A Sonata for the Rake: A Clean Regency Romance, page 6
She sat down on the cushioned piano stool and gently played a few keys. The sound that reverberated from the open instrument was crisp and true, and absolutely perfect. She grinned in pleasure and then set to work.
When she was playing each evening for the enjoyment of others and to supply the melody for dancing, she could play with minimal effort—almost as mechanically as a watch. There was no emotion, no exertion, and none of her soul on display. But when she played for herself—when she composed—she poured her soul into every note, every movement. It took all of her concentration, all of her effort.
After years of concerted practice and progress, she had reached the stage of mastery where her hands looked fluid upon the keys, their movements hardly seeming to match the sound that erupted from the instrument. Her fingers became a mere blur as she wove her way across the pages, and she felt her heart sigh in contentment as she sank into the piece. She played with the volume, at times as soft as a whisper, and then gradually building the strain until it filled the room, filled her body, filled the emptiness inside of her.
This place, this solitude, was where she could finally be free to express herself—all of herself—without fear of criticism or rejection. She did not have to be invisible, did not have to make herself small or palatable. Out there she was a crow, inferior in every way to her beautiful sister and all the rest of her family and acquaintances. But here she was a glorious firebird, so magnificent and expansive that she felt herself rise with the music and swell to fill the room, and then seep out to permeate the entirety of the house until it was all engulfed within her.
Augusta spent an hour in that sacred space, bathed in glory and striving. She worked on her several pieces and savored the brief respite from her self-imposed constraint. Eventually, while scribbling a note in the margins of her newest piece, she heard the call of birds and knew her time was up. While she trusted that she was far enough away to not awaken anyone within the sleeping house, she did not care to test the thickness of the walls once the servants were about. She did not think she would be forbidden to practice in this room, but the fear of being exposed at her most vulnerable and genuine moments was enough to close the matter in her mind. She had to go.
She gathered up her papers, blew out the candles, and then fastened her cloak, pulling up the hood and sliding her bag over her shoulder. After taking a quiet moment to look about the room again in satisfaction, she opened the doors leading to the gardens and walked outside.
She could see the sun just starting to lighten the clear sky, and she took a deep breath of fresh morning air. She had several hours yet before any of the other guests would be awake, and she had no intention of beginning her daily ritual of self-diminishment a moment sooner than was absolutely required.
Noticing the path she had taken yesterday, Augusta hummed to herself as she set off to enjoy the rest of her morning.
A few hours later, once the sun was well and truly up, Augusta walked up the steps leading into Beckett House. She had spent a glorious morning by herself, but she acknowledged that her freedom had now come to an end. She would retire to her room and call a maid to help her dress and prepare for the day before joining Catherine for breakfast and resuming her role as her sister’s chaperone and support. Augusta wondered if she might be fortunate again that day to find some time to sleep while the rest of the group was engaged in some athletic activity.
She passed through the door and was pleased to see that Anthony Windham was not there that morning. She had informed Catherine of Tobias’ warning, and the two sisters had agreed it was best to keep the rakish lord at arm’s length.
Augusta walked towards the staircase that would take her up to her room, thinking of the colors she had chosen for that morning’s efforts and wondering if it would be prudent to write to her sister-in-law, Lady Rosalind Thornton, for some advice. Right as she neared the base of the steps, however, she was startled when a figure appeared out from behind a Romanesque statue.
“Out for another early morning stroll, Miss Augusta?” Anthony Windham asked, obviously amused to have surprised her. He was leaning against the statue, looking every inch the carefree libertine.
Augusta fought the urge to scowl. She was no longer free to behave as she wished, although to be caught just as she was transitioning into her muted role was disorienting, and it made her feel more than a little annoyed.
“Were you waiting for me, sir?” she asked, her tone clipped and disapproving. He grinned roguishly at her, and she chastised her heart for reacting to it. He was, unfortunately, still the most attractive man of her acquaintance. She supposed it was only natural for her body to react to his charms, but she knew now that his heart was black as coal, and she had spent years forcing her will into submission.
“I was curious to see if this was a regular habit of yours.” He looked her slowly up and down, and she suddenly became aware that her hair was windblown and her boots and hem were splattered with mud. She had not thought to be seen before she made herself presentable, and she felt somehow that her appearance was only giving this man more leverage against her. Anthony pushed himself off the statue and strode closer towards her, bending down as if to tell her a secret. She did not flinch away, but stood her ground. “And it seems I have discovered something else about you that the others do not seem to know,” he said quietly.
This did startle her. Had he heard her performance that morning? She felt her pulse jump again, this time in trepidation, and she could not quite keep her emotions from her face. He noticed the change and narrowed his eyes, tilting his head curiously. She cursed herself. Yet another slip up to be weaponized against her.
“Oh?” she asked, trying to sound disinterested, but knowing that she failed. “And what deep secret have you managed to find out?”
He considered her for a minute, a smile creeping over his face. Augusta suddenly felt that he was much too close. She resisted the urge to bolt up the stairs away from him.
“I was merely going to say that I have discovered you get up much, much earlier than I had expected. I assumed you arose with the sun, but when I looked for you, you had already disappeared by then.”
“Yes,” Augusta said, a touch too hastily. “You have found me out, Lord Windham. Now, if you wouldn’t mind stepping aside, I should very much like to rest from my walk.”
“There’s something else, isn’t there?” he asked, and he seemed delighted by the discovery. “There is another secret you are hiding. What could it be, I wonder?”
“I do not have any secrets,” Augusta lied.
The look in his eye deepened, and he moved even closer towards her. She commanded her body to remain passive, but he already had her feeling off balance.
“All of us have secrets, Miss Augusta,” he replied softly. “For instance, what is it you carry in that bag when you go out so very early in the morning?”
She thought of the bits of her exposed soul hiding in her bag and stepped back instinctually. He did not move towards her again, but his eyes remained locked on hers. She set her jaw and raised her chin in defiance.
“You are being incredibly impertinent,” she informed him with the coldest look she could muster. Under normal circumstances, she knew that look made men quaver, but she felt the effect was probably ruined by her disheveled appearance. “If I did not already know you to be a shameless rake, I should inform you that your behavior has been unchivalrous, but I know that such censure would fall on deaf ears, for you are not gentleman enough to signify it.”
His eyes widened at the rebuke.
“My apologies, ma’am,” he said with a bow. “Consider me properly castigated.”
She did not give him a chance to rise from his bow, but rushed past, clutching her bag to her breast. Augusta told herself she was not fleeing, but she knew that, too, was a lie. Only the weight of his eyes upon her back kept her from hitching her skirts up and running away as fast as her muddy feet could carry her.
CHAPTER 11
Anthony
Several hours later, a contemplative Anthony was exiting the breakfast parlor when he spotted the Thornton sisters. He groaned internally, but steeled himself and gave the approaching ladies what he hoped was a dashing smile.
He had just finished his meal where he had been joined by the coquettish Celine and her overbearing mother, in addition to the painfully shy Helen and her obnoxious brother. Anthony had spent the time wondering how on earth he was to seduce any of these ladies properly when they were always so closely watched by their chaperones. And now he was being hailed by the lady whose companion he least wished to meet. He knew that his goal required he charm Augusta as well, but thought he would have better luck seducing a viper—certainly its bite might be less venomous.
“Lord Windham, you were just the gentleman we wanted to see,” Catherine called to him from down the hall. Judging by the sour look on her younger sister’s face, he felt that this was only half true. Augusta, who had changed her gown and hair from what it had been earlier that morning, whispered furiously to her sister as they approached, but Catherine waved her off.
Anthony gave them a bow in greeting, determining to focus his attention on the more amiable of the two.
“It would be my greatest honor to aid such beautiful ladies,” he said charmingly. “I am your humble servant. What may I do for you this morning?”
He ignored Augusta, whose scowl he felt sure could curdle milk.
“I was wondering if I could implore you to perform with us during the musicale,” Catherine answered sweetly, her golden hair framing her angelic features.
Anthony’s eyebrows shot up and a slow grin spread across his face.
“I would be delighted,” he said, resisting the urge to glance at Augusta. “I had been under the impression that my assistance would not be needed.”
He couldn’t help it. His smile was dripping with smug satisfaction. He could see how much Augusta was squirming, practically writhing.
“My sister and I have talked it over, and we have determined that the three of us together may shine more brightly than just one or two alone.”
Anthony strongly suspected that only one of the sisters had reached this conclusion, but for some reason, that fact only made him want to agree even more.
“I am your humble servant,” he told Catherine with an exaggerated bow. “Shall we begin at once?”
A fairly long walk later saw them situated in the beautiful music room. It was quite remote, and Anthony wondered why a man like Seymour invested so much money into such extraordinary instruments if he was just going to shut them up in some distant corner of his manor.
Augusta sat herself at the gorgeous pianoforte, and he thought that her look had darkened significantly the instant he had entered this room, although for the life of him he couldn’t understand why. Beautiful though she was, perhaps she really was just a shrew.
He had taken the exquisite cello from its place among the other string instruments and brought it nearer to the pianoforte so that he might give direction and help should Augusta need it, and her sister had positioned herself near them.
“So, Miss Thornton, have you chosen the piece that you would like to perform?” he asked her, curious about her abilities. She opened her mouth to respond, but was interrupted by Augusta.
“If you wouldn’t mind, Lord Windham,” she said acerbically, “I think we should first like to hear you, so that we might better grasp the extent of your skill.”
Anthony couldn’t tell if she doubted his abilities, but he thought that was rather ironic considering her own middling talent that she had displayed each night since their arrival.
“Augusta, you are being rude to Lord Windham,” Catherine said.
Her sister didn’t flinch at the chastisement, but held Anthony’s eyes steady in her cold ones. He held up a hand to the elder sister and smiled.
“Do not be over troubled,” he assured her. “Miss Augusta is perfectly within her rights to question my abilities if I am to accompany you.” Unfortunately for her, not only was he very practiced at performing for others, his music had also been the means of winning the heart of more than one young lady.
He took the bow in hand and rested the neck of the cello against his shoulder before placing bow to string and beginning a piece he had played a hundred times before. Rather than sit perfectly still as he played, he swayed back and forth with the music, at times looking directly into Catherine’s lovely blue eyes as though playing only for her. He knew the way he moved was often considered sensual, and with his gaze, he sought to draw her to him.
She held it easily, and Anthony thought Seymour had truly found one of the loveliest roses in all of England. If only her sister weren’t sitting a foot away from him, distracting him.
When he finished, Catherine burst into applause.
“That was wonderful, my lord,” she said, and he accepted the compliment with a gracious nod.
Augusta, however, was looking at him with an expression of disbelief tinged with disgust. It was not a look he was accustomed to receiving after one of his performances. He resisted the urge to grit his teeth.
“Was that not quite up to your standards, Miss Augusta?” he asked lazily, leaning back to give himself an air of casual disinterest.
She opened her mouth to reply, but this time it was Catherine who interrupted. She caught her sister’s eye and gave Augusta a warning look. The younger Thornton sister paused, then seemed to change what she was about to say.
“It will do for our purposes,” she said simply. As she turned back to the keys, Anthony thought he saw her actually roll her eyes.
His blood boiled at the dismissal. What did some mediocre pianist know about his skill? It had taken him years to develop into the talent he was today. Then he paused. Perhaps this was another case of jealousy on her part. She had put him on the spot in an effort to embarrass him, and then had become petty when he had surpassed her expectations.
Yes, that was it. He gave his head a small shake as the two sisters conversed about what piece Catherine would like to perform. Obviously, when it came to Augusta Thornton, beauty wasn’t everything.
After a moment’s discussion, Catherine turned back to him.
“I wonder, my lord, if we could beg you to practice with us each day until it is time to perform for Lord Seymour and the others,” she said sweetly, her eyes round and appealing.
Anthony noticed Augusta bite her tongue and refuse to meet his eyes. Apparently, she was less than thrilled at the prospect of being stuck in this room every single day for the foreseeable future.
Good.
He decided he would like nothing better than to make Augusta woefully annoyed. He smiled at Catherine.
“Nothing would make me happier.”
CHAPTER 12
Augusta
10 Years Ago
Humiliation, rage and pain filled Augusta’s whole body, and it seemed to be leaking out all over the place. It seeped from her eyes, her nose, and a few minutes ago it had seeped from her hands as well.
They had just finished taking breakfast in the parlor with Mama and Father, and again Mama had made such a fuss over Catherine’s appearance that it had turned the toast to ash in Augusta’s mouth. She had learned not to misbehave in her parents’ presence, but honestly, to be forced to start her morning with such feelings of irritation and envy was too much to ask of anyone. So the moment they had been taken out of doors for their morning walk, she had taken issue with Catherine’s proximity and given her a rather rough shove.
What Augusta had not anticipated was that Catherine would be so woefully off balance and tumble straight to the ground, her hands getting scraped against the gravel walk and her hair getting caught in a bordering rosebush. A flutter of panic had filled Augusta’s chest as Catherine began to wail, but unfortunately, that was not even the worst of it. What she also had not known was that Father had been watching out the window, and had seen the whole thing. Thus, he had taken it upon himself to cut a branch from the willow tree and give Augusta a switching himself.
That was how she found herself here, on the piano bench in the music room, legs and eyes and heart stinging. Some time ago, Mama had decided that the best way to remedy Augusta’s poor behavior was to redirect her energies to additional pianoforte practice.
She now spent a lot of time at the pianoforte.
She was plunking out an angry arpeggio and having trouble seeing through the tears in her eyes when she decided to wipe her face with her sleeve.
“A lady never uses her sleeve in place of a handkerchief.”
She turned around, startled. It was Miss Martin, her governess. Augusta had expected her to still be walking with her sisters in the garden, and she was torn between apprehension and humiliation. Apprehension because the last thing she wanted just now was another scolding, and humiliation because Miss Martin had witnessed her punishment from Father. Augusta gave a loud, wet sniff, then turned back to the piano.
“I don’t care,” she said petulantly. “I’m not a lady.” She continued to hit the black and white keys, defiance building as she readied herself for her chastisement.
“That is certainly true,” Miss Martin said as she came to stand next to Augusta. “But that is exactly the reason your excellent parents have brought me into their employ, so that I may teach you how to use a handkerchief and not shove your sisters into thorn bushes.”
Augusta wheeled around on her seat to glare at the woman, the pain from her wounds stinging dreadfully.
“I did not shove Catherine into a thorn bush! I only pushed her because she was too close to me, but she was so clumsy that she tripped. And she didn’t fall into the bush, only her stupid hair did.” By now she was yelling, and hot tears were pouring down her face. “It’s not my fault! And it’s not fair, Mother and Father always love Henry and Catherine and Clara and the babies more than me, and I can’t help it if I’m not as pretty or as charming as they are, and … and …”
