Page 53 of My Devoted Viscount (Brazen Bluestockings #2)

chapter-seperator

Instead of taking out an instrument or playing the harpsichord, Matthew stood beside Miss Ebrington by the fireplace, their heads bowed in conversation. At Gert’s throat-clearing, they took a half step back from each other but continued talking.

Xavier stood before the cabinet with music folios, discussing options with Aunt Agnes.

That left Vincent sitting on the sofa. Next to Wallace.

“I say,” Wallace began before trailing off, apparently unable to actually say. He plucked a white dog’s hair off of his dark brown breeches, then found another hair on the sofa arm.

“I am sorry for breaking your nose,” Vincent said. Because of Henry’s shedding, he tended not to wear dark colors at Gert’s.

Wallace whipped his head to stare at Vincent, mouth agape. He ran his finger along his nose, which had developed a slight crook when he was eight, courtesy of Vincent’s fist. After a moment he shook his head. “I deserved it.”

“Agreed.”

They both grinned, then Wallace grew serious again. “It has come to my attention that I have been laboring under a misconception,” he said slowly, as though he dredged the words from a deep, distant well. He cleared his throat. “For a long time.” He glanced at the painting above the fireplace.

Vincent followed his gaze. Nonna Vincenza gazed placidly down upon them. “Yes.” His throat was too thick to force out any other syllables.

“Can we…” Again Wallace ran out of words. He waved his hand back and forth between them.

Vincent clapped his hand on Wallace’s shoulder and managed a wan smile.

Wallace’s shoulders rose and fell on a sigh, and with an answering grin, he and Vincent sat back and together listened to Miss Walden play.

She had added numerous flourishes, and several times played a variation before returning to the original melody, like a child going off to play and then coming back to its nurse. She finished with a glissando and dramatic pair of chords, then stood, yielding the bench to him with a grand gesture.

“You seem especially cheerful tonight,” Aunt Agnes said with a sly grin. “You’re almost, dare I say, giddy.”

Miss Walden blushed. “I received good news today. It has set my mind at ease.”

“Anything you’d care to share with us?” Gert paused in petting Henry on her lap.

“Four offers of employment, to begin after I’m finished here.”

“Four!” Gert and Agnes said in unison. “How will you ever decide which position to accept?” Agnes added.

“One is an offer I did not apply for, working with a former colleague for a family I’m already familiar with, on their estate near where the Exe River flows into the Channel.”

“At the seaside,” Gert softly said, nodding her head.

“Another tempting offer is at a school in Dover. They plan to travel with some of the older girls each year to give them extra polish. To London and even to Calais and Paris.”

“Also by the sea,” Agnes murmured. “Do you wish to travel?”

Miss Walden bit the corner of her bottom lip.

“I don’t think I would care to follow the drum and live in a tent,” she said slowly, looking between Gert and Agnes.

“But I think I would very much enjoy traveling in coaches and staying at inns and hotels if it meant being able to visit the Continent and see places like the Paris Opera House.”

“Even if it means traveling with a gaggle of schoolgirls?” Agnes chuckled.

“Especially with schoolgirls.” Sophia shot a look filled with humor at Miss Ebrington. “They keep me alert and are always full of surprises.”

Miss Ebrington, still deep in conversation with Matthew, failed to notice.

“Congratulations, my dear,” Gert said. “I can only imagine how much this has been weighing on your mind, the uncertainty of your future after you leave here.” She shot a meaningful look at Vincent.

Baffled, Vincent glanced at Miss Walden and back to Gert.

Was he supposed to be involved or understand something about Sophia’s future after she finished Gert’s memoir?

She would likely finish within a week or so, then be on her way to holiday somewhere before taking up her new job in Exmouth. Or Dover.

It didn’t matter. As soon as Matthew returned with his special license and wed Miss Ebrington, Vincent would be on his way to Italy, to meet Nonna Vincenza. He likely would not return to England for months.

His gut twisted again. His chest constricted to the point that breathing became difficult.

Why should the thought of going to Italy distress him? He’d been looking forward to this journey for most of his life.

“I can’t decide,” Xavier said, closing the door on the cabinet. “Vincent, why don’t you play your new composition for us?”

Aunt Gert looked up from petting Henry. “New?” She leaned forward in her chair. “An original composition?”

“Er, yes.” He’d rehearsed it several times, struggling to concentrate, what with remembering that his collaboration session with Sophia had ended with kissing her. And how much he wanted to kiss her again.

He lumbered to his feet and headed toward the pianoforte. As he was passing Sophia on her way to trade places with him on the sofa, he caught her hand.

“Play with me,” he said softly.

She raised her brows, a smile dancing at the corners of her mouth.

He gestured over his shoulder at the harpsichord. “A duet. The counter melody you were playing earlier.”

He saw her intake of breath, her mouth beginning to form the refusal.

“Please.” He squeezed her fingers.

His heart stopped beating until she gave him a gentle squeeze in return. “Very well.”

They took their respective seats. After he gave the signal with a nod, they began playing.

All conversation halted, Vincent noticed from the corner of his eye, even Matthew and Miss Ebrington, everyone paying close attention to the performance.

By ten bars in he forgot there was an audience.

Had eyes only for his hands on the keyboard and for Sophia.

She silently communicated with him when she was going to go off on a tangent, and he softened the pianoforte to better allow the harpsichord to be heard, then went back up to fortissimo when they played in unison.

His heart swelled. His original piece—crafted with Sophia’s help—was up to the exacting standards he’d set for himself. It sounded even better with her accompaniment.

He could spend a lifetime composing and playing with her. He might even learn from her how to be a better composer, as her skills clearly exceeded his in that category.

And he didn’t mind that at all.

They finished in perfect unison with the dramatic pair of chords, grinning at each other.

He wanted to sweep her into his arms and kiss her but she was all the way across the room. As he stood from the bench to join her, however, he became aware of the applause. And cheers.

He blinked to clear the haze in his mind, and bowed.

“Well done, my boy!” Gert called. She held her hand over her chest and possibly sniffed back a tear. “That is exactly what I’ve been hoping to hear. I knew you were capable of creating such moving music as that.”

“I didn’t.” He strode over to the harpsichord and took Sophia’s hand, helping her rise from the bench. “At least, not by myself. Miss Walden was instrumental in helping me.”

With her free hand, Sophia poked him in the ribs at his horrible pun. Still smiling, she shifted her gaze from him to Gert. “I merely suggested a few revisions. He already had a solid foundation in the melody.”

“So you write music as well as shorthand?” Xavier took out the sheets they’d copied from the Rossini score.

“When my circumstances permit, yes, I enjoy composing.”

Xavier gestured for Matthew to join him by the cabinet. “I would like us to try the Rossini overture. Matthew will be uninterested in playing it once he returns with the license.”

Matthew kissed Miss Ebrington’s hand before joining Xavier by the pianoforte. “Likely true.”

“Well?” Xavier held a copy of the music out to Vincent, who finally realized he was still holding Sophia’s hand. “Which instrument would you prefer to play?”

He hadn’t been gazing at Sophia like a besotted fool, the way Matthew gazed at his betrothed, but Vincent found himself just as reluctant to let go of her.

She resolved the matter by breaking contact first. As she settled in his former spot on the sofa, she cast him an expectant smile.

He wanted to see that radiant look on her face. Often. Preferably up close. In his bed.

With great effort, he cleared the thought from his mind before his imagination became inappropriate for the room full of people in which he found himself. “I’ll let you two choose and then take what’s left.”

Xavier sat at the pianoforte.

Matthew headed for the harpsichord. “Speaking of writing,” he said as he sat on the bench. He busied himself ordering the music sheets.

Vincent took out the violin that was strung so he could bow with his left hand and checked its tuning.

“Young man, you forgot to complete your thought,” Gert admonished.

“What?” Matthew looked up. “Oh. Yes. I was just wondering if the three of you—” his glance took in Wallace, Xavier, and Vincent “—had noticed you all share an unusual trait with your father.”

Vincent looked at each of his brothers. He and they couldn’t be more different than if they had indeed come from different parents.

Matthew waved a page in the air before setting it back in the music holder. “Not only are all three of you ambidextrous, which is annoying enough, but you can all write with both hands at the same time.”

Vincent dropped his hands to his side, almost letting go of the bow and violin. He and Xavier could do so, but he’d never noticed if Wallace could.

“No, I don’t,” Wallace said.

“I’ve seen you draw with both hands,” Sophia said. “You held a different kind of pencil in each hand.”

“Oh.” He cast his confused look at Agnes. “Doesn’t everyone draw that way?”

Agnes chuckled. “No, my dear boy, they do not.”

The three brothers stared at each other.