Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
As they played shoulder to shoulder, he tried not to think about the spankings he’d given her, and about the one she was earning right now, embarrassing him in front of everyone. No, he couldn’t spank her anymore, even if everyone in the room had lost faith in him as an instructor.
“Remember, those should be G flats, my dear,” he said, catching a few more missed notes on her behalf.
She giggled, their feet tangling on the piano’s pedals as they neared the end of the piece. A few guests had started to sing the well-known lyrics. Or perhaps they were trying to cover up Elizabeth’s dreadful playing. He laughed too, at last. What could one do but laugh?
He added a great flourish to end the piece as his pupil flubbed the final chord to dissonant effect. Some clapped politely, while others chuckled.
“Terribly sorry,” said Elizabeth, turning to her guests. “I’ve never been much of a sight-reader.”
“G flats,” August added, forlorn.
“I paid you good money to improve her technique,” teased the Duke of Arlington. “What went on in those lessons?”
August turned to Elizabeth, holding her gaze for a fleeting second. Was he blushing as furiously as she was?
“We had biscuits and tea with Cousin Larissa, mostly,” said Elizabeth with perfect comic timing. “And sometimes played cards.”
More laughter. All he could think about was turning her over his damned lap. She’d been an exceptional spanking subject, equal parts penitent and restive.
“I did try my best to bring her along, Your Grace,” said August. “Some pupils are more inclined to musical excellence than others.”
His droll reply brought another wave of laughter. It was then he noticed the expression on Fortenbury’s face. While the other guests laughed, he looked grim and disdainful. Perhaps he felt August was sitting too close to his future wife.
If you could read my mind right now, thought August, you’d be more than disdainful.
“The next round of lessons shall be on your dime,” the duke teased Fortenbury as Elizabeth rose and crossed to her betrothed’s side.
“Lord Augustine was an excellent instructor,” she said to the assembled company. “It is entirely my fault I’ve not progressed to a more expert level. I try, but the notes flummox me when they cluster upon the page, and I haven’t had much time to practice.”
“It’s no matter,” said Fortenbury, taking her hand and patting it. “You don’t need to improve on your piano to be a proper wife. I’d prefer if you busied yourself with children and homemaking once we’re wed.”
“Well,” Ophelia piped up, “one can care for children and still practice music.” His friend’s opera-singing wife had three young ones, all of whom were knee-deep in music lessons.
“Of course, Elizabeth may continue her piano studies after marriage if she wishes,” said her mother the duchess. “Children or no.”
Fortenbury had frowned when Ophelia challenged him; the duchess’s subtle reproof made him go positively stiff. “It’s my personal belief young wives should focus on their families,” he said. “Why labor over music lessons, darling, unless you wish to seek attention on the stage?” He glanced at Ophelia, then gazed down at Elizabeth, the picture of the doting fiancé. “I shouldn’t want that for you.”
August looked at Wescott, who nearly had steam coming from his ears. Fortenbury had said “seek attention on the stage” as if it were a whispered string of expletives, knowing full well Wescott’s wife Ophelia regularly performed at fine opera houses and assemblies.
“If one is talented,” Wescott said tightly, “one should feel free to perform and share that talent. This isn’t Shakespeare’s day, when women weren’t permitted onstage.”
“We needn’t debate the matter, since my fiancée has little talent.” Fortenbury patted Elizabeth’s shoulder as she carefully arranged her expression, trying not to look hurt. August wanted to punch the man. Fortenbury was lucky Wescott wasn’t carrying one of his swords.
“Lord Augustine, will you play some more for us?” the duchess entreated as the room resonated with tension. The duke, too, had gone very red.
“Yes, please play for us without my clumsy fingers,” said Elizabeth, putting on a bright face. “Play something we can dance to. Let’s have dancing, shall we? That’s something I am good at.”
You’re good at a great many things, August wanted to say. And this Fortenbury you’re marrying is a braying ass.
But he couldn’t say that, so he turned back to the piano and played a few country dances, followed by the “Duke of Kent’s Waltz.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his parents dancing close, whispering together. His friends partnered their wives, and many of the unmarried guests paired off. Fortenbury did not offer a dance to Elizabeth, so Marlow took her for a spin while his wife Rosalind rested.
August looked up as he finished his musical set and found Elizabeth gazing at him, her expression unreadable. He glanced away, though he regretted it at once. He wanted to let her know he supported her, that she was not clumsy or inept at anything.