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Authors: Alissa Johnson
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She’s composing.”
“Composing,” he echoed.
“Yes, I assume you’ve heard of the phenomenon? Little dots on paper representing musical notes?”
“I’ve some grasp of the concept.” A line formed across his brow. “Why did she lie to me? And why did she act as a child sneaking treats when I asked her what she was about? For God’s sake, I’ve seen feral cats less skittish.”
“The fact that you’re frightening to children and small animals is hardly cause—”
“You gave your word, Mirabelle,” he reminded her in a cool tone.
“Oh, very well.” She leaned back against the cushions for a clearer view of his face. “She’s working on a symphony.”
“And…” he prompted when she said nothing more.
“And, what?” she asked. “She’s working on a symphony and has been for some time now. She’s excited and nervous, and she’s worried. It isn’t entirely acceptable for a young lady to pursue music as anything more substantial than a hobby. She’s concerned you won’t approve.”
“That’s absurd,” he snapped. “I can’t hum two notes without sending the dogs to barking. What business would I have instructing my sister on how to use her talent? What business has anyone, come to that? If someone’s said something to her—”
“You needn’t shout at me, Whit. I’m not arguing with you.”
He blinked. “You’re not, are you?”
“No. Unlike you, I’ve a lovely singing voice,” she informed him. “But my musical aptitude is nothing, less than nothing really, in comparison to Kate’s. I’m in full support of her endeavor. It won’t be easy for her, I suspect. The goal itself is a lofty one, and she’ll be subject to some criticism and censure once she obtains it.”
He settled his gaze on her, considering. “And you’re certain she’ll obtain it?”
“Of course,” she responded, returning the challenging stare. “Aren’t you?”
“Absolutely,” he said without hesitation. He rubbed the back of his hand against his chin. “Well, this is interesting.”
“I suppose, though not exactly shocking, is it? When one thinks about it, it was only a matter of time before Kate delved into—”
“I wasn’t referring to Kate—I’ll sort this out with her tomorrow—I was referring to us. We’re in agreement on something.”
“I…so we are.” And it felt, she suddenly realized, a bit odd. Uncomfortable, she rose and ran her hand down her skirts. “Well, stranger things have happened, I imagine.”
“Not much stranger.”
She dropped her hands and rolled her eyes. “I’m sure you’ve lived in constant dread of this dark day, but perhaps now that it’s finally here, you can find the strength to move past it and get on with your life.”
“I’ll put some thought into that. Why don’t you sit back down, imp. We’re not quite finished here.”
“I’d rather stand, thank you.” It was a lie, but she felt foolish sitting again when she’d only just risen. “What else is it you wanted?”
“It isn’t a matter of what I want, but of what my mother has…requested.”
“Your mother?” A tickle of unease formed in her throat.
“She’s asked that we set aside our differences for a time—call a truce of sorts.” He twisted his lips in thought. “Perhaps she was more put out this morning than I realized.”
“I…” She paled. She knew she paled because she could feel every drop of blood drain from her head to pool in her stomach where it sloshed about, making her queasy.
It wasn’t possible to have been at Haldon so often as achild and not earned Lady Thurston’s disapproval from time to time. Poor judgment and poor behavior are inescapable facts of childhood. But Mirabelle had put an enormous amount of energy into avoiding Lady Thurston’s censure—certainly, a great deal more than most children would have—and oh, how she hated when she failed. She owed so much to the countess, and to repay her kindness with worry or vexation was
“Composing,” he echoed.
“Yes, I assume you’ve heard of the phenomenon? Little dots on paper representing musical notes?”
“I’ve some grasp of the concept.” A line formed across his brow. “Why did she lie to me? And why did she act as a child sneaking treats when I asked her what she was about? For God’s sake, I’ve seen feral cats less skittish.”
“The fact that you’re frightening to children and small animals is hardly cause—”
“You gave your word, Mirabelle,” he reminded her in a cool tone.
“Oh, very well.” She leaned back against the cushions for a clearer view of his face. “She’s working on a symphony.”
“And…” he prompted when she said nothing more.
“And, what?” she asked. “She’s working on a symphony and has been for some time now. She’s excited and nervous, and she’s worried. It isn’t entirely acceptable for a young lady to pursue music as anything more substantial than a hobby. She’s concerned you won’t approve.”
“That’s absurd,” he snapped. “I can’t hum two notes without sending the dogs to barking. What business would I have instructing my sister on how to use her talent? What business has anyone, come to that? If someone’s said something to her—”
“You needn’t shout at me, Whit. I’m not arguing with you.”
He blinked. “You’re not, are you?”
“No. Unlike you, I’ve a lovely singing voice,” she informed him. “But my musical aptitude is nothing, less than nothing really, in comparison to Kate’s. I’m in full support of her endeavor. It won’t be easy for her, I suspect. The goal itself is a lofty one, and she’ll be subject to some criticism and censure once she obtains it.”
He settled his gaze on her, considering. “And you’re certain she’ll obtain it?”
“Of course,” she responded, returning the challenging stare. “Aren’t you?”
“Absolutely,” he said without hesitation. He rubbed the back of his hand against his chin. “Well, this is interesting.”
“I suppose, though not exactly shocking, is it? When one thinks about it, it was only a matter of time before Kate delved into—”
“I wasn’t referring to Kate—I’ll sort this out with her tomorrow—I was referring to us. We’re in agreement on something.”
“I…so we are.” And it felt, she suddenly realized, a bit odd. Uncomfortable, she rose and ran her hand down her skirts. “Well, stranger things have happened, I imagine.”
“Not much stranger.”
She dropped her hands and rolled her eyes. “I’m sure you’ve lived in constant dread of this dark day, but perhaps now that it’s finally here, you can find the strength to move past it and get on with your life.”
“I’ll put some thought into that. Why don’t you sit back down, imp. We’re not quite finished here.”
“I’d rather stand, thank you.” It was a lie, but she felt foolish sitting again when she’d only just risen. “What else is it you wanted?”
“It isn’t a matter of what I want, but of what my mother has…requested.”
“Your mother?” A tickle of unease formed in her throat.
“She’s asked that we set aside our differences for a time—call a truce of sorts.” He twisted his lips in thought. “Perhaps she was more put out this morning than I realized.”
“I…” She paled. She knew she paled because she could feel every drop of blood drain from her head to pool in her stomach where it sloshed about, making her queasy.
It wasn’t possible to have been at Haldon so often as achild and not earned Lady Thurston’s disapproval from time to time. Poor judgment and poor behavior are inescapable facts of childhood. But Mirabelle had put an enormous amount of energy into avoiding Lady Thurston’s censure—certainly, a great deal more than most children would have—and oh, how she hated when she failed. She owed so much to the countess, and to repay her kindness with worry or vexation was
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