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“What are you waiting for, my love?” West asked, his eyes worried.
“I... can’t. There are too many people here,” she whispered.
“Don’t think about them. Think only of me.” He brought her fingers to his lips. “You may picture me naked, if it helps.”
The absurdity of it made her smile. Which was exactly the tonic to overcome her nerves. “Thank you, dear. I believe I shall picture you clothed. Until I get you back to bed and I can have the real thing.”
She took a deep, steadying breath, and rose to her feet.
There was only scattered applause as she made her way to the stage.
“Papa, how could you?” she mouthed.
He had the temerity to smile. “How could I not?” he mouthed back.
He handed her the conductor’s baton. Could she really do this?
Her hands quaked. She could feel West and his sisters sending their love and support. She straightened her spine, nodding at the cello soloist.
She raised her baton. And began to conduct.
The music swelled around her, rich and powerful, anchored by the cellist and embellished with the chiming of the bells.
She brought the choir in precisely on cue. “All color resigned and left. Cold white embraced the land,” they sang, “causing the place bereft to beg for a kinder hand. No light, no jewel, to spice our Yule? Do we hear so faint a peal? In darknesscomes a chime, wild bells, unseen but real, to color our joyous time. Not sight, but sound, does now abound!”
After the last shimmering notes rang out, the hall fell silent, and then applause broke out, begun by West, of course, who leaped from his seat, cheering loudly.
“Bravo, bravo!”
That wasn’t West. She shaded her eyes, looking over the audience. It was Mr. Atwater and Mr. Herrick, her publishers. This would do wonders for sales. She was a bona fide scandal.
Viola curtsied, walking back to her seat on shaky knees.
“That was sublime,” Betsy said when Viola joined them. “And I don’t usually like carols.”
“You were wonderful,” Birdie agreed.
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell us that you had composed the carol,” Bernadette said.
“It was supposed to remain a secret.”
“There’s no keeping your talent a secret, Viola,” West said, tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow. “It shines too brightly.”
“I agree,” said Blanche, giving her a kiss on the cheek.
As they walked through the crowded hall, they were met with greetings, praise, and much outrage. The indignant audience members received a stern and lethal stare from the formerly wicked Duke of Westbury, which silenced them quickly enough.
“I can’t believe that just happened,” Viola saidwhen they were safely in their coach, just the two of them.
“It happened. You’re going to be famous, my dear. That carol will be on everyone’s lips by tomorrow.”
“Infamous, more like.”
“You were always going to be infamous, having made the dubious decision to marry the most notorious duke in London... for love.”
“I did marry you for love. But it had something to do with kissing, as well.”
“One kiss from me had you swooning into my arms, begging for more. I’ll have you begging tonight, my love, mark my words.”
