Page 33 of The Best of Friends
Chapter Thirteen
Toss had nearly ruined Daria’ssoiree. She had already been struggling with self-directed doubts but had bravely moved forward with a plan she had worried would fail. He ought to have been an unwavering source of encouragement, but he’d let his own disappointments cast a shadow over her evening. Mere days after realizing how much he cared for her and how intricately she had woven herself into his heart, he’d caused her pain.
At least he hadn’t compounded that error by mimicking Laurence’s behavior toward Miss Midgley at the Brinley’s dinner party. Daria had referred to Toss as her friend. He would honor that and defer to her definition of their connection. He was not enough of a cad to impose upon her. She deserved to be treated with compassion and respect.
“You have a remarkable talent. One attempt that didn’t go as you wished doesn’t change that.”Daria’s words, kindly and sincerely offered, had given him a means of getting past his disappointment and taking hold of hope once more.
And though she likely didn’t realize it, she’d offered him musical inspiration at a moment when he’d been sorely tempted to abandon it altogether. In the midst of their game of Musical Magic, when they’d all been humming “An English Country Garden,” Daria had added a bit of a trill and then had wandered her way back toward the tune. That improvisation had stayed in his thoughts, repeating with a tenacity he’d learned not to ignore. Musical refrains that refused to dislodge themselves from his thoughts always proved the seeds of a new composition.
The morning after the soiree, he dressed with more of his usualjoie de vivre, then hopped down to the breakfast room for a quick bite alone. Laurence likely wouldn’t rise from bed for a few hours yet. It was the perfect time to sit at the pianoforte and regain his equilibrium.
After playing a few of his favorite pieces and if Laurence wasn’t awake and causing trouble, he’d begin trying a few approaches to building on the brief melody that refused to leave his thoughts.
But when he stepped into the sitting room, the pianoforte wasn’t there. The space it usually occupied was entirely empty.
Toss stepped from the room once more, catching the butler just as he made his way down the corridor. “Gibson, do you know where the pianoforte has been moved to?”
“Mr. Comstock ordered it removed from the house.”
Removed? What did he mean by that?
In the next instant, Gibson answered the question Toss hadn’t spoken out loud. “It has been sold, Mr. Thomas.”
Sold.“When did— When—” He took a sharp, stinging breath, his mind refusing to accept what he was being told. “When did this happen?”
“Yesterday afternoon.”
No. No, he would have noticed. He would have tried to stop Laurence.
Except, Laurence had sent him away from the house. He’d spent three hours on errands his brother had assigned him, ones that had seemed a bit odd at the time, but in the name of domestic harmony, he’d not objected.
He’d simply gone along, facilitating this catastrophe. Allowing it without realizing.
Toss rubbed at his face, straining his mind for some explanation, some bit of hope. “Did he give a reason?” Perhaps if it were a matter of space or money... but that seemed unlikely.
“He offered no explanation, Mr. Thomas.”
There’d been a pianoforte in the family’s country estate and London home all Toss’s life, a presence even more constant than his actual family members. How could Laurence do this? How could he be so cruel? So unfeeling?
But the memory of his brother’s expression of shame and revulsion two nights earlier returned with force. Toss had gone against Laurence’s wishes and played publicly, and he had done so rather poorly.
Now his pianoforte was gone.
It might have been punishment or a response to embarrassment or determination to prevent a repeat performance. It was likely all three.
“Do you know who it was sold to? Or for how much?” If the amount weren’t too steep, Toss might be able to buy it back.
“I don’t.” Gibson’s expression slipped from the very proper but distant one butlers often employed to something far more like empathy. “We were sorry to see it go, Mr. Thomas. All of us know how important it was to you.”
Unfortunately, Laurence knew that as well.
Not being able to sit down at the pianoforte and play was a blow, a loss. It was often how he sorted through frustrating and difficult things. But seeing the corner of the room where it had sat now empty and vacant hurt more. He had nowhere else to live but with his brother and no money to obtain another residence or another pianoforte. And because it was Laurence’s home, Toss had no voice in it, no true autonomy, and was given very little consideration beyond a bachelor Season that wasn’t proving nearly as free of his brother’s interference as he’d been promised it would be.
And he hadn’t even music to make it bearable.
He needed to get out of this house. Perhaps by the time Laurence the Lout made an appearance, Toss would be composed enough to not throttle the miserable huff.
In short order, he had his hat, coat, and gloves and was stomping his way down the pavement with no actual destination. His only goal was to put distance between himself and his brother. He’d bemoaned not having Rosamond nearby, but Laurence would likely have treated her poorly too. Toss could take some solace in knowing his sister was spared their brother’s cruelty for the length of this Season.
