It was chaos of a gentle sort—noise, but not destruction.
Clara pointed a finger. “Your left hand is on the wrong key, Henry.”
“That’s how Mozart played it,” Henry argued, which was probably a lie, but said with such conviction Nancy nearly applauded.
Oscar, to her infinite surprise, did not scold. “Perhaps,” he said. “But until you have composed a symphony, you must use the keys as directed. Play from the top.”
Henry grumbled, but complied.
Nancy found herself grinning, then muffled it with a hand, then let it show.I should let them be. The world has turned upside down, and I am only going to ruin it by breathing too hard.
She was just backing away when a dry tickle seized her throat. She coughed, quick and sharp.
The effect was immediate: Clara wheeled around, hair flying, and Henry fell off the bench entirely.
Oscar twisted in his seat and found her at the door.
He looked—she blinked to be sure—almost pleased.
“Are you spying on your own family, Duchess?” Oscar asked, rising with the air of a man who had not just been caught pretending at fatherhood.
“I am only taking stock of the damage,” Nancy said. “So far, the room remains upright and all limbs are accounted for. You are either a miracle worker or they have broken you down to your constituent atoms.”
“Both,” said Oscar. “Clara, will you demonstrate the piece for your aunt?”
Clara’s face brightened by five degrees. “Which one?”
“Your favorite.”
Clara slid onto the keys and played a few bars of something classical, then—impishly—switched to a marching song Nancy knew from childhood. Henry chimed in, banging a parallel melody at the far end of the keyboard.
Nancy laughed. “That is the best version I’ve ever heard.”
Henry beamed. “We are a band now. I am the leader.”
“Clara is more skilled,” Oscar said, “but you have the louder voice.”
Henry nodded, as if this were not only true but a point in his favor.
Nancy caught Oscar’s eye. For a moment, the chaos receded, leaving only the two of them in the room.
He said, “Would you like to join us, Duchess?”
Nancy nearly said yes—nearly—but before she could, Clara bounded over and seized her arm. “Did you hear? Uncle Oscar promised to write us a song. All for us.”
Nancy, carried along by the tide, allowed herself to be dragged closer. “He did? I didn’t know the Duke composed.”
“He does not, but he’s going to try,” Henry said. “For us.”
Oscar shrugged. “Necessity is the mother of invention.”
“Or the mother of disaster,” said Nancy, but she was smiling.
Oscar’s hand hovered near hers for a moment before he remembered himself and tucked it behind his back.
“I have never heard the twins so happy since they arrived,” Nancy admitted. “You are either a genius or a lunatic.”
“I am both,” Oscar said.
