Epilogue

Three years later.

T he Duchess of Kelburn's ballroom, built onto the back of her London house, was packed with guests. Soon, they could not all fit in unless they sat down in the rows of chairs set out in blocks facing a beautiful pianoforte. Beneath the massive chandeliers, gentlemen in austere black and white evening clothes mingled with the gorgeous colors and sparkling jewels of the ladies.

The noise of guests' greetings and chatter was like a roar. Only occasionally could Alice distinguish individual words, and they were not always encouraging, let alone flattering.

"My dear, it will be an ordeal! The music is always dreadful at these charitable affairs…"

"Who is this Mrs. Vale? I have never heard of her. I do so hate amateur musicians who always murder my favorite pieces…"

"Why did Her Grace not invite Frederick Baird to play instead? I suppose he is too busy…"

Feeling very alone, and very exposed—she had not played in public for more than a year—Alice glanced up at the musicians' gallery, empty this evening apart from one serious, beloved man and a dementedly waving, very small child.

Alice could see the child's lips moving as he tugged at his father's hand like a bell rope. She read his lips. "Look, look, it's Mama!"

Her heart swelled at the sight of them. The nerves that had always paralyzed her before public performances faded to manageable levels. Her son Louis—named for the great Ludwig van Beethoven—loved music, but might fall asleep. If he misbehaved or called out, Cornelius would whisk him away.

Fortified by her husband's smile, she made her way toward the duchess, who was clapping her hands to call her guests to order.

A lady whispered, "Goodness, she is very young, is she not? Like some debutante about to inflict her appalling and misnamed accomplishment on a cringing Society!"

Why do I put myself through this?

"This evening is all about educating the poor," the duchess pronounced. "The worthiest of causes, and surely the foundation of a great nation. To be here, you have all made great contributions already. From the bottom of my heart—and the hearts of the still-ignorant poor!—I thank you. I hope, if the music pleases you, you will be inspired to give even more.

"Now, I wish you introduce you to this talented lady who has so generously agreed to entertain us. Please welcome Lady Alice Vale."

There was a wave of enthusiastic applause—hopefully from those who had heard her play before—among the politer ripple of the majority.

Amidst the noise, someone said, " Lady Alice?"

"Lady Alice Conway, by birth. Lord Braithwaite's sister. Vale is her married name. She lives mostly in the north, I believe, near that spa town that is so wretchedly difficult to get to, though the waters…"

"God, she must be dreadful. I wish I had thought to plug my ears."

"No, no, I believe the duke's sister, Lady Arabella, recommended her. Besides, I danced with her in her first Season—lovely girl, so amusing. Quite the original…"

Rising from her curtsey, Alice tottered the few steps to the pianoforte, and the noise faded to silence. Seated, she spread her fingers over the keys. Let them remember, let them play …

They played.

*

In the gallery, Cornelius smiled and crouched down to let Louis lean against him. Together, now that Alice had relaxed and lost herself in playing, father and son let the music wash over them.

Life was good for Cornelius. He loved the land at Black Hill, which, after a couple of difficult years, was finally profitable again. The tenancies were all filled and doing well. Their people were happy. Cornelius knew he smiled more. Life with Alice was never dull and never lonely. Somehow, he managed to love her more with every passing day. And she, generous and passionate by nature, was utterly devoted to him and to their son.

Sometimes, he could not believe that such happiness would last. But while it did, he treasured it, as he treasured Alice and Louis.

Below, the attitude of the audience had subtly changed. They no longer listened from mere civility. Some looked pleasantly surprised. Others seemed enchanted. Others either smiled joyfully or wiped a tear with the changing moods of the music.

She played stunningly. The prickle of Cornelius's tears was due to pride in her. Before Louis was born, they had traveled as much as they could, to Edinburgh and London, to Paris, Vienna, and Rome, listening to many of the greatest musicians in the world. Undaunted, Alice had adored and learned, and this was the result.

Beyond the music, his head began to form words to the emotions surrounding his wife. Most of his poetry came back to Alice now, in one way or another. Another collection had just been published, to critical acclaim, and there was no denying the extra money was useful. As Sacheverill, he very occasionally contributed to Roderick and Aubrey's newspaper. More often, he wrote amusing verses for it, signed only as "a Blackhaven gentleman."

Louis had grown heavy against his legs and arms, but he was smiling as he dozed. It would be poetic, Cornelius thought, if Louis became a musician as gifted as his mother. He would take the world by storm, as Alice never would or could.

Each piece she played produced increasingly rapturous applause, until at the end, everyone surged to their feet, and the duchess looked ecstatic because the money would flow even faster into her charity coffers. And besides, she was enjoying a major social success.

All but bursting with pride, Cornelius carried a now completely unconscious Louis down the gallery steps. As always, Alice fled to the comfort of his arms, emotion pouring into her kiss.

They did not return to the ballroom, but took the carriage back to Maria's house, where they were staying for a week.

"Isn't it funny," Alice said dreamily, "how one's ambitions change? Once, it irked me so that I would never do more than play to a few aristocratic philistines. I was so desperate to escape, to play for the world, if only I could become good enough."

"Don't you think you are?" he asked.

She snuggled against him. "I was good tonight," she said happily. "But actually, no. I no longer want to devote my entire life to playing. There are so many other components in life. There always were—my family, fun and adventures, Blackhaven… But I think I needed you to show me that. I will always have the music, and I will never stop playing. I will always be proud and tearful when my music is published and played by a musician I admire. But it is you, Cornelius—you and Louis—who are my life."

He buried his lips in her hair to hide his emotion, although she would know. She always knew.

"As you are mine," he whispered.