He guided her through the arched doorway, her hand firmly tucked into the crook of his arm. Large crowds of unknown people still rendered her momentarily mute and unsettled, her inherited shyness never totally dissipating, although after two visits to the bustling Conservatoire, she was not as nervous.
She had discovered that Sebastian possessed a quiet ease in almost all situations. He was far from loud or boisterous, his manners sedate and impeccable, and he frequently tended to remain silent as he observed those around him; however, it was not from timidity, but more from an inner self-confidence that did not require extraneous affirmation. Conversation with complete strangers was effortless on his part, a talent she did not have.
He looked at her with an understanding smile, patting her gloved fingers lightly in reassurance. His smooth, casual sauntering through the active bodies, most of them intent on some purpose that did not include idle chatter with strangers, allayed the worst of her nervousness. He nodded and smiled politely at the occasional familiar face but did not halt.
“I thought today we would first visit the opera rehearsals,” he murmured, leading her to a set of wide stairs. “That is always fascinating to observe. And I can introduce you to some people I know. I can tell you right now, Miss Darcy, that the current reigning soprano leaves much to be desired. Your voice is superior.” He continued in a steady stream of softly uttered dialogue, his resonant tones soothing and sentences entertaining. By the time they arrived at the large theatre where an operatic performance was being practiced, she was completely relaxed.
She did agree that the soprano practicing was not excellent but merely adequate. However, she would not agree with Sebastian’s assertion that her voice was far better. He introduced her to a few of the singers and stage personnel, but the bulk of his acquaintances were in the music departments. On the one hand, she was amazed at how many people he knew based on brief visitations in the past, yet on the other, his openness and humor was magnetic—especially to women, a fact that irritated Georgiana profoundly. And considering how few women inhabited the halls of the Conservatoire compared to men, there must have been a communications network of some sort informing every last one that he was in the building!
She was fully aware that jealousy generated her annoyance, and she should have been troubled by such an unsavory emotion regarding a man she insisted was merely a friend. Luckily, the acute yearning to slap every woman who greeted him with a flirtatious, “How wonderful to see you again, Mr. Butler!” was overshadowed by her awe at the impressive atmosphere.
For over two hours they wandered from room to room surrounded by music in various renderings. Georgiana slowly relinquished the bashfulness Sebastian found so charming, conversing with students and teachers with growing confidence. A few were now familiar to her, and their welcoming attitude encouraged passionate discourse. Sebastian observed her exuberance, empathized with the happiness, and vividly related to her fervor, not realizing that some of the latter arose from female envy! Indeed, he only discerned the unique inner fire of the true artist, and in those hours, he recognized that he would give anything he owned to grant her heart’s wish. If only there was some way to make it so.
Refreshed after a pot of hot tea and sweet treats in the tearoom, Georgiana and Sebastian left Mrs. Annesley to rest while they headed down a semi-deserted corridor, lined with doors marked with French names on thin wooden plates.
“Do not be intimidated by Professor Florange,” Sebastian said as they walked. “He can be gruff, but he is an excellent teacher and he means well.”
“Are you sure it is acceptable for me to accompany you? I could wait in the tearoom with Mrs. Annesley. I do not wish to irritate him or intrude upon your appointment.”
“I assure you he will not mind in the least. I have some new compositions I wish to share with him, and I think you will benefit from hearing his instruction. Ah, here we are!”
The office of Professor Florange was blessedly devoid of females. The gray-haired man, tiny and stooped with thick spectacles perched on a beaked nose, greeted Sebastian and Georgiana with abstract enthusiasm. His office was a chaotic mess of sheet music, melted candles, ink-splotched tabletops, and leather portfolios stuffed with scribbled papers. His suit was rumpled and face stubbled, but his beady black eyes examined the compositions Sebastian withdrew from his leather portfolio with intelligent concentration. He mumbled indecipherable French as he read and then shuffled to the pianoforte, clearing away several pieces of music with deliberate care before placing the new sheets on the rest.
Georgiana stood near the door, away from the professor’s desk and the pianoforte, not wishing to be a distraction, and was therefore unaware of which composition Mr. Butler had given until the opening chords. She gasped, hand rising to her heart and eyes saucers. It was their piece! Instantly, she pierced Mr. Butler with an accusatory gaze and noted his flinch, but he met her eyes unrepentantly. Anger flared, her cheeks flaming in response, yet to her exasperation, the anger rapidly dissipated as the music swirled about the room.
Professor Florange played the composition perfectly. He never said a word or glanced at either of them, his focus complete upon the written notes rendered masterfully by his aged hands.
Georgiana bit her lip, the odd man’s mannerisms lending no clues to his opinion. And suddenly she realized she wanted to hear his opinion! Sebastian smiled, annoyingly pleased at her altered attitude, and winked at her as the music flowed melodically about the room. The professor reached the end, muttered a few more French sentences that she could not hear, and to her alarm, flipped back to the beginning and started over again! Sebastian only smiled wider, which should have steeled her nerves or irritated her, but only served to increase her apprehension.
Finally, he stood from the bench, startling her into near apoplexy by turning to her rather than Sebastian, his ebony gaze sharp and voice shrill when he asked in heavy accented English, “Why have you not sat for our examinations, Mademoiselle Darcy? You should be a student here with talent such as this.”
“Mr. Butler wrote a greater portion, truly he did—”
“Yes, yes,” Professor Florange interrupted, “I know of Butler’s style and can discern his contributions. Yet there is something more here than previously seen in his work. This is better, much better, than his work has ever been…”
“Mr. Butler’s compositions are extraordinary, sir, you must know this to be so!”
Professor Florange chuckled, the sound grating and unexpected. “No need to bristle, since I meant no offense to your young man here. He is well aware of what he is capable of and thus what he needs to learn. And do not let your head swell”—he wagged a bony finger under Georgiana’s nose—“since I am not saying you are a genius. But there is great aptitude inside you, Mademoiselle Darcy, possibilities that should be unlocked and given wings. I can do this. I long to do this.”
“Thank you, Professor. You are kind, but—”
“Kindness, bah! I am not kind at all! Just ask Butler here. I am a teacher, a very nasty one a good percentage of the time whose job is to recognize the gifted, admit them into the Conservatoire, and exhaustively drive them until they excel beyond their wildest potential. That is you, mademoiselle. Gifted and, I suspect from this”—he stabbed the sheet of music still propped on the pianoforte—“that together you and Butler could even be brilliant. So you shall take the exams and join us, yes?”
He turned away, the latter obviously not meant as a question. Georgiana stood speechless as the professor bent to gather the sheets. Sebastian raised his brows questioningly, satisfaction and pride mixed with nervousness at her reaction.
“I appreciate the offer, Professor,” she stammered, “but I am afraid that is impossible.”
“Impossible? What is this ‘impossible’? For an artist nothing is impossible.” He walked back to his desk, dismissing her objections with a grunt. “Butler, this girl is good for you. This glissando is inspired, the entire refrain beautiful. I might suggest adding a flute here to enhance the pitch…”
Sebastian nodded, bending over to jot notes onto the paper as Professor Florange continued to offer ideas. Frequently, the younger man looked up with eyes bright and warm. With a glance he tried to transmit pride and compassion.
Georgiana walked to the desk silently, watching the men interact while her emotions churned from the opportunity so cavalierly thrown at her feet. Never had she expected, even in the wildest of her imaginings, that a distinguished master of music would praise her humble compositions. It was staggering. It was overwhelming. And it was impossible despite Professor Florange’s assertion otherwise.
As the moments passed, her anger reawakened and pervaded the jumbled emotions. The arrival of a student interrupted the impromptu collaboration. Professor Florange ushered them out of the office with curt gestures and fuss, the door shut with a firm thud that nearly bumped their heels. Yet before either could take a breath to speak, the door opened again, the professor’s grizzled face thrust through the crack and tiny eyes fixed on Georgiana.
“In the autumn, Miss Darcy. Autumn.”
And then the door was slammed again. Silence fell, except for the muted noise of a cluster of passing students, while they stared at the solid wood, half expecting it to swing open for another parting sally. Sebastian recovered first, turning to Georgiana with his captivating grin in full force.
“Did I not tell you he would love your work? With Professor Florange’s endorsement your admission is a given, not that you would not pass the exams with stellar marks, but his recommendation is—”
“You planned this?” she interrupted in an incensed whisper.
“No. That is, I hoped his opinion…” he trailed off at the fury marring her features, his confusion compounded by the unbidden vision of the vehemence suffusing her face occurring in a more intimate setting. Gods! When highly passionate, even in anger, she was surpassingly beautiful!
“Are you listening to me?”
The finger jabbed into his chest brought him back to the present. Georgiana was standing inches from him, obviously having said something quite scathing while his thoughts veered into baser realms.
“Of course I am listening,” he lied, mentally giving himself a shake and willing his blood to calm.
“Then how could you disrespect my feelings so thoughtlessly? How could you forget your promise?”
“I promised not to talk about it and I did not.”
“You are going to parse over semantics?” She was incredulous. “You knew what I meant! I did not want this and you know it!”
He stepped closer and placed his hand upon her shoulder. “Miss Darcy, you would be marvelous here. Can you not see yourself learning more? Music is your future, I know it is.”
“This is your future, Mr. Butler, not mine. Do not mistake the two.”
“I only wanted you to see the possibility. It could be yours if—”
“No, it cannot.”
“Are you worried what Mr. Darcy will say? You have said that he approves of your interest in music and applauds your talent. Surely he would want you to fulfill this dream?”
“If it were my dream then perhaps he would agree, but that is not the point. This dream is more of a fantasy, Mr. Butler. Yes, I love music and I love composing. I am flattered by Professor Florange’s praise. If I were someone else, then maybe this would be a viable option. Nevertheless, this is not the life for me and it is wrong of you to presume that your beliefs are the same as the ones in my heart.”
She twirled away, graceful and fluid even when agitated, and headed down the passageway.
“Miss Darcy, wait! Please accept my apology. I meant no disrespect, truly.”
She whirled back around, Sebastian pulling up short to avoid colliding with her. He took hasty steps backward and his inhale caught painfully in his throat when he saw her face. Her mien remained one of ire but also a shimmer of wounding, the latter hitting the middle of his gut like a knife. Her next words caused the knife to twist.
“Have you so misunderstood me, Mr. Butler? Have my disclosures of homesickness, of missing my family and wanting to be in England fallen upon deaf ears? In the course of our friendship, have you forgotten that I am a woman? My desires are of hearth and home above all else.”
She paused and looked away. Sebastian struggled with how properly to respond to her accusations when the only one he seemed able to focus on was the ludicrous idea that he had
ever
forgotten, even for one tiny second, that she was a woman! Before anything coherent and gentlemanly formulated, she lifted her eyes, Sebastian noting the fury but also hints of something else mingled into the blue depths. Was it fear?
“Tell me truly, sir. Would you have me stay behind, alone, living in Paris? Can you imagine how such an act would damage my reputation? All while wasting my best years on pointless pursuits that serve no purpose other than to increase my vanity?”
He opened his mouth to respond, but paused when two instructors passed by, their curious glances at the bickering duo bringing a smile to his lips.
“Are you not being melodramatic?”
Sebastian may have begun to see traces of humor in the situation, but Georgiana had not. Her cheeks flamed and jaw clenched, hands fisting at her side as she stiffened her spine and pierced him with a withering look. “Am I? Imagine how Lord Essenton, or you, would take to the idea of Lady Adele or Lady Reine behaving in a likewise fashion.”