Page 48 of The Matchmaker’s Mistake

“Play it once, and then I shall offer whatever opinion I am able.”

Miss Darcy played.

The movement was not very long but Miss Darcy played with care—perhaps too much care. When she lifted her hands at the end, she met Elizabeth’s gaze. Elizabeth took the time to consider what she had heard before speaking.

“Your understanding of technique is excellent, a great deal better than mine. The difference is that I do not hesitate.”

Miss Darcy’s brows drew together.

Elizabeth glanced at the marked page now placed on the instrument, and then back to her. “You are—” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “You should play as you yourself feel it ought to be played, rather than as you suspect the company would prefer to hear it.”

“That,” Mr. Darcy said, in the dry quiet voice he reserved for his sister, “is precisely what Signor Pellegrini has been saying. He has been saying it in Italian, which is perhaps why I have not been able to translate it into any form she will accept.”

“Brother,” Miss Darcy said, reproachful and delighted at once.

“I have not told Miss Elizabeth that you and I once spent half an hour attempting to decide whether cantabile meant singing or merely capable of being sung.”

“It means singing,” Miss Darcy said firmly.

“Yes. I have been yielding to you on Italian since you were eleven, and I highly doubt that shall ever change.”

Elizabeth had not previously heard Mr. Darcy issue a tease. Mr. Bingley had teased him, but he had not seemed to enjoy it.

Miss Darcy looked down at her hands. “I am nervous.”

“So was I,” Elizabeth assured her, “the first time I played before strangers.”

Miss Darcy’s eyes widened. “Were you?”

“Oh, certainly. I was convinced every person in the room had come for the sole purpose of discovering whether I would strike a wrong note.”

“And did you?”

“Several. But I struck them with such spirit I convinced everyone they were intentional.”

Mr. Darcy laughed quietly.

Elizabeth set that to one side and touched the music sheet. “Will you play it again? Once more, knowing that you need only play it as you feel you ought?”

Miss Darcy nodded and began. The falling phrase now descended softly, like something had been released. She no longer hesitated, and the melody gained confidence. When the resolution came, it was indeed mournful, but tenderly so, as if the grief in it was not new, as if it had remembered that beyond sorrow, there was life.

When the movement came to an end, Miss Darcy closed her eyes and smiled a little before she took a breath and glanced up. “I had nearly sent word to my mother that I would not play tonight. But I believe this will do.”

“A wise decision,” Mr. Darcy said with a wry smile, “for Mother has already made promises to the guests.”

“She would not force me, but she would be disappointed.”

“Shall we inform her you are prepared?”

Miss Darcy stood. “Yes.” She put her arm through Elizabeth’s. Mr. Darcy, who had clearly meant for her to take his arm, simply chuckled.

“I see I am replaced. Lead on, ladies.”

When they returned to the drawing room, Mr. Darcy offered his mother the slightest of nods.

“My friends,” she said then, in a tone that closed conversations without seeming to interrupt them, “my daughter has consented to play for us.”

Conversations drifted closed as everyone rose. Lady Anne led the way, with Miss Darcy and Elizabeth close behind. Mr. Darcy fell in somewhere behind.