Page 91 of A Virgin for the Duke of Thorns

He smiled. It was a private translation—one that he actually had a hand in crafting.

It was a paltry gift, yes, but it would do for a start.

In the middle of the night, just a few hours before daybreak, Colin lovingly wrapped up that particularly rare edition.

It would be a miracle, though, if Alice did not fling it right back at his face.

CHAPTER 38

Alice was quite certain that whoever created the pianoforte did not intend for his invention to be used as an instrument of mass destruction, or at least an invoker of mass vexation, although it sufficed in alleviating her inner turmoil to a certain degree.

It is not much, but it is better than nothing.

She pounded away at the keys as her mama frowned from her position on the sofa, her embroidery half-forgotten on her lap.

It could not be helped, she was simply incapable of coaxing music from any instrument. In her hands, the pianoforte could be deemed injurious, which was why she refrained from playing it altogether.

Today, however, she was not trying to make music but rather to let out the roiling emotions in her heart while attempting to slightly follow along the notes to Beethoven’s Symphony No. 5 in C Minor.

So consumed by raining blows on the pianoforte’s keys was she—and the eardrums of those within hearing distance—that she was only vaguely aware of the butler approaching her mama to hand her a card. For a brief moment, Lady Brandon stood up and went outside.

Perhaps it is another one of Phoebe’s suitors.

If it was, then her mother would have at least told her to ease up on her murderous attempt at music.

Whoever was at the door must have been of no consequence to either Alice or Phoebe, for Lady Brandon simply left both of her daughters to carry on with their activities.

Alice was surprised, however, when her mama came back a moment later and tapped her shoulder. She paused, her fingers hovering over the keys.

“Yes, Mama?” she asked, instantly regretting the slight harshness of her tone.

Perhaps she had been much too carried away with letting out her emotions in the most ladylike way she could imagine. In any case, it was not her mother who deserved to be the target of her ire but a certain rogue.

When she thought of him, her eyes narrowed slightly, and her lips subconsciously pressed into a grim line.

Lady Brandon sighed when she noted the minute flickers of anger on her face. “The Duke of Blackthorn has just sent in his card and asks to see you.”

Alice’s eyebrows snapped together. “Whatever for?” she scoffed. “Was the betrothal not terminated cleanly enough for his tastes?”

“Ah… I would not say that,” her mama replied.

“If that is so, then I do not think we have anything more to talk about.” Alice turned back to the pianoforte. “With regards to the betrothal contract, it would be more appropriate for him to talk to Papa about it, I would think.”

Lady Brandon raised her hand as if she might place it on her daughter’s shoulder but then withdrew it. “Very well,” she said softly. “I shall tell him you do not want to see him.”

“And you need not be so polite about it,” Alice added spitefully.

She doubted her mother would turn the Duke of Thorns out on his ear, however, but she was most definitely not going to give him the pleasure of seeing her so afflicted by their parting.

To the rest of the world, they had parted amicably after finding out that they were hardly suited for each other. However, she did not need to hide her true feelings on the matter from her family.

She had already lied to them at his urging once. She was loath to do so again.

As if to underscore her anger at his attempt to see her again, she began to strike at the keys once more. If he found her music most displeasing, she certainly felt the same way about his presence in her own home! She would find every possible way she could to torment him—her wielding the pianoforte as an instrument of doom included.

Music has Charms to soothe the savage Breast, William Congreve had written. But that self-same author had also penned, Nor hell a fury, like a woman scorn’d.

Alice did not like to think herself a woman scorned. Her fury, however, at having played the fool to Colin’s charms had just reached its greatest height.

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