Page 6 of The Duke’s Duet

Ah. There it was.

The carefully placed arrow, designed to pierce his defences. His mother had always been skilled at finding the exact pressure point that would achieve her aims.

"Mother—"

"There is only one solution." She moved closer, her voice dropping so that only he could hear. "You must perform."

The words struck him like a physical blow.

"Absolutely not."

The response emerged before he could moderate his tone.

The Dowager Duchess' eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Mrs. Williams," she said without looking away from her son, "I believe that the servants can continue with their duties without my presence, or the Duke’s, for a short while?"

The housekeeper nodded, and turned to direct the servants. Within moments, Harper was led from the ballroom by his mother, and up to the Brightwood House music room, the air between them charged with decades of unspoken tensions as the went. Only once in that room did he speak.

"You cannot ask this of me."

"I can, and I am." She moved closer, her voice softening. "Brightwood... Harper. You are more than capable—"

"Capability is not the issue." He turned away, struggling to maintain his composure as memories crashed over him: the crack of his father's riding crop against the pianoforte lid, inches from his fingers; the cold fury in the old Duke's voice as he declared that no son of his would make a spectacle of himself like a common music master; the way that the music had died in their house after that day, replaced by a silence which echoed through the years. "A Duke does not perform for an audience like some hired entertainer."

Harper said it, as he knew he must, but the words tasted bitter on his tongue.

"No?" His mother's voice took on that dangerous silken quality he remembered from childhood confrontations. "And what of Lord Pembroke's famous violin playing at the Prince Regent's gatherings? What of Lady Jersey's renowned skill at the harp? What of the countless musical evenings where our peers display their accomplishments?"

"That is different." But even as he spoke, Harper could hear the weakness in his argument. "They perform for intimate gatherings, not paying audiences."

"This is a charitable endeavour, not a public concert hall." The silk in her voice hardened to steel. "Or perhaps you would prefer to explain to Captain Winters and his fellow veterans why their benefit concert must be cancelled? Shall I send someone to inform them that your pride is more important than their need?"

Each word struck home with devastating accuracy. Harper moved to the pianoforte, running one finger along its polished surface. The instrument was beautiful — the finest money could buy. He had chosen it himself, though he had told his mother it was simply because a Duke's home must have the best of everything. In truth, he played it nearly every night, after the household was abed. Only then did he feel free to express himself fully through the music, to release all of the passion and emotion that a Duke must never show in public.

"These are different times, Brightwood," his mother said more gently. "The war has changed so much. Perhaps it is time to let go of old fears."

He closed his eyes, memories washing through him, always the same memories…. The crack of his father's riding crop against the pianoforte lid, inches from his fingers. The cold fury in the old Duke's voice – ‘No son of mine will make a spectacle of himself like a common music master!’

But his father was gone now, and these were different times. The war had indeed changed much — he had seen men die defending concepts as ephemeral as honour and duty. Surely he could face something as simple as performing music for a worthy cause?

"Very well." He spoke so quietly that his mother leaned forward to hear. "But only this once, and only because there is no alternative."

"Excellent." The Dowager Duchess' satisfaction was evident. "I shall have Miss Piper informed that she must meet with you immediately to discuss the program."

"Miss Piper?"

Something in his tone made his mother pause at the doorway.

"The soprano, Brightwood. Surely you haven't forgotten? She comes highly recommended by Lady Jersey herself."

"I am aware of who she is, Mother. I have heard... things... about her approach to performance."

"Oh?" One elegant eyebrow rose. "What sort of things?"

"That she takes... liberties... with the music. That she allows emotion to override technical precision. That she makes the music serve her interpretation rather than respecting the composer's intentions."

"How fortunate then, that you will be there to ensure that the proper balance is maintained."