Her Duty
Anne signed her name with a
flourish, and neatly replaced her pen in its container. She rang for a servant
to dispatch the letter, and, that accomplished, she rose and stretched, then
left the room. She paused at the door for a moment, undecided as to where to
go. Then, with a dainty pivot on her toes, she turned and descended the steps.
Now days, Anne could do but
precious few of the things she really enjoyed. Fortunately for her sanity,
music was one thing that was still open to her. Since she was but seven years
old and her governess had found her gaily banging away at her sister's
pianoforte, music had been her passion. Every spare moment for the past dozen
years had been devoted to her instrument.
Of all her possessions, of her
fine silk gowns and sumptuous coats, of her burning rubies and translucent
pearls, of all the wonderful luxuries which she so appreciated, Anne's piano
was the most treasured of all. It truly was magnificent, an elaborate artwork
of mahogany and ivory, with a delicate gold inlay. It had been given to Anne by
her mother for her twelfth birthday. Lady Sara Inglewood had cherished her
daughter's dreams, but did not live to see the precious instrument have
half-a-year's use. After that, Anne could not possibly have crossed her father.
Lord Inglewood had only his daughters' best interests at heart, and Anne just
could not disappoint him.
Lord and Lady Inglewood were so
similar, so perfectly matched, that they had seldom differed on any point. Lady
Sara knew what her Anne was capable of, but her husband did not see and
disagreed, and the Lady did not argue. But still, a mother knows her daughter's
capabilities and spirit.
These two characteristics of
Anne's could have made her great. Her musical ability surpassed her music master's;
so much raw talent was she blessed with. At the age of nine she had mastered
Beethoven and Mozart, and by the time she had received her piano, she was
already composing her own work. And as to her spirit, Lady Sara had seldom seen
so much in but one person. Everything Anne did, she did with a certain zeal and
flair. Most especially with her music. The dullest piece became an enchanted
harmony at Anne's touch; simple tunes transformed to haunting melodies in her
care. Anne knew her mother's sentiments with regard to her music, and so,
admittedly willingly and joyfully, she invested herself in her music. It was
her duty to her mother's memory.
Lord Inglewood, on the other
hand, loved his daughters dearly and wanted them to marry well. He had no sons,
and his estate was entailed to his favourite nephew, an arrangement that suited
him perfectly. His daughters were by no means poor, each with a considerable
inheritance from their mother, as well as from him. Still, the only position
sufficiently secure financially and in status for the daughter of a lord, was
that of wife. Lord and Lady Inglewood had an extremely happy, arranged
marriage, and so the Lord set out to do for his daughters, Jane, Anne and
Elizabeth, what had been done by his parents for him.
When their mother died, Jane was
fourteen, Anne was twelve and Elizabeth was only eight. Jane was a younger
version of her mother, and felt her loss very deeply, being the emotional
creature that she was. It had taken two years for Jane to fully grieve for her
mother. The cloud of mourning had barely lifted from above her luscious
chestnut curls when she found herself out in society, at the mercy of the
social climbers and fortune hunters. Her father would only even consider men of
fortune and consequence, and then the poor thing had to go through a rigorous
examination to see if he was the ideal match for Miss Jane Inglewood. Lord
Inglewood did find the perfect man for his dear Jane, a young man equal in rank
to their own family, but moreover, someone who would love and respect her.
Before her twentieth birthday, she became Lady Jane Bolstin of Bolsterwood
Park.
Not even a year a year after
Jane was married, Anne met Lord Jonathan Bolstin's close friend, Earl Simon
Virose. Lord Inglewood loved his son-in-law dearly and was excited by the idea
of another marriage, judging by the success of the first. Before she knew what
had happened, Anne too found herself married. Her father was delighted to have
two daughters married so easily, but Anne did not think his second ‘success'
even comparable to his first. Simon was a very good man, and had only been too
pleased to open his home and his heart to her. She took on the position of
Mistress of the Manor with her usual grace and style, but when she asked her
heart if she loved him, she did not receive and answer. She did respect and
admire Simon, she knew that. And her father had been overjoyed at the prospect
of her being Countess Anne Virose of Delaford Manor. So, after having had only
a handful of meetings with the Earl, she had agreed to marry him. It was her
duty to her father.
The earlier part of the morning
had been spent writing to Lady Jane and the last Miss Inglewood, as was her
duty as a sister. Now she was free to sit and play to her heart's delight. As
she gingerly lowered herself onto the stool, she felt the familiar thrill of
excitement. Her fingertips tingled in anticipation as she reached for her music
books. She flipped through many pages before settling on a piece. Yes, she was
in an appropriate mood. The magical notes of Beethoven's ‘Lettre de Elise'
filled the conservatory.
Over an hour later, the closing
notes of her newest composition hung in the air. Anne sighed and folded her
elegant hands into her lap. The newest of her own music was a mournful but
sweet tune, very much suited to her mood today. She knew would never be heard
by anyone aside from her husband and sisters, yet she still kept composing.
Anne heard and rustling of clothing and looked up to see her husband smiling at
her from the doorway. She returned the smile.
"Anne, my darling, should you
not stop tinkering for today? You should rest. After all, you wouldn't want to
cause harm to my little heir.'
"Of course, dear, I'll stop very
soon.' He left.
She would stop soon, because it
was her duty to obey her husband, and of course to produce an heir. But still,
she would play her piece once more. Maybe the daughter, she just felt it was a
daughter, squirming around inside her would hear it and have more success than
her mother. Maybe she would even be a little more dutiful. To herself.
Finis
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author.