Page 62 of An Accidental Romance

She turned and went to the pianoforte.

She sat as the guests turned in their own seats in order to be able to view her performance more easily. She quickly thumbed through the stack of music she’d left on the pianoforte, hoping to be inspired, finally selecting a lively folk dance she thought might be appropriate for the occasion.

Endeavoring to focus on the music before her and not the people seated at the tables behind her, she briefly rubbed her fingers to warm them—they were chilled from the nerves she was feeling—and then she began.

Thankfully, after playing a few lines of music, her training settled into place and the music began to flow through her fingers. The audience faded from her mind as she became lost in the lilting melody and spirited accompaniment. Almost before she realized it, she had reached the final cadence. She lifted her hands from the keyboard and then placed them in her lap.

The room burst into applause.

Supporting herself by holding on to the pianoforte, she rose and acknowledged the applause. She felt gratified, but mostly, she felt relieved.

“Encore!” someone called out and then another. “Encore! Encore!” The call continued for her to play an additional piece. She looked about the room. Her parents rose to their feet and were clapping and smiling brightly, as were Susan and the Duke of Aylesham and most of the rest of her family, including Delia and Artie and Hannah. Mr. Burnhope looked as though he might burst a few buttons. Friends she had known her entire life. All were clapping and smiling and calling, “Hear, hear,” and, “Encore.”

Except for Ben. He was standing and applauding, but his face was serious and almost pained.

And Rebecca knew precisely what she was going to play for her encore.

As the guests quieted down and sat, Rebecca settled back at the pianoforte and took a moment to collect herself, then placed her hands at the keyboard. Her eyes nearly closed in thought, she began the second movement of the Beethoven sonata she had been playing when she’d caught Ben eavesdropping on her. It was a beautiful, moving piece she had loved since being introduced to it, and she remembered Ben’s reaction to her performance that day.

It was her own private message to him. She was sharing her heart with him through her music. The others in the room may simply enjoy the beauty of Beethoven’s creation.

She prayed he would know it was more than that.

She poured her entire soul into her performance; her heart and mind and fingers were as one as she brought the music and emotion of the sonata movement to life. The crescendos and diminuendos, the subtle rubato she added to make it her own, the haunting melodies wove about her and engulfed the room. She could sense it coursing through her entire being. It was one of those rare, almost mystical moments when she and the music and her audience were one.

And she had done it for Ben.

She played her final notes and lifted her fingers slowly from the keyboard.

There was silence, as though everyone were waiting for someone else to take the first breath. And then the room burst into applause once again.

Rebecca arose, supporting herself with the pianoforte again, and offered a small curtsy, acknowledging everyone, deliberately not searching for Ben’s face among them lest she crumble, spent, to the floor.

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