Page 7 of Love’s Refrain at Roslyn Court (Noble Hearts #2)

Seven

SOPHIA

D earest parents, sisters, and cousin,

The village where we stay now sits at the base of a high mountain, near a deep glen through which runs a rapid river.

We hear the rush of water at night when all is quiet—or as quiet as a military encampment gets—as it crashes over the granite rocks before joining a larger, quieter sort of river some miles downstream.

There is a castle, or perhaps a fortress, on the mountain that we can see, with six bastions of stone along one end and massive outcroppings along another.

I have my paper and pencils, and while we have some little time at leisure—an occurrence that is granted us at a moment’s notice and then as easily revoked—I am determined to take this scene down in a sketch, which I hope to send to you in my next letter.

I would do so now, but my friend Major Hollimore tells me there is a packet of missives leaving within the quarter hour and I do so wish this to be included.

I remain your loving son and brother, and yes, dearest Sophia, cousin, until we meet under happier skies,

Henry

Sophia was in the music room again when Major Hollimore found her.

Her aunt had stopped by the small office earlier that morning to inform her that they had accepted an invitation, the first in half a year.

Since Mrs Wright was a neighbour and friend, a quiet evening at her family’s large estate on the far side of the village with only a handful of others from the area in attendance would not be seen as disrespectful of the family’s mourning.

“You will play, dear,” she told Sophia. It had been voiced as a question, but both knew it to be a command. Mrs Wright had commanded the same only days before.

“I will be pleased to, Aunt,” came the expected reply.

“Excellent. Something cheerful, not too much, mind you, and fast enough to show your skill, without being too, well… Nothing too ponderous, now.”

Sophia had agreed. She always did.

She was looking through her music for some suitable pieces when the major came in. He bowed but said nothing, and took his accustomed seat by the corner, presumably where he would be as little disruptive as possible. His dedication to her practice was flattering.

For a while, she kept to her task, selecting some simpler Scotch and Irish airs for before the meal, some reels and cotillions should anyone wish to dance, and some more serious music for later in the evening.

“No concertos, nothing ponderous.” She rolled her eyes and spoke out loud, forgetting for a moment that she had company.

“Nothing ponderous? Whatever does that mean?”

Sophia snapped her eyes up at the sound of Major Hollimore’s voice. He seldom spoke while she was at her music.

“Forgive me, sir. I was talking to myself. Lady Poole has tasked me with finding exactly the right music for an evening’s entertainment.

I must present myself as decidedly more accomplished than any other lady in the neighbourhood, so as to be a credit to my adoptive family, but not so much more accomplished that I will be glared at with green-eyed jealousy by all the others and no longer be invited, for then I would not be able to display my superiority. ”

The major stared at her for a moment, quite blank-faced, and then let out a bark of harsh laughter.

“You quite astonish me, Miss Bradley. Just when I believe you to be entirely placid and well ordered, you come out with a statement like that, which is as cynical as it is amusing, and I begin to suspect I do not know you at all.”

“Very few people do, sir. But more to the point right now, even fewer know what I should prepare to play at Mrs Wright’s dinner. Do you think I should find something by Mr Haydn or Mr Clementi?”

The major raised his eyebrows. There were shadows beneath his eyes. He must have slept ill again.

“I cannot say I know much about either composer, other than I have heard both names.”

“Then shall I play for you? You can listen and tell me which you prefer.”

He inclined his head. “I shall gladly listen, but I believe anything you play will be my favourite. Your music has a way of speaking to my soul. Still, let us hear. I might have an opinion, after all.”

He sat back into the embrace of his chair and Sophia turned her attention to the instrument.

Knowing how much Major Hollimore had appreciated the music before, she played for longer than she otherwise might.

First an entire sonata by Haydn? * , and then one by Clementi? * , the brilliant Italian who now called London home.

When the final notes had stilled in the air, she turned on the bench with a questioning smile.

He was, if not asleep, then in a state of profound contemplation.

His head lay at a slight angle on the padded tall back of the chair, and his mouth hung slightly open.

Sophia had seen him almost senseless before, on that first evening when he had taken ill, but then he had been so troubled, and his face had reflected that anguish.

Now, for the first time, she saw him in complete repose.

She was stuck anew at how much younger he looked.

It was an appealing face when not lined with strife, and she wished to see it more often as it was now.

As she watched him, he blinked his eyes and gave a small chuckle.

“You have caught me out, Miss Bradley, but I was not entirely asleep. Well, perhaps I drifted a little way along the beautiful melodic path you set out,” he confessed.

“I slept ill last night, and my eyes insisted on taking their rest where they could. Still, I knew enough to open them when you stopped. I wish you had not stopped, mind you.”

“Shall I play it again, sir?”

“Please do! I promise to pay full attention this time.”

The major was as good as his word, and he applauded heartily at the conclusion of this second rendition.

In need of something to drink, Sophia called for some tea and took her music over to a chair across from his, where she sat to discuss his thoughts about what she ought to perform for the Wrights.

He knew little about music, he professed, being destined for military life from childhood, with few pretensions to better society. His uncle already had one son to inherit, and seemed ready to sire several more. There was no need for him to achieve the polish of the ton .

Still, he had a good natural ear and was able to speak intelligently about what he had heard. Most welcome to Sophia was the warmth with which he expressed himself and the genuine joy he took in hearing her play.

“The slow music, that second part—second movement, is that the term?—of the one you just now played, spoke to me like poetry does, painting a picture before my closed eyes, where words cannot take me. I feel like an untutored man speaking a language he does not know, but oh, Miss Bradley, there is so much I wish to say!”

They finished their tea, and then some more, talking all the while about the music and every other topic that seemed to flow from it.

They discussed the roles of sensibility and logic in music, the terminology composers used—these being mostly in Italian, made a great deal of sense to the major, who spoke French and Spanish and some Portuguese—and what made music suitable for dancing.

It now being the time when Louisa was accustomed to walk to the village to help the parson’s wife with the children, Sophia had to excuse herself to walk with her cousin. It seemed natural to invite the major along.

“Although it is not far, your poor sleep…”

She let the words hang in the air.

“And you confessed to still tiring easily…”

This, too, was left unfinished.

But he answered with a grin, one that reached his tired eyes and gave them a moment of light. “I find movement does me more good than does resting. I walked around the lake this morning and feel much improved for the exercise.”

“Did you indeed? I was outside conferring with the gardener about the kitchen garden and did not see you.”

“It was rather early.” Major Hollimore blushed, then gave a chagrined grimace.

“More night than morning, I should say. I had returned to my room before the sun was risen. But dawn is beautiful by the water. Watching Aurora spill her palette across the sky brings me almost as much peace as does your music.”

“Aurora’s palette? And you claimed to be no artist. Sir! You have misled me.”

Sophia allowed herself to laugh, and the major did likewise, albeit in a restrained manner, and it was with grins on both faces that they agreed to meet Louisa in a few minutes for the short stroll down to the village.

Louisa gave Major Hollimore a quizzical look when he appeared with Sophia at the door leading to the path to the village.

“You are to join us, Major? Did Mama put you up to this? No, it was Sophia, I see. That is fine and good, then. Shall we set off?”

The day had become quite warm, and Sophia led them down the side of the path that lay more in the shade of the line of trees that edges the lane.

Under her deep straw bonnet, her hair began to itch, and she knew it would be a right mess by the time they arrived.

Normally this was something that did not perturb her at all, but today, for some reason, she wanted to look good.

The lane wound around the edge of the lake, before following the stream that filled it up just past the bridge, and there, on the banks of this same stream stood the village.

The church was the first building they came upon, tall and square, its ancient stone tower glowing yellow in the bright sunlight.

They had only passed it before, on previous walks.

This time, they turned their feet in that direction.

“The vicarage is down there,” Sophia explained to their companion, gesturing with her empty hand.

“And the school is in the small hall between the buildings. I have brought some embroidered squares Diane and I have been making to help the younger children learn their letters.” Now she held out the covered basket she carried in her other hand.

“Admirable,” the major replied. “Are you as skilled with a needle as with a pianoforte?”

“Oh, Sophia is just the finest musician in the neighbourhood!” Louisa exclaimed. “I quite abandoned my own studies, for I shall never be half as proficient as she.”

“You do yourself a disservice, Louisa.” Sophia could not help but laugh at her cousin.

“You merely need to apply yourself more. And your voice is far prettier than mine could ever be. No amount of practice will lend to me what nature has given to you. Perhaps you will sing at the dinner Mrs Wright has promised us. That would not be inappropriate, and Major Hollimore does enjoy music.”

Louisa sent her an exasperated look. “I am certain the major has no wish to hear me sing.”

“But I do believe the Southams are to be invited as well. That, at least, is what I read on the note from Mrs Wright.” She turned to the major to explain. “Since I deal with the family’s correspondence, I tend to know more about the neighbourhood than is good for me.”

The major grinned, a lovely sight in the sunlight.

It was still not the entirely open smile she longed to see, but it was welcome all the same.

The sun picked out copper strands in his dark hair where it emerged from under his hat, and his cheeks did not seem quite so hollow today.

Perhaps it was the light. Perhaps he was recovering.

Although he had not yet sold his commission, he had laid off his scarlet coat in favour of an ordinary gentleman’s walking coat in a deep green that set off his eyes, and Sophia struggled to stop from staring at him.

Louisa’s eyes were not on the soldier, however, but on Sophia.

“The Southams will be there? Is Jeremy invited as well?” Her face lit up. “Then perhaps I shall sing, after all!”

* ? Joseph Haydn, Piano Sonata in E-flat Major (Hob. XVI/49, 1789-90)

* ? Muzio Clementi, Piano Sonata in E-flat Major (Op.41 1803)