Page 89 of The Matchmaker’s Mistake

“That is precisely the trouble,” Miss Darcy said. “Strangers only think you play well or ill. Family will remember it forever.”

“Oh, yes,” Elizabeth replied, shaking her head. “I dropped an entire syllabub into my Uncle Philips’s lap when I was seven, and my mother has not allowed a trifle to be served since without mentioning it.” But she laughed as she said it, and some of the tension left Miss Darcy’s shoulders.

“I have put you here.” Miss Darcy indicated a chair in the first row to the side of the instrument. “You will be able to see my hands. You play too, so I thought that might interest you.”

“It does, thank you.”

“I hope you do not mind, but I have asked my brother to sit beside you,” Miss Darcy said. “He likes to see my hands too.”

Elizabeth looked at the empty chair beside hers. “Then I shall endeavour not to obscure his view.”

Miss Darcy coloured at once. “Oh. I did not mean⁠—”

“It was said in jest, Miss Darcy,” Elizabeth assured her. “For your brother is tall and I am . . . not.”

The girl giggled then. “I am a little nervous,” she confided.

“I would say that you need not be, but I doubt it would help. Instead, I shall ask why Mr. Darcy enjoys watching your hands—does he play as well?”

“Not since he was quite small. But my mother loves music and so she taught us both.” Miss Darcy glanced towards the instrument, then down at her own hands and flexed her fingers. “He remembers enough to know when I have practised.”

“And enough to be proud of you, I suspect.”

Miss Darcy’s colour warmed. “He is the best of brothers.”

Before Elizabeth could respond to that, they were interrupted by Miss Finch.

“Miss Darcy,” she said as she approached, “I have been sent to ask whether there is a programme for this evening.”

“A programme?” Miss Darcy asked.

“Yes. Something written down, so that when my mother asks whether the difficult part is over, I may answer with authority.”

Miss Darcy laughed, and the last of her alarm seemed to loosen. “There is no programme. Only the sonata, and then perhaps a little rondo if Mamma insists.”

“Then I shall tell my mother so.” Miss Finch turned to Elizabeth. “Miss Elizabeth. I am glad you are here.”

“You are kind to say so.”

“No, I am rarely kind. I simply mean it.” She glanced at the chair Miss Darcy had indicated, then at the one beside it, and continued without the smallest change in expression. “You have been put in the best place. I quite approve. Persons who understand music ought to be allowed to see the keys.”

“I never allow anyone who understands music to watch what my hands are doing,” Elizabeth replied, “for then they should know all my secrets.”

Miss Darcy giggled again.

Elizabeth longed to embrace her, as she would have embraced one of her sisters when they were anxious, but she did not yet know the girl well enough for that. In any case, it was not really reassurance Miss Darcy needed. What she needed was to begin.

Miss Finch must have agreed, for she looked from Elizabeth to Miss Darcy, then gave a small nod, as if something had been decided to her satisfaction.

“Miss Darcy, we shall not delay you another moment. I am told suspense is excellent for audiences but very bad for performers, which seems unfair.”

Elizabeth caught Mr. Darcy’s eye and nodded at the pianoforte. He said something in his mother’s ear, and suddenly everyone was being asked to sit.

“Go on,” Elizabeth said gently to Miss Darcy. “We shall be just here.”

Then, with a nod to Miss Darcy and a last considering glance at the chairs, Miss Finch went to take her place beside her mother, and Elizabeth sat down where Miss Darcy had placed her.

She kept her eyes on the instrument as Mr. Darcy came to the chair beside hers, but she was aware of him all the same. He left a careful distance between them and gave all his attention to the instrument. There was nothing in his conduct to remark upon. Elizabeth noticed it anyway.