Page 19 of The Duke’s Duet

Estate papers covered Harper's desk in neat, accusing piles. Tenant agreements, crop reports, investment opportunities - all demanding the attention a proper Duke should give them. He'd been staring at the same document for over an hour, but the words remained meaningless marks on expensive paper. Every time he tried to focus, his mind betrayed him with memories of last night's performance. Melody's voice soaring through their final duet. The way she'd looked at him when he gave her his composition. The tears she'd tried to hide during their farewell.

The scratch of his pen broke the morning silence as he attempted, yet again, to compose a response to his land steward's latest report. But instead of calculating crop yields, his hand unconsciously sketched musical notation in the margin - fragments of melodies that spoke of loss and longing.

"Your Grace?" Simmons appeared at the study door. "Lord Pembroke has arrived."

Harper quickly covered the betraying markings with a fresh sheet.

"I'm rather busy with estate matters—"

"And doing a remarkably poor job of it, from what I can see." Charles strode in, ignoring protocol as usual. "Good God, man, you look terrible. Did you sleep at all?"

"I fail to see how that's any of your concern."

But even as he spoke, Harper knew the attempt at Ducal hauteur was useless. Charles had known him too long, too well.

"No? Then perhaps the fact that you're hiding in here, pretending to work, while the woman you love prepares to leave the country - that's not my concern either?"

Harper's hands clenched on the desk's edge.

"Charles..."

"Don't 'Charles' me in that warning tone. I sat through that performance last night. I saw what passed between you. The whole bloody ton saw it! That wasn't just music you created together - it was a clear declaration."

"It doesn't matter what it was." Harper rose, moving to the window where he could avoid his friend's too-perceptive gaze. "She leaves tomorrow. It's better this way."

"Better for whom?" Charles's voice gentled. "Better for her, to perform in a foreign country while her heart remains here? Better for you, to spend your life regretting what you were too afraid to reach for?"

"I am not afraid." The words emerged sharp with suppressed feeling. "I am being responsible. Doing what duty demands."

"Ah yes, duty. That great excuse for denying everything real and true in your life." Footsteps approached behind him. "Tell me something, old friend. When you were composing that piece you gave her last night - was that duty? Or was that your heart finally speaking truth?"

Harper turned, rage and pain warring in his chest.

"You want truth? Here's truth: I love her. I love her passion for music, her courage in the face of society's disdain, her ability to see past my position to the man beneath. I love how she challenges me, pushes me, demands that I be more than just what duty dictates. And because I love her, I cannot be so selfish as to ask her to give up her dreams for me."

"Who says she'd be giving up anything?" Charles perched on the edge of the desk, ignoring Harper's glare at such familiarity. "Have you actually asked her what she wants? Or are you making that decision for her, like everyone else in her life?"

"What I want - what she wants - doesn't matter. Society would never accept—"

"Society?" Charles barked a laugh. "The same society that's been raving about your performances together? The same society that's already gossiping about the deep artistic connection between the musical Duke and his talented soprano? Good God, man, most of the ton is already halfway to accepting the idea, if only because it's so damnably romantic."

"You oversimplify things." Harper’s fingers trailed across his desk edge, as if it was the keys of his pianoforte Then he rose to pace about the room. "A Duke cannot marry a professional performer. The scandal —"

"Would last a month, at most. Then some other piece of gossip would catch their attention." Charles rose, following him. "Think, Harper. You're not some minor nobleman dependent on society's good opinion. You're the Duke of Brightwood. Your position is unassailable. Your wealth makes you independent of their approval. And after the war..." He paused meaningfully. "After the war, people really are beginning to question the old rigid rules. To wonder if perhaps worth could be measured by more than just birth."

"Even if that were true... Even if society could be brought to accept such a match... what of her career? Her art? Would you have me cage such a free spirit?"

"Now who's oversimplifying?" Charles's voice sharpened. "Since when does being a Duchess preclude having artistic pursuits? Lady Jersey performs at every musical evening. The Countess of Westborough publishes poetry under her own name. Times are changing, my friend. The question is, are you brave enough to change with them?"

The word 'brave' struck home, a blow that winded him, though it was only words. How many times had they faced danger together during the war? How many times had they risked everything for what they believed to be right?

"It's not that simple."

"No?" Charles moved to the door but paused before leaving. "Let me ask you something - which would require more courage - facing society's temporary disapproval, or watching the woman you love sail away while you spend the rest of your life wondering what might have been?"

The question hung in the air like the last note of a complex piece. Harper remained standing, his fingers, even though at his side, now moving slightly of their own accord, as if he played through one of Melody's favourite works. Each silent phrase, heard only in his mind, seemed to mock him with memories of their performances together, of the perfect understanding that they'd found through music.

"Sometimes," Charles said softly from the doorway, "the bravest thing a man can do is admit that duty isn't everything. That some things matter more than rules and proper behaviour."

"And if I destroy both our lives by reaching for the impossible?"

"Then at least you'll have tried. At least you'll know." Charles's voice held years of friendship and understanding. "But from what I saw last night - what everyone saw - the only thing that could destroy you both is letting this chance slip away."

*****

Later that afternoon, Harper found himself at Pembroke House, ostensibly to discuss estate matters but really to escape the suffocating silence of his own study. Every room at Brightwood House seemed haunted by memories of Melody - her voice, her laughter, the way that she moved through his world as if she belonged there.

"Lucy wants to know if you'll join us for dinner," Charles said as they settled in his study. "She's convinced you shouldn't be alone tonight."

"Your wife's romantic sensibilities are showing again."

"Perhaps. Or perhaps she simply sees what's right in front of her." Charles poured them both brandy without asking. "She was there last night, you know. Says she's never seen anything quite like it - the way you performed together, the way you looked at each other during that final duet."

"Charles..." The warning in Harper's voice went unheeded.

"No, listen to me. You're not the only one who's noticed changes in society since the war. Lucy's brother - you remember Edwin? He married that American girl last month. Caused quite a stir at first, but now? Now society's falling all over themselves to praise her 'fresh perspective' and 'natural charm’."

"An American heiress is hardly the same as—"

"Isn't it? Both situations involve someone society initially considered unsuitable. Both involve crossing boundaries that seemed absolute." Charles leaned forward, his expression intent. "The difference is, Edwin had the courage to follow his heart."

Harper stared into his brandy as if it might hold answers.

"Even if... even if society could be persuaded... there's still her career to consider. Her dreams of performing in Italy."

"And who says she couldn't still perform? Good God, man, you're a Duke! If you chose to sponsor musical evenings where your Duchess performed, who would dare criticise? If you decided to tour the great opera houses of Europe together, who would refuse you entry?"

The possibilities in those words struck Harper with almost physical force. He remembered his mother's voice from long ago, singing Italian arias in her garden. Remembered how his father had eventually forbidden such displays as "unsuitable for a Duchess."

"I would never want to cage her," he said softly. "Never want to dim the fire that makes her so extraordinary."

"Then don't." Charles's voice gentled. "Be the kind of Duke who celebrates his wife's talents instead of suppressing them. Be the kind of man who's secure enough in himself to let the woman he loves shine."

"You make it sound so simple."

"Perhaps because it is simpler than you're making it." Charles set his glass aside. "The ton respect power, wealth, and position above all else. You have all three. Use them. Create the world you want to live in, instead of conforming to rules made by men long dead."

The afternoon light slanted through the study windows, catching the brandy glasses and turning them to amber flame. Harper thought of Melody's voice soaring through their duet, of the perfect harmony they'd created together. Thought of how she challenged him to be more than just his title, how she saw past every careful facade to the man beneath.

"She leaves tomorrow morning," he said finally. "The ship sails with the tide."

"Then you don't have much time to waste, do you?" Charles stood, moving to the door. "Lucy will be disappointed that you won't join us for dinner. But I suspect you have more important matters to attend to."

Harper remained seated, his mind whirling with possibilities he'd never allowed himself to consider. Could it really be that simple? Could duty and desire find harmony together, like two separate melodies weaving into something greater than either alone?

*****

Evening shadows were gathering when Harper returned to Brightwood House. He went directly to the music room, drawn there as if by some invisible force. The pianoforte stood silent in the fading light, but he could still hear echoes of their performances - Melody's voice soaring through complex passages, their perfect harmony in the duets, the way that music had allowed them to speak truths they dared not voice in words.

His fingers found the keys without conscious thought, drawing forth the melody from their final performance. But this time, he didn't try to maintain control. Instead, he let all of his feelings pour into the music - love, longing, regret, the desperate desire to throw aside duty and reach for what his heart wanted.

"You play it differently now." His mother's voice from the doorway made him start. "With feeling, rather than mere precision."

"Mother, I—"

"Don't stop." She moved into the room, settling onto the small sofa near the instrument. "I so rarely hear you play with real emotion anymore. It reminds me of when you were young, before..."

She trailed off, but they both knew what she meant. Before his father's harsh lessons about duty and dignity. Harper's hands stilled on the keys.

"I thought that you approved of father's methods. Of making me understand the weight of my position."

"Did I?" Something in her voice made him turn to look at her. "Or did I simply fail to protect you from becoming what everyone else thought you should be?" The admission hung in the air between them. In the gathering darkness, her face held shadows of old regret. "I met with Miss Piper this morning," she said after a moment. "Such an extraordinary young woman. Talented, yes, but more than that - she has a rare integrity about her. A passion for her art that reminds me..." She smiled slightly. "Well, that reminds me of myself, long ago."

"Mother..."

"Let me finish." She rose, moving to stand beside the pianoforte. "I gave her something - a small pin I was given in Florence, before I married your father. Before I learned to suppress my own musical passion to become a 'proper' Duchess."

Harper's fingers traced a soft chord.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I see you making the same choice I made. Choosing safety over passion. Choosing what others expect over what your heart knows is right." She touched his shoulder gently. "And because I've watched you these past months, performing with her. I've seen you come alive again, seen you remember the joy that music once brought you."

"It doesn't matter what I feel," Harper said, though the words felt hollow even to himself. "A Duke has responsibilities, obligations—"

"Yes, he does." His mother's voice sharpened. "Responsibilities to his estates, to his dependents, to the legacy he protects. But answer this, which I asked you once before - would those responsibilities be better served by a Duchess who understands your soul, or one who simply knows the proper forms?"

He stared at her, stunned.

"You cannot possibly be suggesting..."

"I suggest nothing." But her eyes held a warmth he hadn't seen in years. "I merely observe that Miss Piper possesses qualities many of our circle lack - genuine talent, true artistic understanding, the ability to see past position to the person beneath. Rather like a certain Italian Countess once did."

"That was different. You were at least of noble birth—"

"As I told you some time ago, it wasn’t really that different. I was Catholic in Protestant England. I was foreign when nationalism ran high. I knew nothing of running English estates or managing aristocratic households." She moved to the window, staring out at the darkening gardens. "But I knew your father's heart. Knew it through the music we shared, through the connection that transcended all of those other considerations."

The parallel to his situation with Melody once again struck him like a physical blow.

"But Father changed. Became what society expected. Gave up music for duty."

"Yes." The single word held volumes of old pain. "And I still wonder if he regretted that choice in the end. If he looked at you, saw your passion for music, and remembered what he'd lost in choosing safety over truth." She turned back to face him, and in the fading light he saw tears in her eyes. "When you were young, before his fears changed him, your father would play for hours. Would compose pieces that spoke of everything in his heart. Rather like that composition you gave Miss Piper last night."

Harper's hands clenched on the keys, drawing forth a discord.

"You knew about that?"

"Of course I knew. I've heard you playing it late at night these past days. Pouring everything you couldn't say into the music, just as he once did." She stepped closer, laying one hand over his on the keys. "But you have a choice that he never did. You're already the Duke. Your position is secure. You have the power to shape society's expectations rather than being bound by them."

"Even if that were true," Harper said, his voice rough with suppressed emotion, "what of her career? Her dreams of performing in Italy? Would you have me ask her to give up everything she's worked for?"

"Why should she give up anything?" His mother's voice held a note of challenge. "Who says that a Duchess cannot perform? Cannot share her gift with the world? The ton already admires her talent - they would simply have to admire it in a different context."

"You make it sound so simple."

"Perhaps because you're making it more complicated than necessary." She moved to her private cabinet in the corner, and Harper watched in confusion as she opened it, then reached in to what appeared an empty shelf. Seconds later, he heard a distinct ‘click’ and then she turned back to him, withdrawing something from the cabinet that gleamed in the last light. "Do you know what this is?"

Harper rose to look.

In her hands lay a delicate music box, its surface inlaid with mother of pearl.

"I've never seen it before."

"No. I kept it hidden after... after your father changed." She opened it, and a familiar Italian melody filled the room. "He gave it to me in Florence, had it made specially. Said that even if society tried to silence our music, we would always have this - this reminder of what brought us together."

The tune played on, sweet and pure in the gathering darkness.

"What happened to that man, Mother? The one who gave you music boxes and believed in love?"

"Fear happened. Fear of scandal, of society's disapproval, of somehow damaging the family's position." Her fingers traced the box's intricate patterns. "He chose what he thought was right, what duty demanded. But I've often wondered if duty truly demanded such complete surrender of joy."

“I see…”

She closed the box carefully, the music cutting off mid-phrase.

"Miss Piper leaves for Italy in the morning. The ship sails with the first tide."

"I know."

The words emerged barely above a whisper.

"Do you also know that she left something here? That piece you composed for her - she asked her sister to keep it safe." His mother's eyes held his steadily. "She couldn't bear to take it with her, she said. I suspect that she couldn't bear to have such a perfect expression of what might have been."

Harper's heart seemed to stop in his chest.

"She said that?"

"She didn't have to. I saw it in her eyes when she spoke of leaving. The same look I used to see in your father's eyes when he remembered what music once meant to him." She set the music box aside. "The same look I see in your eyes now, when you play her favourite pieces."

Moving to the door, she paused.

"The world has changed since my day, since your father's fears turned him to stone. The war showed us that courage comes in many forms, that worth isn't always found where we expect it." Her voice softened. "Sometimes the bravest thing a person can do is reach for what others say is impossible."

She slipped away, leaving Harper alone with the dying light and the echo of that Italian melody. His fingers found the keys again, but this time they shaped a different tune - the one he'd composed for Melody, the one she couldn't bear to take with her.

Every note seemed to ask a question.

Was his mother right?

Did he have the courage to reach for what he truly wanted?

Could duty and desire find harmony together, as he and Melody had done in their performances?

The clock in the hall struck eight, each chime a reminder that time was running out. That somewhere in London, Melody was preparing for tomorrow's journey, believing that duty and position were stronger than love and music.

Unless...