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The Serenade: The Prince and the Siren [Daughters of the Empire 2] (BookStrand Publishing Romance) by Suzette Hollingsworth Page B
Authors: Suzette Hollingsworth
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rosewood grand piano which the sultan had apparently purchased for the benefit of his European guests.
Even with child, her mother was slimmer than her! Nicolette had begged her mother not to accompany her—maybe it was too much of a strain, and she couldn’t bear to see her mother’s heart broken again—but Lady Ravensdale had laughed at the notion and said she wouldn’t miss the fun for anything!
Lady Ravensdale smiled confidently, solidifying Nicolette’s resolve. The young singer executed her prettiest curtsey, and she thought she managed it tolerably well despite her knees shaking. She forced herself to smile in a broad circle all about her.
The sultan watched with undisguised scrutiny as a lion might watch a field mouse, deciding if the tiny creature was worth the trouble.
Suddenly she relished the experience.
She raised her chin in defiance. Nicolette supposed that the sultan of the Ottoman Empire expected her to be terrified, and that knowledge gave her more courage, determined to stand up to this fierce-looking man.
The sultan is my audience, not my adversary . She would not wilt before him but also must she entertain him. She must hold his emotions in her hand. Though she was in this room of strangers in a strange city, it was her responsibility to delight her audience, to hold their emotions in her hand. Were she to sing before convicts or angels, she was obligated to give the same performance.
Nicolette stepped up to a small platform and awaited the attention that was her due. When it was not forthcoming, she swept the room with her eyes until silence ensued. Then and only then she nodded her approval and turned to face the sultan.
“Begin,” the sultan commanded as he smiled for the first time, the hard lines of his face revealing a gleaming gold-tipped tooth.
“Grand Seignior, I will be singing ‘Si, Mi Chiamano Mimi’ from La Bohème , written by Puccini.” She glanced around the room, ignoring his command once again for emphasis in what she hoped was a clear communication of her performance requirements.
Nicolette looked to her father and saw a smile fighting a fierce battle with his frown, which momentarily amused her. One would never know how old her father was if it weren’t for his graying temples. In fact, with his coal-black hair and sapphire-blue eyes, he was far from ugly.
After a long pause, she instructed her accompanist to begin with a slight nod of the chin. And she began to sing.
I am called Mimi ,
My story is brief
I make lilies and roses
from silk and satin
I am tranquil and happy…
Nicolette felt herself to be Mimi as the beauty of the music overtook her. She longed to reveal Mimi’s open spirit to the audience through the music.
I cherish all things
that have gentle magic,
Love and spring
Dreams and fancies—
The things called poetry…
Everyone of breeding and taste knew that, in concerts, one was to stand immobile so as to place extra demands on the voice alone to impart the desired emotion . Anything else was both improper and unaccomplished. Above all, she must be accomplished .
I imagine
Silk and satin gardens
I hear
Music
which I spin into flowers…
As she sang the aria, the tender moment when Mimi introduced herself to the handsome poet Rodolfo became unexpectedly real to her. A picture of the beautiful, lonely boy she had seen flashed before her eyes, and her heart filled with concern for him. She saw once again the gentleness in his expression, and she was sure that it was the same expression that Mimi must have seen in Rodolfo.
Nicolette became Mimi, delicate and sweet, genuine and open. She saw Rodolfo from Mimi’s eyes. Suddenly the music became far more important to her than the codes of recital conduct. She gave herself to the world she was creating heart and soul. Longing and love filled her heart, and she abandoned her stiff stance as her entire being entered into the music. She retrieved her lace handkerchief embroidered in
Even with child, her mother was slimmer than her! Nicolette had begged her mother not to accompany her—maybe it was too much of a strain, and she couldn’t bear to see her mother’s heart broken again—but Lady Ravensdale had laughed at the notion and said she wouldn’t miss the fun for anything!
Lady Ravensdale smiled confidently, solidifying Nicolette’s resolve. The young singer executed her prettiest curtsey, and she thought she managed it tolerably well despite her knees shaking. She forced herself to smile in a broad circle all about her.
The sultan watched with undisguised scrutiny as a lion might watch a field mouse, deciding if the tiny creature was worth the trouble.
Suddenly she relished the experience.
She raised her chin in defiance. Nicolette supposed that the sultan of the Ottoman Empire expected her to be terrified, and that knowledge gave her more courage, determined to stand up to this fierce-looking man.
The sultan is my audience, not my adversary . She would not wilt before him but also must she entertain him. She must hold his emotions in her hand. Though she was in this room of strangers in a strange city, it was her responsibility to delight her audience, to hold their emotions in her hand. Were she to sing before convicts or angels, she was obligated to give the same performance.
Nicolette stepped up to a small platform and awaited the attention that was her due. When it was not forthcoming, she swept the room with her eyes until silence ensued. Then and only then she nodded her approval and turned to face the sultan.
“Begin,” the sultan commanded as he smiled for the first time, the hard lines of his face revealing a gleaming gold-tipped tooth.
“Grand Seignior, I will be singing ‘Si, Mi Chiamano Mimi’ from La Bohème , written by Puccini.” She glanced around the room, ignoring his command once again for emphasis in what she hoped was a clear communication of her performance requirements.
Nicolette looked to her father and saw a smile fighting a fierce battle with his frown, which momentarily amused her. One would never know how old her father was if it weren’t for his graying temples. In fact, with his coal-black hair and sapphire-blue eyes, he was far from ugly.
After a long pause, she instructed her accompanist to begin with a slight nod of the chin. And she began to sing.
I am called Mimi ,
My story is brief
I make lilies and roses
from silk and satin
I am tranquil and happy…
Nicolette felt herself to be Mimi as the beauty of the music overtook her. She longed to reveal Mimi’s open spirit to the audience through the music.
I cherish all things
that have gentle magic,
Love and spring
Dreams and fancies—
The things called poetry…
Everyone of breeding and taste knew that, in concerts, one was to stand immobile so as to place extra demands on the voice alone to impart the desired emotion . Anything else was both improper and unaccomplished. Above all, she must be accomplished .
I imagine
Silk and satin gardens
I hear
Music
which I spin into flowers…
As she sang the aria, the tender moment when Mimi introduced herself to the handsome poet Rodolfo became unexpectedly real to her. A picture of the beautiful, lonely boy she had seen flashed before her eyes, and her heart filled with concern for him. She saw once again the gentleness in his expression, and she was sure that it was the same expression that Mimi must have seen in Rodolfo.
Nicolette became Mimi, delicate and sweet, genuine and open. She saw Rodolfo from Mimi’s eyes. Suddenly the music became far more important to her than the codes of recital conduct. She gave herself to the world she was creating heart and soul. Longing and love filled her heart, and she abandoned her stiff stance as her entire being entered into the music. She retrieved her lace handkerchief embroidered in
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