Page 6 of The Duke’s Duet

Melody stood before the mirror in Brightwood House's elegant retiring room, her fingers trembling slightly as she smoothed the rich fabric of her gown. The deep green silk had cost far more than she should have spent, but something in her had needed to feel beautiful tonight, to feel worthy of performing in this grand house. The colour brought out the amber tones in her eyes and warmed her complexion, making her look almost like she belonged in this world of wealth and privilege.

Almost, but not quite. No matter how fine her gown, she could still calculate exactly how many music lessons it would take to pay for it. The thought steadied her, reminding her of who and what she was. A music master's daughter, here to perform, nothing more.

Through the open window drifted the sound of arriving carriages, the murmur of elegant voices, the rustle of expensive silk. Her audience. Their first performance had been a success, but that only meant expectations would be higher tonight. The ton would be watching, judging, measuring every note and gesture.

The door opened, reflecting in the mirror, and Melody's breath caught as the Duke appeared. His evening black emphasised the breadth of his shoulders, and his cravat was tied with elegant precision. But it was his expression that held her - something in his eyes as they met hers in the glass made her heart flutter against her ribs like a caged bird.

"Miss Piper." His voice was low, intimate in the quiet room. The sound seemed to brush across her skin like silk. "I trust that you are prepared for this evening's performance?"

"As prepared as one can be, Your Grace." She turned to face him, watching as his eyes widened slightly, taking in her appearance. A flush of pleasure warmed her cheeks at his obvious appreciation. "Though I wonder if you are prepared for how I intend to interpret the new pieces."

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth - that rare, genuine expression that transformed his entire face from aristocratic marble to living, breathing man.

"After our rehearsals, I believe that I can anticipate at least some of your... liberties."

"Only some?" She shouldn't tease him - it wasn't proper - but something about their private rehearsals had shifted the ground between them, made her bolder. "Then perhaps I shall have to surprise you."

"You frequently do." The words seemed to escape without his intention, and she watched in fascination as colour stained his cheeks. He quickly schooled his features back to their usual reserve. "We should take our places. The guests are arriving."

The reminder of their audience sent butterflies swooping through her stomach. But as she followed him through the elegant corridors, she found herself focusing on his movements, the way that his shoulders rolled beneath his coat, the graceful confidence of his stride. So different from their first performance, when tension had radiated from every line of his body.

The ballroom had been transformed since their first concert. Additional seating filled the space, crystal sconces blazed with hundreds of candles, and the air held the subtle perfume of hothouse flowers. But it was the pianoforte that drew Melody's attention - how it stood waiting, lid raised, gleaming in the candlelight like some magnificent beast about to wake.

As she took her position, she watched the Duke settle himself at the instrument. Their week of rehearsals had changed something fundamental between them - she could see it in the way that he held himself now, less rigid than before, more natural in his movements. When he positioned his hands above the keys, she noticed that they didn't shake as they had that first night. Instead, his fingers moved with quiet confidence, as if reaching for something welcomed rather than feared.

The Dowager Duchess made her welcome speech, but Melody barely heard the words. She was too focused on the Duke, on the subtle signals they'd developed during their practices. The slight tilt of his head that meant he was ready to begin, the almost imperceptible shift of his shoulders that suggested that he might follow one of her more dramatic interpretations.

When he began to play, she felt it immediately - the difference in his approach. Gone was the mechanical precision of their first performance. In its place was something warmer, more alive. His fingers moved across the keys with a grace that made her throat tight with emotion, each note perfectly placed yet somehow free.

Her voice rose to meet his music, and the connection between them sparked to life like a flame catching dry timber. They moved through the first piece as if they'd performed it a hundred times, each anticipating the other's subtle variations. When she took a particularly emotional liberty with the phrasing, his accompaniment followed seamlessly, supporting and enhancing her interpretation, rather than fighting against it.

The audience seemed to lean forward as one, caught up in the music they created together. Melody could feel their collective breath, their growing appreciation. Even those who had attended the previous concert appeared surprised by the evolution in their performance.

During one particularly challenging passage, she dared to glance at Brightwood. The strict mask he usually wore had softened, his expression almost tender as his fingers danced across the keys.

Something in her chest squeezed tight at the sight. Her voice trembled slightly, adding an unplanned vulnerability to the phrase that somehow made it more powerful.

Time seemed to lose meaning as they performed. Each piece flowed into the next, building on their shared energy, their growing trust in each other's artistry. When she pushed the boundaries of traditional interpretation, his playing rose to meet her, adding subtle embellishments that enhanced her choices rather than constraining them. By the final piece, Melody felt almost drunk on the music, on the perfect harmony they'd found together. Her voice soared through the complex passages while his accompaniment wove around it like silk wrapped around steel. In that moment, all the barriers between them - of class, of propriety, of duty - seemed to vanish, leaving only the pure joy of creating something beautiful together.

The last note hung in the air like a star, perfect and bright, before fading into silence. For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then the applause crashed over them like a wave, immediate and heartfelt. Melody curtsied, her chest tight with emotion she dared not name. As she straightened, she caught Brightwood watching her, his eyes dark with something that made her breath catch.

"Magnificent, my dear!" Lady Jersey's voice cut through Melody's daze. "Such passion, such feeling! And His Grace's accompaniment was most accomplished."

"You are too kind, my Lady."

Melody dipped another curtsey, noting the subtle emphasis Lady Jersey had placed on the Duke's title. A reminder of their different stations, delivered with elegant precision.

"Oh, do let others speak to her, Lady Jersey." A younger voice cut through the gathering crowd. Lady Sophia Winterton, barely out of the schoolroom but already known for her forthright manner, pushed forward. "Miss Piper, I simply must know - would you consider taking on students? Your technique is extraordinary, and I've grown quite tired of my current teacher's dreary exercises."

Melody blinked, surprised by the direct request. From the corner of her eye, she saw the Dowager Duchess drift closer, clearly listening.

"I... that is..." She gathered her thoughts. "You do me great honour, Lady Sophia, but surely your family would prefer—"

"Oh, bother what they prefer! I want to learn to sing as you do, with such emotion and grace. Please say you'll at least consider it?"

The girl's enthusiasm was genuine, her admiration untainted by the condescension Melody had grown used to from the ton. Before she could respond, however, another voice joined the conversation.

"What an excellent suggestion." The Dowager Duchess smiled warmly. "Perhaps we might discuss the possibility over tea one day soon, Lady Sophia? I'm sure between us we can arrange something suitable."

The older woman's intervention surprised Melody almost as much as Lady Sophia's request. Why would the Dowager Duchess support such an arrangement? Unless... She pushed that thought away – there would be time to speak to the Dowager Duchess of it later.

The next hour passed in a whirl of conversations, each interaction charged with subtle social currents she had to navigate carefully. Some of the ton's ladies offered compliments edged with condescension, while others seemed genuinely moved by the performance.

Through it all, Melody remained acutely aware of Brightwood's presence, even when he was across the room speaking with Captain Winters about the fund's progress.

Their eyes would meet occasionally over the heads of their various conversational partners, each glance carrying the weight of their shared musical connection. Once, she caught him smiling slightly as she deftly deflected an impertinent question about her background from a particularly nosy dowager.

When the last guest finally departed, Melody found herself alone in the music room, gathering her things. The evening felt dreamlike - had they really achieved such perfect harmony?

Had Brightwood's playing really shown such newfound emotion?

Had his eyes really followed her with such intensity throughout the evening?

"Miss Piper."

She turned to find him in the doorway, his evening clothes slightly dishevelled after the long night. Her heart skipped at the sight - he looked more approachable like this, more human. More like the man she'd glimpsed during their rehearsals, rather than the distant Duke.

"Your Grace." The title felt wrong somehow, after the intimacy of their performance. She meant to thank him politely for the evening, to maintain proper distance. Instead, what emerged was, "You played differently tonight."

"Did I?" He moved closer, his steps almost silent on the thick carpet. In the softer light of the music room, his eyes held shadows she longed to understand. "Perhaps I had proper motivation to explore a more... emotional interpretation."

The way that he looked at her as he said it made heat bloom in her chest, spreading outward until she felt almost feverish.

"I thought that you didn't approve of emotional interpretations."

"I'm finding that many of my previous certainties are being challenged of late." His voice dropped lower, intimate in the quiet room. Each word seemed to caress her skin. "You have a way of making me question things that I once took as absolute truth."

Melody's heart thundered in her chest. They stood too close - close enough that she could see the faint stubble darkening his jaw, could catch the subtle scent of his cologne mixed with the lingering warmth of his skin.

The air between them felt charged, like the moment before lightning strikes.

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing, Your Grace?"

Her own voice emerged husky, barely more than a whisper.

"I haven't decided yet." His eyes dropped to her lips for just a moment, and she felt that tiny glance like a physical touch. Then he stepped back, drawing in a sharp breath. "Your carriage should be waiting. Allow me to escort you."

The return to formality stung, but Melody understood its necessity.

They were walking a dangerous line between propriety and something far more perilous.

Something that could destroy them both if they weren't careful.

But when the Duke handed her into her carriage, his fingers lingered just a moment too long against hers. The touch sent sparks racing up her arm, and she caught one last glimpse of his face in the lamplight - desire and regret warring in his expression - before he stepped back and closed the carriage door.

As the carriage pulled away from Brightwood House, Melody pressed her fingers to her lips, still feeling the ghost of words she hadn't dared to speak. Tomorrow, she would need to think carefully about where this path might lead.

Tomorrow, she would remember all of the reasons why a Duke and a music master's daughter could never be more than performer and patron. But tonight, watching his figure fade into the darkness, she let herself remember every heated glance, every shared smile, every moment when their souls had touched through the music they created together.

*****

Madame Beaumont's Tea Rooms occupied a peculiar position in London society - too refined for the common folk, too bohemian for the true ton. Its clientele consisted mainly of musicians, artists, and those wealthy enough to patronise the arts without being quite sophisticated enough to move in the highest circles.

Melody found Emma already installed at their usual table, a pot of chocolate and a plate of delicate French pastries waiting.

Her friend's expression lit up at her approach, then quickly shifted to concern.

"You look troubled, dearest. Was the concert not successful?"

"The concert was..." Melody sank into her chair, trying to find words to describe the complex emotions of the previous evening. "It was perfect. Too perfect."

Emma's eyes narrowed as she poured the chocolate.

"Tell me everything."

So Melody did, the words pouring out in a rush - the way that Brightwood's playing had evolved, the connection they'd shared through the music, Lady Sophia's unexpected request, the Dowager Duchess's intervention.

Only their final private moment in the music room she kept to herself, too uncertain of its meaning to share it, even with her dearest friend.

"Melody." Emma's voice held warning. "You're falling in love with him."

"Don't be ridiculous. I simply admire his musical talent."

"The way you speak of him... it's not just about the music. I've never heard you talk about anyone this way."

"He's a Duke, Emma. I'm nobody."

"Exactly." Emma reached across the table to grasp her hand. "Which is why you must guard your heart. Do you remember Maria Bellini?"

Melody's throat tightened.

Everyone in their circle knew that story - the brilliant soprano who had fallen in love with an Earl, only to be cast aside when he tired of her.

She had fled to Italy, her reputation in tatters.

"This is different," she protested. "His Grace is not like that. He's honourable, dedicated to his art—"

"He's a Duke," Emma cut in gently. "Whatever his personal qualities, he has obligations to his title, his family. He cannot marry a music master's daughter, no matter how talented she might be."

"I never said anything about marriage!"

"No? Then why are you blushing?" Emma sighed. "Just... be careful, dearest. I couldn't bear to see you hurt."

Melody stared into her chocolate, remembering the way that Brightwood had looked at her in the music room, the way that his touch had lingered when he’d helped her into the carriage.

"I know that you're right. I do. It's just..."

"Just what?"

"When we perform together, when the music flows between us... it feels like anything is possible. Like all those barriers don't exist."

"But they do exist." Emma squeezed her hand. "And they always will."

Melody nodded, trying to accept her friend's wisdom.

But even as she turned the conversation to safer topics, she couldn't quite forget the way that Brightwood had smiled at her during their performance - that rare, genuine expression that transformed his entire face and made her heart soar higher than any music ever could.

"Tell me about Lady Sophia's request," Emma said, clearly trying to lighten the mood. "That could be quite an opportunity."

But before Melody could respond, the tea room door opened to admit several elegant ladies of the ton .

Among them was the Dowager Duchess of Brightwood, who caught Melody's eye and inclined her head in gracious acknowledgment.

Melody's pulse jumped.

What was she doing here, so far from her usual social circles?

And why did her knowing smile suggest that she had plans that went far beyond arranging music lessons for Lady Sophia?