Page 64 of The Duke’s Duet

Chapter Eighteen

Estate papers covered Harper's desk in neat, accusing piles. Tenant agreements, crop reports, investment opportunities - all demanding the attention a proper Duke should give them. He'd been staring at the same document for over an hour, but the words remained meaningless marks on expensive paper. Every time he tried to focus, his mind betrayed him with memories of last night's performance. Melody's voice soaring through their final duet. The way she'd looked at him when he gave her his composition. The tears she'd tried to hide during their farewell.

The scratch of his pen broke the morning silence as he attempted, yet again, to compose a response to his land steward's latest report. But instead of calculating crop yields, his hand unconsciously sketched musical notation in the margin - fragments of melodies that spoke of loss and longing.

"Your Grace?" Simmons appeared at the study door. "Lord Pembroke has arrived."

Harper quickly covered the betraying markings with a fresh sheet.

"I'm rather busy with estate matters—"

"And doing a remarkably poor job of it, from what I can see." Charles strode in, ignoring protocol as usual. "Good God, man, you look terrible. Did you sleep at all?"

"I fail to see how that's any of your concern."

But even as he spoke, Harper knew the attempt at Ducal hauteur was useless. Charles had known him too long, too well.

"No? Then perhaps the fact that you're hiding in here, pretending to work, while the woman you love prepares to leave the country - that's not my concern either?"

Harper's hands clenched on the desk's edge.

"Charles..."

"Don't 'Charles' me in that warning tone. I sat through that performance last night. I saw what passed between you. The whole bloody ton saw it! That wasn't just music you created together - it was a clear declaration."

"It doesn't matter what it was." Harper rose, moving to the window where he could avoid his friend's too-perceptive gaze. "She leaves tomorrow. It's better this way."

"Better for whom?" Charles's voice gentled. "Better for her, to perform in a foreign country while her heart remains here? Better for you, to spend your life regretting what you were too afraid to reach for?"

"I am not afraid." The words emerged sharp with suppressed feeling. "I am being responsible. Doing what duty demands."

"Ah yes, duty. That great excuse for denying everything real and true in your life." Footsteps approached behind him. "Tell me something, old friend. When you were composing that piece you gave her last night - was that duty? Or was that your heart finally speaking truth?"

Harper turned, rage and pain warring in his chest.

"You want truth? Here's truth: I love her. I love her passion for music, her courage in the face of society's disdain, her ability to see past my position to the man beneath. I love how she challenges me, pushes me, demands that I be more than just what duty dictates. And because I love her, I cannot be so selfish as to ask her to give up her dreams for me."

"Who says she'd be giving up anything?" Charles perched on the edge of the desk, ignoring Harper's glare at such familiarity. "Have you actually asked her what she wants? Or are you making that decision for her, like everyone else in her life?"

"What I want - what she wants - doesn't matter. Society would never accept—"

"Society?" Charles barked a laugh. "The same society that's been raving about your performances together? The same society that's already gossiping about the deep artistic connection between the musical Duke and his talented soprano? Good God, man, most of the ton is already halfway to accepting the idea, if only because it's so damnably romantic."

"You oversimplify things." Harper’s fingers trailed across his desk edge, as if it was the keys of his pianoforte Then he rose to pace about the room. "A Duke cannot marry a professional performer. The scandal —"

"Would last a month, at most. Then some other piece of gossip would catch their attention." Charles rose, following him. "Think, Harper. You're not some minor nobleman dependent on society's good opinion. You're the Duke of Brightwood. Your position is unassailable. Your wealth makes you independent of their approval. And after the war..." He paused meaningfully. "After the war, people really are beginning to question the old rigid rules. To wonder if perhaps worth could be measured by more than just birth."

"Even if that were true... Even if society could be brought to accept such a match... what of her career? Her art? Would you have me cage such a free spirit?"

"Now who's oversimplifying?" Charles's voice sharpened. "Since when does being a Duchess preclude having artistic pursuits? Lady Jersey performs at every musical evening. The Countess of Westborough publishes poetry under her own name. Times are changing, my friend. The question is, are you brave enough to change with them?"

The word 'brave' struck home, a blow that winded him, though it was only words. How many times had they faced danger together during the war? How many times had they risked everything for what they believed to be right?

"It's not that simple."

"No?" Charles moved to the door but paused before leaving. "Let me ask you something - which would require more courage - facing society's temporary disapproval, or watching the woman you love sail away while you spend the rest of your life wondering what might have been?"

The question hung in the air like the last note of a complex piece. Harper remained standing, his fingers, even though at his side, now moving slightly of their own accord, as if he played through one of Melody's favourite works. Each silent phrase, heard only in his mind, seemed to mock him with memories of their performances together, of the perfect understanding that they'd found through music.