Read Online Dilemma in Yellow Silk by Lynne Connolly - Free Book Online
Authors: Lynne Connolly
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and received a gratified smile and gentle agreement.
Mrs. Stewart took control as much as she could. When the maids brought in the tea-trays, she organized them on the tables and took charge of one, while Viola took the other. Soon every lady was furnished with a dish of tea or a sweet cordial. Viola took a small glass of the elderberry wine.
“Darling Emma, sing that new piece for us,” Mrs. Stewart said. The harpsichord in here was not as fine as one in the music room. However it had been tuned at the same time, and it sounded just as good.
Her daughter stood and went to the harpsichord, where her sheet music lay ready. Quelle surprise , Viola thought.
“I would rather concentrate on singing the piece,” Miss Stewart said, leafing through the pages. “Is there nobody who will play for me?” She glared at Viola. Hardly a gentle hint.
Taking her glass with her, Viola stood and went to the harpsichord, taking a moment to go through the pages. “Would you prefer to start with something more traditional?” That was a kindness, because the piece Emma Stewart handed to her was fiendishly tricky to sing. Viola sang indifferently, and she would never have attempted this piece. Perhaps Emma had been taking lessons.
After Emma decided on a sweet popular ditty, Viola played the introduction and Emma began to sing. She had a pretty voice, better than Viola’s for sure, but not opera standard. But Viola had to give her credit for singing the song about a soldier leaving his lass at home with feeling and intonation.
When the gentlemen came in, Emma did not stop. She bowed her head at the patter of applause and nodded to Viola, just as if Viola was hired for the evening. “The new piece, please.”
Viola did not argue, but began to play. She had to concentrate on the unfamiliar air. That meant she didn’t notice anyone standing behind her until an arm clad in figured green velvet reached over and turned the page for her. Even if she had not been aware what Marcus was wearing, she’d have recognized him from his distinctive male aroma. Spicy and slightly peppery—that was Marcus.
The ruffles at the end of his sleeve brushed the bare skin of her neck as he withdrew. Viola suppressed a shiver of response. As always, her senses went on alert, although she tried to conquer her reaction to him. Every time he had that effect on her she swore he would not again. But here she was, responding as if he’d taught her body to do so.
Determinedly she turned her mind to the music.
Emma began to sing. She’d given Viola the music, so she must have been working on this piece for some time. It was Italian, an aria from one of the newest operas. At first Emma made a fair attempt. She hit all the notes and even managed a trill or two. However in doing so, she lost the meaning of the piece. That was a shame, since the song was a lament that the lady was waiting for her lover, the one man she could never openly give her heart to.
As the song wound its way along, Emma lost her way. She missed more notes and forgot the trills. She was obviously finding it hard work. She should have kept to ditties.
And all the time Marcus stood behind Viola, turning the pages.
Relief filled Viola when they reached the end.
While he leaned over to gather the sheets together, Marcus murmured to Viola, “How on earth did you allow yourself to be maneuvered into this?”
Lady Stewart had taken charge. She was dispensing tea and leading the conversation as if born to it.
“I gave up the fight,” Viola confessed.
Marcus straightened but remained by Viola’s side. “Why don’t you give us the piece you were playing the other day?” he said mildly, when the applause was done and compliments given. “You remember, the one you used to test the other keyboard.”
What was he doing? She glared at him. “It’s just a local song.” She began one of the innocent airs, but he interrupted her by touching her hand. Immediately she stopped.
“Not that
Mrs. Stewart took control as much as she could. When the maids brought in the tea-trays, she organized them on the tables and took charge of one, while Viola took the other. Soon every lady was furnished with a dish of tea or a sweet cordial. Viola took a small glass of the elderberry wine.
“Darling Emma, sing that new piece for us,” Mrs. Stewart said. The harpsichord in here was not as fine as one in the music room. However it had been tuned at the same time, and it sounded just as good.
Her daughter stood and went to the harpsichord, where her sheet music lay ready. Quelle surprise , Viola thought.
“I would rather concentrate on singing the piece,” Miss Stewart said, leafing through the pages. “Is there nobody who will play for me?” She glared at Viola. Hardly a gentle hint.
Taking her glass with her, Viola stood and went to the harpsichord, taking a moment to go through the pages. “Would you prefer to start with something more traditional?” That was a kindness, because the piece Emma Stewart handed to her was fiendishly tricky to sing. Viola sang indifferently, and she would never have attempted this piece. Perhaps Emma had been taking lessons.
After Emma decided on a sweet popular ditty, Viola played the introduction and Emma began to sing. She had a pretty voice, better than Viola’s for sure, but not opera standard. But Viola had to give her credit for singing the song about a soldier leaving his lass at home with feeling and intonation.
When the gentlemen came in, Emma did not stop. She bowed her head at the patter of applause and nodded to Viola, just as if Viola was hired for the evening. “The new piece, please.”
Viola did not argue, but began to play. She had to concentrate on the unfamiliar air. That meant she didn’t notice anyone standing behind her until an arm clad in figured green velvet reached over and turned the page for her. Even if she had not been aware what Marcus was wearing, she’d have recognized him from his distinctive male aroma. Spicy and slightly peppery—that was Marcus.
The ruffles at the end of his sleeve brushed the bare skin of her neck as he withdrew. Viola suppressed a shiver of response. As always, her senses went on alert, although she tried to conquer her reaction to him. Every time he had that effect on her she swore he would not again. But here she was, responding as if he’d taught her body to do so.
Determinedly she turned her mind to the music.
Emma began to sing. She’d given Viola the music, so she must have been working on this piece for some time. It was Italian, an aria from one of the newest operas. At first Emma made a fair attempt. She hit all the notes and even managed a trill or two. However in doing so, she lost the meaning of the piece. That was a shame, since the song was a lament that the lady was waiting for her lover, the one man she could never openly give her heart to.
As the song wound its way along, Emma lost her way. She missed more notes and forgot the trills. She was obviously finding it hard work. She should have kept to ditties.
And all the time Marcus stood behind Viola, turning the pages.
Relief filled Viola when they reached the end.
While he leaned over to gather the sheets together, Marcus murmured to Viola, “How on earth did you allow yourself to be maneuvered into this?”
Lady Stewart had taken charge. She was dispensing tea and leading the conversation as if born to it.
“I gave up the fight,” Viola confessed.
Marcus straightened but remained by Viola’s side. “Why don’t you give us the piece you were playing the other day?” he said mildly, when the applause was done and compliments given. “You remember, the one you used to test the other keyboard.”
What was he doing? She glared at him. “It’s just a local song.” She began one of the innocent airs, but he interrupted her by touching her hand. Immediately she stopped.
“Not that
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