Page 12 of Love’s Refrain at Roslyn Court (Noble Hearts #2)

Twelve

SOPHIA

S ophia did not have long to wait before another opportunity to talk to Mr Bladestock presented itself.

She had been out on the terrace with her cousins and Emily Wright, enjoying the warmth of the late-setting sun whilst the others set to their cards.

Now in want of something to drink, she wandered back inside, only to hear someone call her name.

Turning, she saw Mrs Mowbray seated on one of the long settees with Mrs Ashburton at one side, and Mr Bladestock in the chair beside them.

“Miss Bradley, my dear,” Mrs Mowbray summoned her, “you must join us. Have you met our new neighbours? You must, for they are charming. Mrs Ashburton is a fine singer, and I have been telling her how beautifully you play on the pianoforte. I do hope to hear you together one of these days.”

Always delighted to meet another musician, Sophia gladly accepted the invitation, and soon found herself seated with this small gathering around the low table.

“Do you play an instrument as well as sing, Mrs Ashburton?” she asked.

“I do, but poorly. I had the ear for music as a child, but would not take the time to practise my scales. I am better at the harp than the pianoforte, for it is all but impossible to make a harp sound ill.” She allowed herself a small smile, but her eyes laughed in self-deprecation.

“You quite undervalue your skills, Mrs Ashburton!”

These words came from her friend, Mr Bladestock, who now sat forward to join the conversation.

His eyes, deep blue and rimmed with thick lashes, widened as he spoke.

“You have a delicate hand on the harp and are quite lovely to hear. And you performed those Scotch airs with such feeling and skill only last night.”

“You flatter me, sir. These pieces, alas, are quite at the limit of my skill. I would love very much to be able to play some of the more recent pieces, such as the sonatas by Mr Beethoven. I have heard that you, Miss Bradley, are more than capable of performing his difficult music, both with technical agility and with the feeling the music requires. I should love to hear you play. Will you be entertaining us this evening?”

“Do say you will play!” Mrs Mowbray interjected. “I depend upon it.”

“Is this so, Miss Bradley? How grand to meet an accomplished musician. You must play for us. I quite insist upon it.”

Mr Bladestock gave her so warm and encouraging a look that Sophia could not refuse. She need not inform her new acquaintances that entertainment was the price of her entrée to such evenings as this. They would discover it soon enough.

“Will you divert us with songs and airs, or with longer pieces, Miss Bradley?” the young man asked.

“I have prepared a sonata by Mr Clementi, whose music is so lovely, and perhaps another by Mr Haydn. But I do not wish to prevent others from exhibiting as well.”

“Do you play anything by Beethoven?” Mrs Ashburton asked. “I would very much like to hear some of his music, although it is far too challenging for me.”

“And what of this Austrian composer, Mr Hummel?” Mr Bladestock asked.

“He has a new sonata for piano that is just recently published.? * I am fortunate to have procured a copy of the music from an associate in Vienna. It was quite a chore, having it sent here, I tell you, but we succeeded! Did you know he lived in London for a time? Is that not interesting?”

Sophia could not keep the smile from her face. Beside her, Mrs Mowbray sat back in silence, looking quite pleased with herself and satisfied with the conversation.

“I have not met many people who know of Mr Hummel. If you have the music, surely you play as well.”

“Ah, I do, but poorly. Mrs Ashburton’s talents at the keyboard far exceed my own. I do have some ability with the violoncello, however. Do you know the ’cello concerto by Haydn? The one in D? That is a piece I enjoy so very much.”

All other company was forgotten. The Pooles, the Wrights, the Southams, even Isaac, who had been peering at his cards when last Sophia noticed him, faded into the walls as Sophia leapt into this wonderful company of fellow musicians.

Now all thoughts of Mrs Jackson’s twins and outings to the orchard and the upcoming races fled before the delights of sonatas and symphonies, and the relative merits of reels and jigs.

What of the talk in London to establish a permanent band of players into a philharmonic society that would present a season of music?

What of the latest performance of Messiah at Easter?

What of that mad genius Beethoven, and news that he had attempted to write a piece for orchestra, pianoforte, and choir?

When, at last, Sophia and Mrs Ashburton were called to amuse the party with some music, arrangements had been discussed and settled for a day at Clarehurst, there to spend as many hours as they could in the music room, exploring the collections that Mrs Ashburton and Mr Bladestock had amassed.

“We must make a day of it!” Mr Ashburton cried when he heard of the proposal.

“I adore a party, and we shall have a splendid time. Come right after breakfast. We can take an outing to the old castle up on the hill and set up pall mall? i , or wickets, or bowls, or battledore and shuttlecock for those who wish, and our musical friends can then perform to a willing audience before dinner. What say you? Shall we? Yes, indeed, we must! What a party we shall be, with all the young people of the neighbourhood there. Mr Southam, you shall join us, of course, and Major Hollimore, and Miss Poole and Miss Diane, and Miss Wright… How merry we shall be. It is quite decided.”

In her quiet way, Mrs Ashburton seemed equally pleased, and even Lady Poole, when applied to, was not entirely against the idea.

Since Sophia would be engaged with music all day, there would be nothing preventing Isaac and Louisa from falling in love with each other.

A date was set for the following Tuesday, to the satisfaction of all.

Sophia now took her place at the pianoforte. She began with a simple piece, an arrangement for pianoforte of one of the popular duets from The Magic Flute . Her fingers danced over the keys with the dexterity born of much practice, and she could let her eyes move around the room as she played.

It was a most pleasant scene, with many of the invited guests clustered in comfortable chairs or on sofas around low tables, and some others seated more formally, as if for a concert, on the tall wooden chairs brought in from the dining room.

One or two stood near the back wall, talking in voices too low to be heard, and a foursome still sat around the last card table, seeming quite intent on the game at play.

And there, on a solitary chair near the door, was Isaac.

He sat perfectly still, his back tall and his feet both planted on the ground, unlike some of the other gentlemen whose posture was more relaxed, with their ankles crossed or with one shin balanced on the opposite knee.

Instead, Isaac’s arms in the sleeves of his dark coat lay along the arms of the chair he occupied, and his fingers curled around the knobs at the ends.

He could have been a statue, carved to display the perfect pose of a soldier awaiting orders, if not for his eyes, which burned into her as she played.

She felt, suddenly, that to him, she was the only person in the room, and for a moment she played her music only for him.

It was a strange pull, that intangible connection between them.

She could not explain it, although she could not deny what she felt.

Was it merely a need to be useful? Was it nothing more than a practical purpose for her music, to supply relief to a man who lived in his nightmares?

She was so accustomed to making herself helpful that this was not a notion to be disregarded without further thought.

But no. While Sophia found great satisfaction in her activities, there was a far deeper layer to whatever it was that drew her to Isaac.

Playing for him did not only bring him comfort, but it also brought her joy.

It was something beyond what she had felt before, and the magnitude of it both thrilled and terrified her.

In this reverie, her fingers almost slipped and she forced her attention back to the music before anybody might notice.

All too soon, the piece ended, and the gentle ripple of applause brought her thoughts back to the gathering. She rose and bobbed a curtsey in acknowledgement.

“Another, if you please, Miss Bradley,” Mrs Wright called from where she sat with Sophia’s aunt and the vicar’s wife. “A longer piece, if you will, and then we can call on some of the others to play for us. Have you something to play?”

Sophia had prepared the very thing, and she settled once more onto the bench, allowing her fingers to caress the keys for a moment. She placed her music on the stand before her and turned to the first page.

“Allow me.” Mr Bladestock walked up to the instrument. “I am no expert performer, but I am proficient at turning the pages. I would be honoured.”

“Yes. Yes, of course. Thank you.” There was a tricky passage near the bottom of the page, and it was a welcome offer. She caught his smile as she gestured to the part and began the piece, letting the bright patterns and rolling harmonies fill the air.

Mr Bladestock was as good as his word, and they finished the sonata with nary a slip and pleased smiles as they silently congratulated each other on an excellent performance.

“Well done, well done!” somebody called out, and others joined in the acknowledgements.

The two of them, Sophia and Mr Bladestock, grinned widely at each other, and Sophia took another chance to curtsey her gratitude for the accolades.

But there, in his chair by the door, Isaac remained, perfectly still, his eyes now pools of sadness that Sophia suspected had little to do with the horrid memories that assailed him.

* ? Johann Nepomuk Hummel, Piano Sonata #4 in C Major (Op. 38, 1808?)