Page 63 of The Duke’s Duet

As Simmons appeared to escort her out, Melody caught one last glimpse of the Duchess, silhouetted against her window. For a moment, she could see the young Italian girl who had dared to love an English Duke, who had crossed social boundaries for the sake of her heart.

But what did it mean? Was the Duchess truly suggesting that she and Brightwood... but no. Better not to dwell on impossible dreams. Better to focus on packing, on preparations, on the practical details of departure. Yet as she left Brightwood House, the garnets just below her throat caught the sunlight like drops of fire, warming her skin with possibilities she dared not name.

*****

Returning home had felt like stepping between worlds. The modest townhouse that had seemed so confining now held a different kind of weight - the comfort of familiar things, the history of a thousand ordinary moments.

Now, a few hours later, Melody moved through the rooms, touching objects she'd seen every day without really noticing: the worn spot on the parlour carpet where her father paced while teaching, the small scratch on the pianoforte where Clara had dropped a music stand years ago, the faded curtains that had once been her mother's pride.

Most of her belongings would remain here - Clara would stay with their father, maintaining the house and his teaching practice. But Melody's trunk waited upstairs, already packed with everything she'd need for her new life. Concert gowns carefully folded, scores selected and organised, the practical necessities of travel arranged with mechanical precision.

"The carriage will be here soon." Clara appeared in the doorway, her eyes red-rimmed despite her attempt at a cheerful smile. "Signor Bianchi was most insistent about leaving early enough to reach the inn before dark."

"Yes, of course." Melody forced herself to focus on practical matters. "Is Papa ready?"

"He's just finishing with his last student. He didn't want to disappoint young Thomas, even today."

The normality of it - her father teaching until the last possible moment - made her throat tight. How many times had she accompanied his lessons, played duets with struggling students, helped explain complex musical concepts? This house had been filled with music of all kinds, from beginners' scales to professional performances.

Moving to the pianoforte, she opened the lid one last time. Brightwood's composition lay on the stand where she'd left it that morning, its pages holding all the things they'd never said aloud. She ought to pack it with her other music, but something made her hesitate.

"Will you keep this safe for me?" She held the score out to Clara. "I think... I think perhaps it belongs here, something to come back to."

Her sister took the music, understanding dawning in her eyes as she saw the title.

"Melody..."

"Don't." She couldn't bear sympathy right now. "Just... keep it safe."

The sound of wheels on cobblestones drew their attention to the window. Signor Bianchi's carriage had arrived, its elegant appointments looking somehow wrong against their modest street. The Italian himself descended, gesturing enthusiastically as he instructed his men about handling her trunk.

"Mia cara!" His voice carried clearly through the window. "Are you ready for your grand adventure? Florence awaits!"

Adventure. Was that what this was? It should feel exciting, triumphant - everything she'd dreamed of since childhood. Instead, her heart felt leaden in her chest.

Her father appeared from his study, still wearing the worn coat he taught in.

"The carriage is early."

"Signor Bianchi is eager to reach the inn before nightfall." Melody touched the garnets of the pin on her breast, remembering the Dowager Duchess' words about timing and patience. "Papa, are you certain you won't come to Italy? Even for a short visit?"

"My place is here, with my students." He drew her into a fierce embrace. "And your place... your place is wherever your music takes you."

But was it? The Duchess' hint about spring blooming from old roots whispered in her mind. She touched the pin again, drawing comfort from its solid warmth.

"Signorina!" Bianchi's voice carried up the stairs. "The tide waits for no one, and tomorrow's ship will not delay!"

They descended together, this little family that had survived so much.

Clara carried Melody's reticule, her father a small case of especially precious music, while Melody herself took one last look at each room they passed.

The parlour where they'd practiced countless duets. The dining room where they'd celebrated her first professional engagement. The small study where her father had taught her theory and composition. Every space held memories of music shared, of challenges overcome, of love expressed through art.

Rather like Brightwood House's music room, where she and Brightwood had created something extraordinary together. Where they'd found a harmony that transcended mere performance.

"Mia cara!" Bianchi swept an elaborate bow as she emerged. "Your carriage awaits! Tomorrow you begin your new life!"

But as she stepped into the elegant carriage, as Clara and her father settled beside her, as the horses moved forward with gentle purpose, Melody found herself looking back at their modest home. The garnets in the pin seemed to pulse with warmth, like a promise, like a possibility.

The Duchess' words echoed in her mind.

‘Some music requires perfect timing.’

Perhaps... perhaps this departure wasn't an ending but a rest between movements. Perhaps, like the notes in Harper's composition, some things needed space to find their perfect harmony.

The thought sustained her as their carriage turned the corner, and their home disappeared from view. But she carried with her the memory of Brightwood's music, of his mother's understanding, of a love expressed in the only language they dared to share.