Page 91 of Miss Bennet's Dragon
Miss Darcy sat, her hands on the keyboard, motionless except her shoulders heaving with each shaking breath.
When I could move, I walked to her. “That was extraordinary.” There were tears on my cheeks.
She reached out blindly, and I took her hand. Her fingers were slim but strong, her tendons like steel wire.
Facing the keys, she said, “I require a moment to… to come back.” After several more breaths, her posture relaxed. She tipped her head and peered under the instrument. “We have a little lover of music.”
The tykeworm was watching her from beneath the pianoforte. It was odd to see a draca interested in someone other than myself.
Miss Darcy straightened, then played a single note, the high E. The tone buzzed unpleasantly. “I have broken a string,” she observed.
“I am unsurprised,” said Mr. Darcy’s baritone behind me. I had forgotten he was present. For once, I did not jump out of my skin.
To my astonishment, Miss Darcy proceeded, with no assistance from her brother, to haul the heavy cover of the pianoforte to one side. She rustled through a cabinet at the side of the room, returned with a complex tool, and began loudly cranking something inside the case. The tyke rose with an irritated shake and padded over to lie by the fire, his nose tucked under his belly.
After several savage yanks, and annoyed noises from both the instrument and Miss Darcy, two halves of a wire string came free. She examined them with a disgusted expression, then opened another drawer of the cabinet. This drawerwas wide and flat, and displayed fragments of strings and pieces of mechanisms, each with a small paper card. She found a blank card, wrote a note, and added the broken string to the collection.
“Your sister is most remarkable,” I said to Mr. Darcy. She was now fishing through another drawer, searching for a replacement string.
“After the death of our parents, she played endlessly. Her emotion manifested in music. But it was not a grieving child’s obsession or retreat. It was… an awakening. When your sister Mary played, it moved me the same way. It was revelation. Honesty.” His words touched deep feelings for my own family, of trials and of love. I drew a breath to dare a real reply, but before the words came, he raised his voice to address his sister. “I wrote to Herr Beethoven, asking his advice on strings.”
Miss Darcy spun to him, her mouth open in shock. “You must not! He should not be disturbed for frivolous questions.”
“It is not frivolous to ask his advice for a virtuoso and advocate of his work. For so I described you. He has replied already, suggesting the German who supplies his wire.”
She crossed her arms, her eyebrows notched. “Did youpayhim?” Mr. Darcy did not answer immediately, and she looked at me and added, “My brother believes he can purchase anything.”
With mortified horror, I realized that was the same accusation I had hurled at Mr. Darcy after his proposal.
He was very still. Finally, he said, “I know that is not true.”
“Oh, you are so serious,” his sister said, coming over, a coiled wire in one hand. “I will forgive you if you do not write to him again.”
“That will be difficult,” Mr. Darcy admitted. “I have been his patron for some years.”
“Youdopay him!”
“I believe he appreciates the frivolous distraction of patronage.” Mr. Darcy was smiling now. It lit the hint of hazel in his eyes.
“Hold this.” She slapped the coil into his palm then turned to me. “Miss Bennet, will you walk with me? I require a tool from my room.”
“Of course,” I said. I had watched their exchange with amusement, but below that, my wildly swinging feelings had settled into a wistful flutter under my breastbone. A rather heated flutter that threatened to warm the back of my neck. I clasped my hands together and blew out a breath to cool myself.
Miss Darcy left the room. I hurried to follow, exchanging a silent nod withMr. Darcy. But I had made my decision. I would follow my aunt’s advice and find an opportunity to talk.
35
THELIBRARY
The hallway wasbright from the chandeliers, each a web of wrought iron that held twelve ivory candles.
Miss Darcy led me toward sweeping stairs. The top vanished into gloom, and her brow furrowed while she lit a candle from a sconce. “Mrs. Reynolds has the house lit for guests, but they have neglected the next floor.” After being so open with her brother, her glance was abashed. “We do not light the full house for ourselves. Do you think that strange?”
“I think it dramatic,” I answered lightly as we climbed.
Actually, the sprawling darkness on the next floor was disconcerting for a stranger. Large, many-paned windows stared like faceted eyes. As we passed each, a ghost twin to Miss Darcy’s candle followed outside.
There were no servants. Our steps echoed. This was very different from Longbourn, which overflowed with bustle and chattering ladies.
