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"Yes, they are the only family I have ever known," she bit down on her lower lip, "Sometimes I feel like the most terrible of daughters for not remembering them. There is only the faintest memory of my mama singing me to sleep."

He didn't stare at her with pity, and she appreciated it.

"It is a small mercy that you cannot remember them, Miss Proctor," the Duke said, "I wonder if the hole my father's death created would not have been so glaring if neither my sister nor I could remember him. But then again, I cherish every memory I ever made with him."

"He was a good father then?"

His smile was small but oh so fond, "Yes, the very best of fathers and an excellent man too."

She almost told him in that moment that she believed he would make an excellent father too, but she was loathe to ruin the moment, especially as his hand inched closer to hers and his pinky finger brushed against hers.

Her throat bobbed with a swallow and she kept her gaze fixed forward, an illicit thrill making her heart pound.

"After my father died," Victor said in a near whisper, "I came home, believing that I was ready to take on the responsibility of the title, the lands and all of it. I never factored in the fact that there would be real people under my care. Like my mother and sister."

She allowed her pinky to hook around his.

"It was then that it struck me that I could not afford to fail, because if I did... I do not want to think about what would have happened if I did."

"Was it hard?"

"Extremely," he admitted, "But the worst part was the resentment I felt, that I was expected to pick up the mantle and be as perfect as a man I could never dream of even being half as good as."

Tears filled her eyes and she blinked them away, "You must have done well regardless, but I wished you did not have to."

Light applause scattered over the room, and the both of them turned to where the woman in black was curtsying on stage. The red curtain slid closed and the applause trailed off, replaced by excited murmurs.

"What's going on?"

The curtains opened again and a woman in a gleaming silver dress came into view. She had flaming red hair that had been left loose to fall around her shoulders down to her waist.

She looked angelic and utterly iridescent. Her expression was inscrutable and she appeared to have been carved out of marble with how still she was. Only her eyes moved, taking in the crowd.

"She is called The Sirius," the Duke bent to whisper into her ear.

"Why?"

"Sirius is the brightest star in the sky according to experts. She always wears silver and just like the star is the object of attention when one looks up into the night sky, so does she manage to capture all attention."

Lavinia stared at the pale woman. She had a beauty that was ethereal, entrancing. She could see why many of the men were leaning on the edge of their seats.

When she turned to check if Victor was as caught in the woman's charm, she found him looking right at her.

"She is that good?"

"You will see for yourself I suppose," he told her, "she came into the scene in England three years ago. Nobody knows her nationality, but some speculate that she is German. The mystery is a large part of her allure."

Then The Sirius took a step forward slowly. She was a vision in the muted light, calm and poised and cold. Lavinia could feel her excitement growing and she wondered if everyone felt the same.

The soft sounds of the piano filled the room followed by the draw of the Cello. The melodic sound caused the room to go still.

And then the silver clad woman took a deep breath and her voice finally joined in.

Lavinia's breath caught in her throat at the woman's voice.

Like a siren, her voice put you in a trance and held you there. It was soft and yet commanding and it made goosebumps to rise up on her skin. She could feel her emotions being drawn to the surface by the lure of the music.

"My goodness," she breathed, "She is something isn't she."