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The ceremony itself was held at St. Mary’s and, though conducted by Jonathan’s mentor, Bishop Annesley, it was delivered in the style of a small, neighborhood church.

Lady Harriet sniffed, displeased that one of her sons would be married with so little pomp and circumstance.

Lord Maxwell fell asleep five minutes into the service and Jonathan’s two eldest brothers did not even bother to attend.

The bride and groom hardly noticed; their own joy was fueled by their mutual certainty of a happy alliance and the presence of so many friends who did support them.

Edmund Churchill returned some weeks before the wedding and Jonathan was pleased to find his bride’s younger brother to be a quiet, serious young man who was studying law with the intent of entering politics.

After a short honeymoon to the seaside, the newlyweds returned to London and settled into the parsonage at St. Mary’s.

Although a larger stipend came with his elevation in position, the couple continued to live simply, albeit unconventionally.

He did much of the cooking while she continued to publish on her mathematics, and their greatest expenditures tended to be on parchment and books.

Jonathan and Rebecca de Bourgh lived and worked together in his London parish for five years after their marriage.

Their first child, Madeleine, was born two years after they married.

Two years after that, a baby boy was welcomed into the family and named Paul, after his maternal grandfather.

Sadly, typhus swept through the slums and their son died before he reached his first birthday.

Husband and wife grieved deeply and decided to seek a parish in the country where the air was cleaner and their daughter could enjoy more of nature.

Jonathan felt he had done good work with St. Elmo’s and the framework he had set in place would sustain itself without his presence.

So it was that, in the summer of 1784, Jonathan and Rebecca found themselves preparing to spend two weeks at a house party at Wolfram Manor, the primary de Bourgh estate in Essex, despite their mutual distaste for his family.

Lord Maxwell’s health had been poor recently and he had decreed that all his offspring would attend the celebration of his seventieth birthday.

The morning after their arrival, Rebecca and Jonathan rose at dawn as was their habit.

Over their seven years of marriage, they had worked out a schedule beneficial to all in the family.

Both loved early mornings for the quiet—a time with few interruptions from the outside world.

They would breakfast together as a family, discussing the coming day.

Then Jonathan would spend time with their daughter, reading to her or going on walks while Rebecca would take some time for herself, usually for her mathematics.

On this morning her mind was still rather fuzzy after a day spent traveling so she decided to find the music room and spend time on a new piece she had recently begun learning.

Rebecca was careful to close the doors tightly—she had no desire to disturb the other houseguests—and finding the pianoforte to be well-tuned, began warming up with some scales and simple pieces.

For her, music was like mathematics for the ear—the organization and division of the notes was as beautiful as any calculus.

She smirked to herself—she had long since given up trying to explain such things to the young ladies she met—their primary interest in music seemed to be as a necessary skill to exhibit themselves to gentlemen.

Fingers limbered, she decided to move on to her goal of the morning, a piano concerto composed by the young Bavarian prodigy, Wolfgang Mozart.

She worked her way through it slowly the first time, noting fingerings and stopping several times to work out the trickier passages.

After an hour, she paused and stood, walking to the windows while stretching her arms over her head to relieve the strain that had built up in her shoulders.

In her youth, Rebecca had often played with such focus that she would spend hours practicing without break, finally stopping to find her back aching and fingers cramping.

Looking out across the gardens, she smiled to herself.

Having children had undoubtedly enhanced her ability to do multiple things at once.

She wondered what the academicians lauding her recent work would say if they knew much of it had been done when she had been up in the night, holding a babe to her breast with her right arm while writing with her left.

With the help of her friends at St. Andrews, she had submitted her most promising works to the Royal Society and it had been presented with acclaim.

She would not lie about herself but knowing that the prejudice against women was still too great, she continued to submit her work as “R.A. Churchill” and did not correct those replies she received addressed to “mister.” She turned down all invitations to meetings or lectures, citing a “family situation” that did not allow travel.

After working out the tension in her shoulders, Rebecca decided that she was ready to try the concerto again.

Settling at the bench, she arranged the music so that page turning would be the least bother and then, taking a deep breath, poised her fingers over the keys and threw herself into the music.

Lady Anne Fitzwilliam had enjoyed her eighteenth birthday two weeks prior.

The youngest of the three Fitzwilliam children, she had a quiet warmth and desire to see everyone around her happy.

She loved the light of mornings and often rose before the rest of the house to spend time sketching or painting with her watercolors.

This morning she rose early as usual and ventured downstairs with the idea of spending some time practicing on the pianoforte before the other ladies arose.

As she approached the closed door of the music room, she heard the opening notes of a concerto she had only recently begun to learn.

Curious, she cracked open the door to see a woman, handsome rather than beautiful, dark auburn hair pinned up in a simple style and wearing a simple green muslin frock.

Most noticeable was the woman’s focus—there seemed to be nothing else in the world but her and the instrument.

Lady Anne slipped into the room and quietly seated herself in a chair with a clear view of the woman’s hands as her fingers flew up and down the keys.

Meanwhile, Rebecca was completely unaware of her audience.

When she finally reached the end of the piece, she sat motionless for a moment as the last notes echoed through the room.

She was recalled to the present by the sound of clapping and turned to see a young lady with a warm smile rising from a chair by the door.

“Oh, that was so lovely! Your fingering is so precise! I’ve been working on that piece for weeks but I still end up slurring my way through the difficult passages.”

Rebecca was still working her way back to reality and could only stare for some moments. “Thank you.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I’ve interrupted you. I woke early and was thinking of practicing myself when I heard you from the hall and couldn’t resist. Please forgive me; I’ll leave you to your solitude.”

By then Rebecca had recovered her wits and smiled at the younger lady whose sincere apology was belied by the disappointed look in her eyes. “Oh, no— please stay. I’ve been here for two hours and it is high time for me to take a rest.”

Observing the young lady’s happy smile, Rebecca continued, “That was actually the first time I’ve made it through the entire piece without a stop—I thank you for your praise but there are a number of sections where I fudged my way through the fingering.

This arpeggio on the second page keeps tripping me up.

” Pulling out the appropriate page, she demonstrated, groaning at the end when, once again, she stumbled over the final triplet.

“Oh! I had trouble with just that passage, but I think I’ve finally worked out a fingering that works. May I?” Anne had drawn closer to the piano and bent to place her fingers on the instrument even as Rebecca shifted on the bench to give the younger woman room.

Lady Anne worked her way slowly through the notes to remind herself of the piece, then started at the beginning of the section that was troubling her new friend, her long, slender fingers dancing fluidly through the arpeggio.

As she reached the end, Rebecca clapped her hands with pleasure “Yes, you’ve got it!

Would you go through it again, more slowly this time so that I may follow the fingering? ”

The two women were still in that same position when Jonathan de Bourgh and his daughter entered the music room with a new acquaintance of their own.

Lady Anne observed her new friend’s face transform from exacting focus to pure pleasure when she noticed her little family.

Holding out her hands with a smile, Rebecca laughed as her daughter ran into her arms, kissing the little girl on the cheek and smirking at her husband who seemed to have forgotten the crown of daisies on his head.

“And how are you, my dear? Did you have a nice morning with your papa? ”

“Oh Mama! It was lovely! We saw the kitchen garden and Papa found a mint he wants to try growing! And then we met Mr. Darcy and he showed us the pond and told me what kinds of fishes live there! Are you playing a duet? May I learn?”