flute followed by the plucking of violin strings floated into the hallway.
“Oh, there you are, Miss Lainscott.” Mrs. Anderson left a plush sofa covered with pale blue damask to greet her.
Several pairs of eyes looked up as Margaret entered the conservatory.
A slender, dark-haired young girl stood off to one side, a flute clutched in her hand. She looked at Margaret with interest for a moment, nodded shyly, and picked up the flute again. The grandest piano Margaret had ever seen sat directly behind the girl, dominating the far corner of the room. She moved toward the piano as a moth to a flame but hesitated, stopping herself from doing something so improper.
It’s magnificent.
Aunt Agnes did have a piano, stuck unceremoniously in the back of an unused parlor as an afterthought. Margaret wasn’t even certain the piano had ever been tuned. She was only permitted to play when no callers were expected. Her aunt’s piano was certainly nothing like this gorgeous instrument, shining like a beacon to Margaret.
“Mama, who is this?” A pretty girl of about fourteen with wide blue eyes interrupted Margaret’s lustful stare. A violin dangled from one slender hand.
“Phaedra, darling, this is Miss Lainscott. A pianist. Miss Lainscott, my daughter, Lady Phaedra. And our flutist is my ward, Miss Olivia Nelson.”
Miss Nelson nodded her head. “Greetings, Miss Lainscott.”
“A pianist? Oh, thank goodness.” Phaedra gave a great, dramatic sigh. “We won’t have Romy pounding at the keys and torturing us. No matter how many lessons she takes from Mrs. Anderson, she rarely gets better.”
“Phaedra,” the duchess admonished her daughter. “Behave.”
“I heard that. At least I’m not screeching away like an annoyed cat.” A stunning young woman popped up from the other side of the piano, where she’d apparently been searching for something on the floor. “Found it,” she said, holding up a pin. Her eyes were also light blue, but with a circle of darker blue around the iris. There was something familiar about her, but Margaret didn’t think they’d ever met.
“Andromeda, this is Miss Lainscott,” the duchess said. “My eldest daughter, Lady Andromeda.”
“Greetings, Miss Lainscott. In case you were wondering, our other sister is named Theodosia. My mother’s adoration of Greek culture extended to the naming her children. Papa indulged her, much to our mutual dismay.”
“Don’t forget the barn cats,” Phaedra interjected. “Do you remember Hermes and Aphrodite?”
“Oh, yes. I still miss Hermes.” Andromeda turned back to her mother. “Theo sends word she may appear for tea. She’s busy with her miniatures.”
“Then I daresay we won’t see her until dinner this evening, sporting paint under her nails.” The duchess gave a frustrated sigh. “You, Andromeda, are excused from your duties at the piano today,” she announced with a wrinkle of her brow. “Most thankfully.”
“Welcome, Miss Lainscott. It is lovely meeting you,” Andromeda said to Margaret over her shoulder as she skipped out of the conservatory, her elation at not having to play the piano evident. “I’ll return for tea. Cook made those tiny cakes with pink icing I adore.”
The duchess placed a hand on her temple. “I pray daily for patience.”
“Come, Miss Lainscott.” Mrs. Anderson took her hand and pointed to two women, nearly hidden in the corner by a large potted fern, arguing over a page of sheet music.
“Ladies.” Mrs. Anderson clapped her hands with a wry smile. “I’m sure you’re both correct. May I present our pianist for today, Miss Lainscott. Miss Lainscott, I’m pleased to introduce you to Mrs. Mounsey and Mrs. Adams.”
Both women greeted her politely then immediately went back to their discussion.
“It’s not really an argument, you understand,” Mrs. Anderson said. “It is more a difference of opinion. Mrs. Mounsey usually wins.”
Margaret was beside herself with joy. Not only was she in the same room as Lucy Anderson, renowned pianist, but Anne Mounsey was also here. Mrs. Mounsey was a female composer and Mrs. Adams, a soprano.
She had never, ever, been so happy in her entire life and nearly giggled with the joy of being here. When asked to sit at the piano, Margaret sucked in her breath at the gold lettering above the keys that labeled the instrument as a Broadwood and very expensive. Margaret nearly expired on the spot.
The next two hours passed swiftly as the women combined their efforts on several well-known pieces before attempting one of Mrs. Mounsey’s recent compositions. Mrs. Anderson played the Broadwood as Margaret watched in adoration, eagerly awaiting her turn.
Miss Nelson turned out to be a gifted flutist, though Lady Phaedra was far from mastering