With great effort, she lifted her head and peered intently at the sheet of music in front of her, acting like she understood the strange shapes on the thin lines, hoping desperately that if she looked at it enough, she would be able to remember something, anything. The notes did not rearrange themselves, turning no more legible than the other one hundred times she had looked. Oh well, there was nothing for it but to begin. The resultant tune could best be described as a clanging of discordant notes strung together by an uncoordinated snail.
‘That was…’ There was a soft wheezing sound, like air being pressed through a very narrow pipe.
‘Please do not feel you need to be kind.’
One of his hands was resting against his chin, his fingers loosely covering his smile, his shoulders shaking with suppressed mirth. Her heart thudded oddly, as if it had missed a couple of beats and was now racing to catch up.
‘It might need some practice,’ he managed.
His laughter was disarming and for a moment she was able to forget he was the son of a duke and she was an unemployed governess with an unfortunate infatuation, and laughed along with him. The more she giggled, the more he laughed, big gusts of unrestrained hilarity bellowing out of him. Tears leaked from the sides of her eyes and she brushed them away with the pads of her fingers.
‘It was awful, was is not?’
His shout of laughter was her only answer.
It was the release she needed. The pent-up frustration of being so close to him ebbed away as she held her sides, her amusement making her ribs ache.
‘Perhaps,’ she said when they were more composed, ‘you could show me how it is done.’
‘You would like me to play?’
‘Yes, I am assuming you are better than that.’
He adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves as his lips curved in a smile. ‘I hope you will forgive my rudeness when I say that Charlotte playing, with no lessons, would be more pleasurable to listen to.’
‘I thought you said it was a good start?’ Pressing a hand to her heart, she feigned hurt.
‘Are you sure that is what I said? I am pretty sure I told you, you were doing well.’
‘Is that not the same thing?’
‘It is perhaps relative.’
She snorted. ‘I see. Well, let me see what you can do.’
Straightening, he placed his fingers on the keys, about to begin the piece she had just mangled.
‘Can you play something else?’ she asked. ‘I do not think I want to hear how bad I am in comparison to someone who knows what they are doing.’
Moving his hands assuredly, he began to play almost as soon as she had finished talking, like he had been waiting for the moment to unleash his music to the world. The notes filled the room, softly at first but building, piling on top of one another, until there was nothing else. Gone was the stern man who had greeted her at the door, gone was the thoughtful man who had talked her through dining etiquette, gone too was the kind uncle who held his niece gently. In that moment, Edward Dashworthwasthe music, the pianoforte an extension of his lithe body as he moved, commanding the instrument to his will. The piece was building towards a crescendo and she could no more tear her eyes away from him than she could swim. When the music finished, the final notes seemed to float through the air as though, if she just looked closely enough, she would be able to see them.
‘That was spell-binding,’ she said after several long moments of complete silence.
He shrugged off the compliment. ‘I made several mistakes and I am not as convinced by the middle section as I used to be.’
The significance of his words slowly dawned on her, but when they did, she realised he was even more talented than she had first thought. ‘Did you write the piece yourself?’
‘Yes.’ He took his hands from the keys and placed them on his knees. ‘A few years ago. I have not played it for a while. I should have practised before trying to show off.’
‘It was beautiful.’
‘Should I be insulted at how incredulous you sound?’ He half turned towards her, his lips tilted in a lopsided smile.
‘You told me you filled your days with boxing, fencing and other things you seemed to imply were equally frivolous. You did not say you spent your days composing music.’
He closed the lid of the piano, the light fading from his eyes. ‘I do not do so any more.’
‘Whyever not? You are clearly very talented.’
