Page 91 of The Best of Friends
“Mr. Comstock, I had hoped to speak with you yesterday, but I fear your brother was not very forthcoming about your location.”
That was not surprising.
“I have received eight messages from people who were in attendance at a musicale held recently at the Mullinses’s home. All wrote of your performance that evening.”
“Did they?” He was too confused to say much else. Who had written? And what had they said about his moment at the pianoforte?
“What piece did you play?” Mr. Williams asked. “Even Lady Cavratt, who is well versed in music, did not identify it.”
Lady Cavratt had written about him? He was only vaguely familiar with her, and what he knew of her indicated she was quite shy and reserved. What had convinced her to send the letter? And what had she said about him and his playing?
“The piece was one of his own composing.” Only when Daria answered Mr. Williams’s question did Toss realize he’d been too distracted to do so.
“Your application to the Royal Society of Musicians indicated your primary interest is in composing.” Mr. Williams watched him quite closely, a bittooclosely for comfort, especially when Toss didn’t know precisely why the man had sought him out.
“That is correct,” Toss said.
Daria squeezed his hand, bolstering his courage.
Mr. Williams turned his gaze to the Duke of Kielder. “And you stand by your words on this matter?”
“I do. And I assure you the Dowager Countess of Lampton, Mr. and Mrs. Fortier, Lord and Lady Aldric, Lady Cavratt, Lord and Lady Lampton, Mr. Digby Layton, and Lord and Lady Techney are not ones to exaggerate nor be dishonest in their correspondence.”
Heavens, had all those people written about him to Mr. Williams?
“I would not imagine they would falsify their experiences,” Mr. Williams said.
His Grace appeared unconvinced. “Yet Mr. Comstock’s application to the Royal Society of Musicians was denied on the grounds that he was underqualified and lacked sufficient recommendation.”
Mr. Williams was not cowed, but he did appear to be pondering. “Until these letters, Mr. Comstock had only the recommendation of one professor at Cambridge in a course of study he did not complete.”
“Do with our words what you will.” The duke dipped his head ever so slightly to them all and walked away.
“Would you be willing to play a piece for me?” Mr. Williams asked. “I would like to hear for myself what it is the impressive list of attendees heard.”
Play for him. Toss sensed this was not a casually made request. It was very nearly an audition, a second chance to make his case to the Royal Society of Musicians, a possible reopening of a door that had been all but closed to him.
“Seize your moment, Toss,” Daria whispered.
It was the nudge he needed to pull himself fully into the moment.
“Falstone House boasts a fine pianoforte,” Toss told Mr. Williams. “If you have no immediate engagements elsewhere, I would be honored to have you join me in the music room.”
“Of course.” Mr. Williams motioned for Toss to lead the way.
Hoping to show dignity while not losing Daria’s support, Toss pulled her hand through his arm and walked with her at his side from the drawing room to the music room. His pulse pounded a nervous rhythm in his neck. At the musicale, he’d played a sonata he’d composed during his final term at Cambridge. He’d played it well, and the selection had been enjoyable enough to earn him unsolicited recommendations from a great many influential people. It was most likely what Mr. Williams expected to hear.
And yet, it wasn’t the option that his heart and mind insisted he play.
He saw Daria seated in a chair facing the instrument. Mr. Williams situated himself similarly.
“I would like to play for you my newest composition,” Toss said.
“A different one from what you played two nights ago?”
Toss nodded. “I realize that is the one that brought you here, and I will play that if you would rather.”
“How many compositions have you written?” Mr. Williams appeared intrigued.
