I didn’t get a chance to ask you before—in all honesty, do you like the piece?”
She read in his eyes that he was serious, that he truly wasn’t sure. She smiled and let her love shine in her eyes. “Like is too small a word for how I feel—I adore it.”
Relief flitted across his face, softening the hard lines. “Good.”
He drew her to him, and she went.
She draped her arms about his shoulders and said, “Now that we’ve slain all our lurking dragons and seen off all threats, it seems we’re free to embrace our marriage and all that comes with it.”
She wondered if he would rise to her challenge, if he would continue to match her in directness.
His gaze rock-steady, he didn’t disappoint. “Our love, our child—and our children to come.”
“Our family.” She had never thought to have one of her own—to have all he’d laid at her feet. “I believe, my lord, that we have all we need—secured, safe, and so very much wanted.”
His smile wrapped around her heart. “As I said, life is a symphony. You and I have laid down our melody and crafted our first movement—it’s time to start work on the next.”
She returned his smile with all the love in her soul, stretched up on her toes, and just before her lips met his, whispered, “Yes,” and kissed him.
Epilogue
April 16, 1845. Albury House, Upper Grosvenor Street, London
The Marchioness of Albury’s musical evenings were now widely regarded by the haut ton as must-be-seen-at events. Consequently, her fourth such evening got under way with the reception rooms of Albury House packed to capacity.
As had occurred at the previous evenings, the instant the musical segment of the entertainment commenced, the focus of the entire gathering centered on the music room. Not a single grande dame remained chatting in the drawing room; having learned from past experience, those wily old ladies now claimed seats in the front rows in the music room, the better to assess the quality of the performers for future reference.
The young performers invited to showcase their talents that evening were the same three who had opened the marchioness’s near-legendary first event the year before, when she’d still been Lady Eustacia Cavanaugh. As she, now Lady Albury, said in her introduction, all three young men had made strides as, under the patronage of the marquess and herself, their careers had progressed onto a wider stage.
The pianist, Brandon Miller, and the duo of cellist and violinist who followed—Phillip Carpenter and George Goodes—were now familiar to many of those attending, having been hired by ladies to perform at various events through the preceding year. Nevertheless, it was clear to even the most superficial observer that all three had evolved both in skills and in confidence under the Alburys’ wing.
Those three were followed by the latest three performers to be admitted to the list of Albury protégés. The cream of the haut ton pricked up their collective ears when her ladyship invited Lord Brougham to introduce the horn and wind ensemble. Subsequently, they listened closely, noting the rich timbre of the performance that Brougham had explained was the hallmark of exceptional performance with such instruments.
When the trio took their final bow, the haut ton was pleased to approve, and ladies could be seen making notes of names and instruments for later consideration.
Finally came the moment that even the most jaded of the audience had waited for. Lord Frederick Brampton, Marquess of Albury—very much one of their own—appeared to rapturous applause. Those in the front rows saw the faintly cynical look he exchanged with his wife, then he bowed, circled the grand piano, and sat before the keyboard.
Then he placed his fingers on the keys and played his latest composition, which he had titled simply “Ode to My Son.”
The piece was indescribably moving; not a single matronly eye remained unclouded by tears, and not a few of the gentlemen were similarly afflicted.
When the evocative work finally drew to a close and the marquess took his bow to thunderous applause, then, as was his habit, retreated from the room, all were in agreement that this, his third publicly released composition, was a worthy addition to his catalog, joining the earlier “Anthem to My Muse” and his “Christmas Sonata,” which had been delivered to critical acclaim at, respectively, the second and third of Lady Albury’s evenings the previous year.
Stacie remained in the music room only long enough to see the guests all moving into the supper room, then she slipped away and joined Frederick where he loitered, waiting for her in the shadows at the top of the stairs.
He smiled when he saw her step into the gallery. “I thought you would come up.”
She returned his smile with one even more fond. “I knew you would.”
He reached for her hand, and their fingers intertwined as they turned down a corridor, then took another flight of stairs upward.
“Incidentally,” she informed him, knowing he needed to hear it, “they loved your Ode.” She cast him a laughing glance. “You haven’t lost your touch.”
He arched his brows, but she could tell he was relieved. “Good to know.”
They reached the top of the stairs and fetched up before the door to the nursery.
Frederick watched Stacie grip the doorknob and quietly crack open the door.