“Huh! If so, the laugh will be on him.” She’d cut her eyeteeth dealing with and managing the ladies of the ton; to act as his guard held no terrors for her. She returned to her parlor, opened the door, swanned inside, and declared to the empty room, “It won’t be me who’ll end flustered.”
Chapter 4
As promised, Frederick returned to Stacie’s house with Hellier, his expert piano tuner, at half past two the next day.
While standing by the piano and watching Hellier delving beneath the propped-up lid, tightening pins and tensioning strings, he found his mind reviewing the happenings during his visit the day before, the insights he’d garnered, and his reactions to those.
The eagerness that had lit Stacie’s cousin’s eyes had forcibly reminded him of the smothering adoration that had, long ago, driven him from the ton. Luckily, Stacie was blessedly free of any tendency to near-worship; she’d always viewed him as a means to an end, and for that, he was grateful. He had never wanted to be placed on a pedestal and would resist as far as he could.
Indeed, seeing her in her home, in the space she’d made her own, and learning that something as fundamental as which house she’d chosen to buy had been dictated by her scheme, the goal of which was to help local musicians, had been…humbling.
As for her gratitude and her careful allusion to his past experience playing for the ton, he wasn’t entirely sure what she’d made him feel—cowardly and selfish?
Hellier grunted and straightened.
Frederick thrust his uncertainties to the back of his mind as the elderly tuner turned to him and tipped his head toward the piano’s keyboard. “Try it.”
Aware of Stacie rising from the chair by the wall where she’d been sitting, out of the way, and drawing nearer, Frederick sat, flexed his fingers, then set them to the ivory keys.
He dutifully played the extensive series of scales he knew Hellier used to judge tone and tuning.
Hellier waved. “Wait.” When Frederick lifted his hands, Hellier dived beneath the lid, fiddled with something, then retreated and nodded to Frederick. “Again.”
Frederick started from the beginning and rolled through the lengthy series. As he finished the final set, he looked at Hellier to see the old Swiss tuner with a beatific smile on his face.
Hellier caught his eye and nodded. “Aye—that is now perfect. The tone is very good, and the tuning could not be better. You think the same?”
Frederick nodded. “I do.” He looked at the
keys. “Let’s see.”
He launched into Chopin’s “Ballade Number 3.” Within seconds, the music caught him, and he gave himself up to the flow.
Stacie stood behind and to the side of the piano stool and watched Frederick make her piano sing. His hands traveled over the keys with confidence and a mastery all the more notable for its effortlessness.
He coaxed, and the piano answered; he demanded, and the music swelled.
Her music room had never heard the like, and despite her years of concerts and performances, she hadn’t, either. He possessed the ability to make the music manifest, to transform it into a palpable living, pulsing entity that could reach into people’s minds, into their hearts and souls.
She managed to spare a glance for the tuner, Hellier, and discovered that he looked as enraptured as she felt, with a dazed smile on his face and his head nodding in time.
She glimpsed Ernestine peeking around the door from the drawing room, the expression on her face one of utter reverence.
Looking back at Frederick, feeling the power of his music surge and swell around her, Stacie had to admit that, when it came to the quality of his playing, every whisper of gossip had been true.
Indeed, the truth—the reality—was utterly stunning. Utterly confounding. Not even hearing him play at the music school had prepared her for this—for the precision of his touch, his mastery of tone, and the evocative totality of his performance.
He truly was a maestro.
Small wonder the other scholars treated him with respect. He didn’t just study music, he could bring it to life.
When the final chord sounded and he rested his hands on his thighs as silence reclaimed them, she felt almost bereft.
In that instant, she realized that, courtesy of his talent, having him play at her musical evenings and introducing young musicians, on his coattails as it were, was guaranteed to work.
Frederick drew in a breath and swung to face Hellier. “I can’t fault it. You?”
Hellier shook his head. “As always, it is a joy to hear you play. Would I was blessed more often. But you are right—there is nothing more for me to do here. The piano is in perfect tune and, now, worthy of the player.”