“Cecily,” her mother said from the sofa where she and Agnes were busy with embroidery. “It never ceases to amaze me how beautifully you play.”
Cecily blushed as her fingers expertly caressed the black and white keys of their mahogany pianoforte. She was grateful that, though her sight was fading, and she could no longer read music, her memory of the keys allowed her to continue playing.
“Thank you, Mother,” she said.
Agnes clapped briefly as Cecily glided through a particularly complex bar of “Archduke Trio” by Beethoven. As she understood it, it was the last piece he performed publicly. She could feel all the emotion and love he put into that piece, especially the sadness in the slow movements.
Those reflected his pain over his increasing deafness and how it had finally reached a point where he could no longer perform. That was something to which she felt she could relate.
“Cecily has always been the best of us at playing pianoforte,” Agnes said with admiration. “I remember asking her to help me practice for my lessons with our governess.”
Cecily blushed at her sister’s praise, smiling fondly at the memory.
“I remember that, as well, Sister,” she said. “We used to stay awake as late as we could manage, practicing. But the moment that a servant came to tell us that Mother and Father were stirring, we fled back to our room.”
Both young women giggled.
“Yes,” the Countess said knowingly. “And now that you girls are grown, I have a secret. Your father and I heard you for much longer than we ever let on. We enjoyed your playing, and we loved how it helped the two of you become even closer.”
Agnes gasped, and Cecily laughed.
“I might have guessed,” Cecily said.
The other two women went back to their embroidery as they continued reminiscing while Cecily played on. The clicking of their embroidery hooks was a soothing backing track to Cecily’s pianoforte music, and she closed her eyes and let herself get lost in her playing again.
As she did, she caught herself imagining what the mysterious man, the Duke of Archington, would sound like if his voice joined in the music. Judging by his speaking voice, she guessed that he must be very handsome. She allowed herself to imagine that he had dark hair and dark, kind eyes, and she smiled. It was a silly thing to do, but she was enjoying herself, nonetheless.
She had never spent much time thinking about gentlemen of the upper-class. Since her illness had begun drastically affecting her sight, she had known that she would never marry. It seemed strange to her that she should even entertain the notion of picturing what he looked like. There was just something about his demeanor and his rich, deep voice that made her unable to help herself.
When she finished the piece, her mother and sister applauded. She smiled and dipped her head, wondering which piece she would play next. But Agnes came over to her, putting her hands over Cecily’s.
“I was just thinking of taking a walk through the gardens,” she said. “Would you like to join me, Sister?”
Cecily smiled brightly at her sister and nodded.
“That would be rather lovely,” she said. “I would not mind getting some sunshine.”
Agnes helped her sister from the bench and led her to their mother. They each kissed one of her cheeks and wished her a good day.
“Be careful of being out too long, my dears,” she said, hugging her daughters. “You would not want to ruin your complexions.”
The two women giggled.
“We won’t, Mother,” Agnes said.
Cecily smiled, but her thoughts drifted to a sad place. What would it matter if she did ruin her complexion? Agnes, of course, had every chance in the world of finding a husband. She, on the other hand, never would. If she got a little too much sunlight occasionally, what was the difference?
She did not voice her thoughts, however. Instead, she allowed her sister to lead her through the hallways, until they reached the back servant’s entrance. There, they stepped out into the warm sun, which instantly felt like heaven on Cecily’s skin. She was glad that Agnes had suggested a walk. She had not realized how much she would enjoy one until that moment.
However, as Agnes linked her arm through her sister’s and led her patiently through the gardens, Cecily could sense her tense posture. Her silence for the first several moments of their time outside confirmed to Cecily that there was something on her younger sister’s mind.
As the smell of roses grew stronger in the air, Cecily stopped walking. The red roses in the garden smelled the strongest, and she guessed that was where they now stood. She pulled free from her sister enough to take both her hands and give her a worried frown.
“What is the matter, Sister?” she asked.
She tried to read her sister’s expression, but her vision had long since made that task difficult. But from her sister’s hesitance, Cecily thought that she was thinking of telling her older sister a fib. A moment later, she sighed reluctantly, and Cecily knew that she would open up to her, after all.
“Oh, Sister,” she said. “I have such reservations about attending the rest of the Season. You never got to finish your first Season. Or any season after. Why should I get to do something that you could not?”
