Page 13 of The Duke’s Duet

Harper stood at his study window, watching rainfall pattern the glass while wrestling with a decision he'd already made. The invitation to Vauxhall Gardens sat on his desk - Lord and Lady Pembroke's annual summer entertainment. Usually he avoided such events, finding them too public, too informal for his taste.

But this year was different.

This year, Signor Bianchi would be there.

The Italian impresario's letter lay beside the invitation, his florid handwriting expressing enthusiasm about meeting London's musical talent. It was the perfect opportunity - completely proper, completely reasonable - to introduce Melody to someone who could advance her career.

If only that were truly his singular motivation.

"Your Grace?" Simmons appeared silently at his elbow. "Shall I send the note to Miss Piper?"

Harper's fingers tightened on the window frame. He'd already written it - a carefully worded invitation suggesting that she might find the evening professionally advantageous. Every word chosen to maintain proper distance while offering an opportunity that she could hardly refuse.

"Yes." He forced himself to release the frame, to turn away from the rain-streaked glass. "And send word to Lord Pembroke that we'll require an extra place in their party."

"Very good, Your Grace." Simmons paused at the door. "Shall I inform the Dowager Duchess of the arrangement?"

The question gave Harper pause. His mother would certainly have opinions about him escorting Melody anywhere, even as part of a larger party. But the thought of another evening maintaining cold formality during rehearsals, of watching the light dim in Melody's eyes each time he withdrew...

"No," he said finally. "I'll tell her myself. When the time is right."

After Simmons departed, Harper moved to the pianoforte, running his fingers along its polished surface without quite touching the keys. He shouldn't do this. Shouldn't create opportunities for more private moments with Melody when he knew they could lead nowhere. Their increasing distance during rehearsals was necessary, proper - the only way to protect both of their reputations.

Yet the memory of her face during their last practice haunted him. The hurt in her eyes when he'd mentioned Italy, the way that she'd asked him to be honest about his motivations. He hadn't been able to answer then, because the truth was too dangerous.

The truth was, he wanted both things - wanted to advance her career and to keep her close, wanted to do what was right and what his heart demanded.

The contradiction was driving him slowly mad.

Time passed, as he found himself unable to play, yet unable to do anything else, his thoughts endlessly circling, with Melody at the centre of them. It must have been hours later that a knock at the door made him step quickly away from the instrument.

"Enter."

Lord Pembroke strode in, shaking rain from his hat.

"Thought I'd find you brooding. Just got your note about the extra place for tomorrow night."

"I'm not brooding." Harper moved to pour them both brandy. "I'm being practical. Signor Bianchi specifically asked to meet talented performers."

"Did he?" Pembroke's knowing smile made Harper's jaw clench. "And I suppose his presence is the only reason that you're breaking your usual habit of avoiding Vauxhall like the plague?"

"Charles..."

"No, no, don't tell me. You're merely being professionally helpful. Supporting the arts. Nothing at all to do with wanting to spend an evening in Miss Piper's company without so many of the ton's eyes upon you."

Harper handed his friend a glass with more force than necessary, nearly spilling the brandy.

"The ton's eyes will be very much upon us. Your wife will be there to maintain propriety."

"Ah yes, my dear Lucy. Who, as you well know, is hopelessly romantic and thinks that you and Miss Piper are living out some grand love story." Pembroke's voice softened. "She's not entirely wrong, is she?"

Harper turned away, staring into the depths of his brandy as if it might offer answers.

"It doesn't matter what it is or isn't. You know that as well as I do."

"Do I?" Pembroke settled into a chair, stretching his long legs towards the fire. "Times are changing, old friend. The war changed everything - showed us that courage and worth aren't limited to those of noble birth. Even the Prince Regent's set is less rigid than it once was."

"Less rigid?" Harper gave a harsh laugh. "Have you forgotten the rumours after our duet? The whispers, the implications? And that was just from performing together."

"Ah, but what a performance! Even my Lucy, who's seen every notable musician in London, said she'd never witnessed anything quite like it." Pembroke's voice grew serious. "That connection between you - it's rare. Beautiful. Are you really willing to throw it away because of what society might say?"

Harper's fingers tightened on his glass.

"You make it sound so simple. As if there weren't generations of duty and responsibility to consider. As if my choices affected only myself."

"No, not simple. But perhaps not as impossible as you think." Pembroke set his empty glass aside. "Consider this - you're taking her to Vauxhall tomorrow, ostensibly to advance her career. Yet we both know Signor Bianchi could have met her anywhere. You chose this setting - an evening of music and illuminations, of relative informality - for a reason."

"Your point being?"

"That despite all your protests about duty and distance, you're still finding ways to be near her. Still creating opportunities for connection." He rose, moving to clap Harper on the shoulder. "Maybe it's time to stop fighting yourself quite so hard."

After Pembroke left, Harper returned to standing at the window, watching rain trace patterns on the glass while his mind traced equally complex patterns of possibility. His friend wasn't entirely wrong - he had chosen Vauxhall deliberately, hoping that its informal atmosphere might ease some of the tension which had grown between him and Melody.

But was that kindness or cruelty? To offer her glimpses of connection while knowing that they could lead nowhere? To create moments of intimacy that would only make their eventual parting more painful?

The note inviting her had already gone out. Tomorrow evening would bring what it would bring.

But as Harper finally moved away from the window, he couldn't quite silence the hopeful whisper in his heart which suggested that maybe, just maybe, Pembroke was right about more than just his motivations.

*****

Vauxhall Gardens glowed with hundreds of lanterns, their light turning the evening into something magical. Harper found himself watching Melody's face as she took in the spectacle - the illuminated walkways, the elegant supper boxes, the distant sound of music drifting from various pavilions. Her evident delight made his chest ache with an emotion he dared not name.

She looked different tonight, somehow both more and less formal than during their rehearsals. Her evening gown of pale blue silk caught the lantern light, making her seem to glow from within. She'd dressed her hair more simply than usual, and occasional breeze caught at the loose curls around her face in a way that made his fingers itch to smooth them back.

"The Chinese Pavilion is particularly lovely this evening," Lady Pembroke commented, steering them along one of the illuminated paths. "And I believe that's where Signor Bianchi's party has settled."

Harper noticed how she'd manoeuvred things so that he and Melody walked slightly ahead of herself and Charles, giving them the illusion of privacy while maintaining proper supervision. Lucy Pembroke's romantic nature clearly extended to matchmaking.

"I've never seen anything quite like this," Melody said softly, her eyes taking in everything. "It's like something from a fairy tale."

"The gardens are famous for their illuminations." He found himself matching her quiet tone, drawn into the intimacy of the moment despite his best intentions. "Though I confess, I usually avoid such public entertainments."

She glanced at him sideways, a hint of mischief in her expression.

"Too informal for a Duke's dignity?"

"Too..." He hesitated, then decided on honesty. "Too exposed. Here, people feel free to approach, to initiate conversation. The usual barriers of society grow thin."

"And is that such a terrible thing?" Her voice held genuine curiosity. "For barriers to thin occasionally?"

Before he could answer - before he could decide how honest he dared to be - they reached the Chinese Pavilion. The structure blazed with coloured lanterns, casting rainbow shadows across its elaborate decoration.

"Ah, Your Grace!" A booming voice with a pronounced Italian accent cut through the evening air. "And this must be the songbird I have heard so much about!" Signor Bianchi proved to be a short, rotund man whose energy seemed barely contained by his elegant evening clothes. He swept into an elaborate bow, then seized Melody's hand and kissed it with theatrical flourish. "Such a pleasure, my dear! Your reputation precedes you. The Duke has written most eloquently of your talents."

Harper caught Melody's quick glance in his direction and silently cursed Bianchi's loose tongue. He hadn't meant her to know about his letters praising her abilities - it would only confuse an already complicated situation.

But watching her engage with the impresario, he found himself caught between pride and pain. Her knowledge of music was evident in every word, her passion for the art shining through as she discussed different interpretative styles. Bianchi was clearly impressed, his initial flamboyant manner giving way to genuine professional interest.

"You must come to Italy," the impresario declared finally. "Such talent, such understanding - you would be a sensation! I am preparing a series of concerts in Florence, beginning in the autumn. The very thing to establish your international reputation."

Harper watched Melody's face as Bianchi outlined the opportunity - the concerts, the potential patrons, the artistic freedom she would have in Italy. Her eyes lit up at certain details, particularly the mention of performing lesser-known works, of having input into program selection. Everything about the offer was perfect for her talents, her ambitions.

So why did his chest feel like it was being squeezed in a vice?

"The Duke tells me that you have a particular gift for emotional interpretation," Bianchi continued enthusiastically. "This is exactly what we need! Italian audiences, they understand passion in music. None of this English restraint."

The words struck uncomfortably close to home. Harper moved slightly away from the group, ostensibly to accept a glass of wine from a passing servant. But he couldn't help overhearing Melody's response.

"You're very kind, Signor. Though I find English audiences are not entirely opposed to passion - when it's presented properly."

Was that a hint of challenge in her voice? Harper turned back in time to catch her glancing his way, something unfathomable in her expression.

"Ah, yes!" Bianchi clapped his hands. "Your famous duet with the Duke! I have heard talk of nothing else in musical circles. Such chemistry, they say. Such perfect harmony!"

Lady Pembroke, bless her romantic heart, chose that moment to draw Bianchi into a discussion of Italian opera, allowing Harper and Melody to step slightly apart from the group. They stood in companionable silence for a moment, watching other guests stroll past on the illuminated paths.

"You wrote to him about me."

It wasn't quite a question.

"Yes." There seemed no point in denying it. "Your talent deserves recognition beyond London's drawing rooms."

"Recognition? Or removal to a safe distance?"

The soft words struck him like physical blows.

"Melody..."

"No." She shook her head slightly. "Don't explain. I understand duty, Your Grace. I understand what's proper."

But her voice suggested that she understood far more than that - understood all of the things he couldn't say, all of the reasons that this opportunity in Italy was both perfect and terrible.

Before he could respond, Lucy Pembroke appeared at their side.

"We simply must walk through the Grove," she declared. "The new illuminations there are spectacular."

As they moved away from the pavilion, Harper caught Lord Pembroke's knowing look. Had his friend arranged this? Created an opportunity for him and Melody to speak more privately while maintaining the appearance of proper supervision?

The Pembrokes gradually fell behind, engrossed in what appeared to be a fascinating discussion of the gardens' design. Harper found himself walking beside Melody along a path lit by coloured lanterns, their light painting patterns across her face that made her seem almost otherworldly.

*****

Melody felt as if she'd stepped into another world. The illuminated paths wound through carefully cultivated wilderness, lantern light catching on leaves and branches to create shifting patterns of coloured shadow. The evening air carried the scent of night-blooming flowers, mixed with distant music and the subtle warmth of Brightwood's presence beside her.

They walked in silence at first, maintaining a proper distance between them though every fibre of her being yearned to move closer. The Pembrokes had fallen well behind - not quite out of sight, but far enough to give an illusion of privacy that made her heart beat faster.

"I used to dream of places like this," she found herself saying softly. "When I was young, practicing scales for hours, I'd imagine performing in magical gardens, where the music could flow freely without any constraints."

"And is the reality everything you imagined?"

His voice was equally quiet, intimate in the lantern-lit darkness.

"It's..." She hesitated, then decided on honesty. "Both more and less. More beautiful, certainly. But also more complicated. When I was a girl, I thought talent was all that mattered. That if I worked hard enough, developed my gift enough, then the rest would take care of itself."

"And now?"

"Now I understand that talent is only part of it. That there are other considerations - propriety, reputation, social position. That being respected for my voice doesn't necessarily mean being respected as a person."

They reached a small clearing where a fountain played, its waters catching the coloured light. Harper stopped, turning to face her.

"Has someone failed to show you proper respect?"

The protective edge in his voice made her smile sadly.

"Not in any way that I can openly object to. Just... little things. The way that some patrons speak to me, as if I'm some exotic creature they've purchased for their entertainment. The way that they assume that, because I perform publicly, I might be available for more... private performances."

She saw his hands clench at his sides, as if fighting the urge to reach for her.

"You should have told me."

"Why? What could you have done, without causing more gossip? More speculation about... about what exists between us?"

The question hung in the air between them, heavy, filled with everything they'd been avoiding saying. Harper moved closer, close enough that she could see the play of lantern light in his eyes.

"I never meant..." He stopped, seemed to gather himself. "When I was a boy, music was everything to me. The only time that I felt truly free, truly myself. But my father..."

"What did he do?"

She asked it softly when he faltered.

"He caught me playing when I should have been studying estate management. He..." Harper's voice roughened with memory. "He struck my hands with his riding crop. Said no son of his would waste time on such frivolous pursuits. That a Duke must be above such things."

Without thinking, Melody reached for his hands, cradling them in her own. His fingers curled around hers instantly, desperately, betraying how much he needed the contact.

"Oh, my dear..." The endearment slipped out before she could stop it. "No wonder you fight yourself so hard when you play. No wonder you try to maintain such rigid control."

He stared down at their joined hands, his thumb brushing across her knuckles in a way that made her shiver.

"Until you... until our duet... I'd forgotten what it felt like. To let the music take over completely. To feel that freedom again."

They stood so close now that she could feel the warmth radiating from him, could catch the subtle scent of sandalwood that always clung to his clothes. The coloured lights painted patterns across his aristocratic features, softening them, making him look younger, more vulnerable.

"Harper..."

His given name felt like a sacred thing on her tongue. He lifted one hand to her face, his fingers trembling slightly as they traced her cheek. Melody's breath caught as he leaned closer, his eyes dropping to her lips...

"Your Grace!" Lady Pembroke's voice carried clearly through the garden, deliberately loud with warning. "I believe that I see Signor Bianchi's party approaching!"

They sprang apart just as the Pembrokes rounded the corner, both breathing unsteadily. But Melody could still feel the phantom touch of his fingers on her skin, could still see the heat in his eyes before they'd been interrupted. And she knew, with sudden, painful clarity, that no opportunity in Italy could possibly mean more than what she'd just glimpsed in those lantern-lit moments - the real man behind the Duke's mask, reaching for her with all the passion he usually kept locked away.