Scandal on Half Moon Street by Vivian Roycroft

Author:Vivian Roycroft [Roycroft, Vivian]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Amazon: B00A13UOVG
Publisher: Astraea Press
Published: 2012-11-01T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

Sunday, December 13, 1812

Shallow. Petty. Not worthy of the man she loved. This, and worse, Anne called herself.

And still she hesitated and agonized over what answer to return.

The mantua-maker had come and gone, ducking out into the drizzling rain to her waiting chair; their gowns and accoutrements were prepared and laid aside for the Kringles’ ball. Without that fashionable chore to distract her, and without the luxury of shopping or other outings — Mama adamantly remaining within and refusing to budge from her position — Anne found herself behind the pianoforte, playing every love ballad she knew again and again. And every time she reached the peccant part, where the lovers were separated or finally came together, her throat tightened, closed, refused to sing the words, the splatters against the windowpanes mocking her cowardice.

Did she dare? Did she have the courage to run away with the man she swore she loved?

She’d burned Frederick’s brief, challenging note, of course, leaving none but Gregory the wiser. But if she eloped with a barrister — with anyone — the gossip would fly across town, tongues faster than the raciest horse spreading the scandal from Half Moon Street out to the villages beyond the city’s boundary. It would be in every gossip sheet, seethed over in every coffee house. If she eloped with Frederick, she’d never be welcomed in good society again, at least not without a smirk.

Every time she reached that point in her silent argument with herself, she glanced up into the little gilt-framed mirror across the parlor. Every time, her agonized expression mocked her. And then she bent over the keyboard and wracked her brain for new insults to hurl.

Cowardly. Dishonorable. Unworthy.

Always back to that one word.

Unworthy.

Scandal. She cringed, inside and outside, at that horrid word. Gossip.

As much as she wished she could shrug it off and let the cats meow, her lip refused to curl. Instead, rather than dig through her music for yet another love ballad, one which might embolden or entrance her wavering heart — instead she reached blindly for the keys and stroked them without any conscious thought. A chord in B flat major; she must have twisted on her seat, away from that hateful mirror. Her fingers followed through, and suddenly she realized she was playing from memory Mozart’s 12th piano sonata, the second, adagio movement.

Anne closed her eyes and continued, feeling the music rather than seeing it on a written page, letting its clarity wash over her. Step by gentle, logical step, she worked her way through the sonata, the pianoforte building its argument stave upon stave—

Her fingers stilled

Logical. Or, as His Grace liked to say, rational.

The music might be. But her thoughts most certainly were anything but.

She’d claimed that all she wanted was to be Frederick’s wife. She wanted to manage her own home, enjoy her own family. At least one daughter was required. Now, when the means of gaining that delight were presented to her, she hesitated. Rationally, then, while she claimed one thing, her actual desires must be quite different.

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