went to the musicale. I'm certain he fell instantly in love with your sister, but he is a stubborn case. He has overcome my arrows before, but this time I'll make certain he does not."
" You always think people are arrogant when they resist you, Harry! You shall change him back!"
Harry frowned. "Why should I? He's eligible enough, and Cassandra is not opposed to his attentions at all. Only look at him! Would he not make a perfect husband for her? He is handsome, plays exquisite music, and is quite intelligent. Also, he is wealthy and has a title. Few females can resist that."
" Cassandra is not mercenary!"
" But you cannot deny his other assets would influence her."
Psyche looked at the marquess again. She had to admit he was quite handsome, and Cassandra was excessively fond of music. She creased her brow in thought. "He is amiable, even if he is rather old. He must be all of thirty. Hmm. It is not as if she would know the difference, after all." She shook her head. "No, I cannot like it, Harry. You must change him back. I am quite right about such things."
" He is six-and-twenty. That is not old, Psyche," Harry replied, smiling. "At least, not for your sister."
" No. Mama thinks that Cassandra is nearly on the shelf, so she must be getting a bit on, don't you think?"
Harry 's smile widened into a grin. "Not really. You will understand when you are turned three-and-twenty."
Psyche made a face. "I do wish you wouldn't talk to me as if you were so much older than I am. You can't be any more than fourteen, if that."
" But I am much—"
" And I still think you should change him back." Psyche stared at him sternly. Harry was very good at distracting her from her purpose, and she knew he was doing it now, but she knew better than to let it go too far.
" No." He stared back at her, his chin thrust out stubbornly.
" Then I will tell Cassandra what you have done."
Harry smiled sweetly at her. "She won't believe you."
Psyche stared at him again, but he only stared back defiantly. She could try not talking to him again, but sooner or later he 'd say something and she'd forget about it. Perhaps she could think of a way of persuading him later. She sighed and shrugged her shoulders.
" Well, for now, let us listen to the music. Cassandra has learned a new piece by Herr von Beethoven. She told me it is called 'Sonata in F minor,' " she said, proud that she had remembered it.
* * * *
When the first notes broke the parlor's silence, Blytheland sat up abruptly, recognizing the music at once: the "Appassionata." It was not at all a feminine piece to play, and when he glanced at Lady Hathaway's disapproving face, he saw that she thought so, too. And yet, gazing at Miss Hathaway, he felt not disapproval but despair that he had come to listen to her play, and that she had chosen this music.
Cassandra 's eyes had widened, absorbed and intent upon the keyboard. Blytheland watched her fingers fly over the keys, sure and practiced. Her technique was excellent, her talent superior to any young lady's he had heard so far. He had hoped she would play poorly, that her apparent knowledge of music was false.
But it was not so. For she was clearly caught up in the music, as he often was himself when he bowed his violin. And passion! Her hands pounded it from the keyboard, and her fingers coaxed it out to shimmer hotly in the air. A single curl fell forward onto her brow, and Blytheland closed his hands against the feeling that he must brush it back. He made his body still and forced himself to sit in a negligent manner on his chair. But his mind was not still and he envisioned himself brushing back the curl, his fingers feathering across her cheek and tracing the outline of her lips before his own lips followed. Her mouth would open under his, and she 'd respond with, yes, passion. Her slender fingers that now slipped amongst the keys would slip downward from his chest and—
With a last flourish, Miss Hathaway was done, and the
" You always think people are arrogant when they resist you, Harry! You shall change him back!"
Harry frowned. "Why should I? He's eligible enough, and Cassandra is not opposed to his attentions at all. Only look at him! Would he not make a perfect husband for her? He is handsome, plays exquisite music, and is quite intelligent. Also, he is wealthy and has a title. Few females can resist that."
" Cassandra is not mercenary!"
" But you cannot deny his other assets would influence her."
Psyche looked at the marquess again. She had to admit he was quite handsome, and Cassandra was excessively fond of music. She creased her brow in thought. "He is amiable, even if he is rather old. He must be all of thirty. Hmm. It is not as if she would know the difference, after all." She shook her head. "No, I cannot like it, Harry. You must change him back. I am quite right about such things."
" He is six-and-twenty. That is not old, Psyche," Harry replied, smiling. "At least, not for your sister."
" No. Mama thinks that Cassandra is nearly on the shelf, so she must be getting a bit on, don't you think?"
Harry 's smile widened into a grin. "Not really. You will understand when you are turned three-and-twenty."
Psyche made a face. "I do wish you wouldn't talk to me as if you were so much older than I am. You can't be any more than fourteen, if that."
" But I am much—"
" And I still think you should change him back." Psyche stared at him sternly. Harry was very good at distracting her from her purpose, and she knew he was doing it now, but she knew better than to let it go too far.
" No." He stared back at her, his chin thrust out stubbornly.
" Then I will tell Cassandra what you have done."
Harry smiled sweetly at her. "She won't believe you."
Psyche stared at him again, but he only stared back defiantly. She could try not talking to him again, but sooner or later he 'd say something and she'd forget about it. Perhaps she could think of a way of persuading him later. She sighed and shrugged her shoulders.
" Well, for now, let us listen to the music. Cassandra has learned a new piece by Herr von Beethoven. She told me it is called 'Sonata in F minor,' " she said, proud that she had remembered it.
* * * *
When the first notes broke the parlor's silence, Blytheland sat up abruptly, recognizing the music at once: the "Appassionata." It was not at all a feminine piece to play, and when he glanced at Lady Hathaway's disapproving face, he saw that she thought so, too. And yet, gazing at Miss Hathaway, he felt not disapproval but despair that he had come to listen to her play, and that she had chosen this music.
Cassandra 's eyes had widened, absorbed and intent upon the keyboard. Blytheland watched her fingers fly over the keys, sure and practiced. Her technique was excellent, her talent superior to any young lady's he had heard so far. He had hoped she would play poorly, that her apparent knowledge of music was false.
But it was not so. For she was clearly caught up in the music, as he often was himself when he bowed his violin. And passion! Her hands pounded it from the keyboard, and her fingers coaxed it out to shimmer hotly in the air. A single curl fell forward onto her brow, and Blytheland closed his hands against the feeling that he must brush it back. He made his body still and forced himself to sit in a negligent manner on his chair. But his mind was not still and he envisioned himself brushing back the curl, his fingers feathering across her cheek and tracing the outline of her lips before his own lips followed. Her mouth would open under his, and she 'd respond with, yes, passion. Her slender fingers that now slipped amongst the keys would slip downward from his chest and—
With a last flourish, Miss Hathaway was done, and the
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