortable, but then began to play “Robin Adair.”
The duke had my hand and twirled me slowly around, following the perimeter of the room. All the people in those new paintings watched us. I felt giddy.
“Imagine, Miss Wilcox, you’re in a lovely gown of emerald satin.”
“No, a warm rose. Like this room.”
“Nyet, you must stand out. Different from this. You’ll be a vision. A Vasilisa come to my ball.”
“Ah, your Cinderella.”
“Yes, you must be in something bold. Something with lots of lace. Imagine all eyes on you.”
My heart drummed. “Like the horrid people along the wall glaring at me?”
The duke stopped, then nodded. “These paintings are not right. I must do something else.” He turned to our musician. “Faster, sir. Faster.”
His steps quickened and I kept up. “You must be feeling better, Your Grace.”
“I am. But sickness is a part of life. I’m glad when it doesn’t last.”
Images of Mama, her lameness, touched my mind. Even Lydia’s illnesses. She’d had a fever a few days ago. I stopped dancing.
“What’s the matter, Miss Wilcox?”
“Just thinking of the past, Your Grace. We’ve lost a lot. Death has visited too often.”
He took my hand again. “We must not let it win. You fight every day to get out of bed and live in the light. That’s what my mother believes. I do too.”
A sadness I hadn’t heard or seen was in his eyes. Before I could ask him what made him glum, the duke whipped me away, spinning me around the room.
I followed his lead and soon our waltz caught the rhythm. “We’re chasing the music, Your Grace.”
