petulant expression and a pouty lower lip, whined. “There's nothing new to talk
about.”
“Well, Miss Carlisle,” the young man called to her, “come with me and we
can create a scandal.”
She giggled, “No thank you, Mr. Cary. I would rather not.”
Now it was the young man's turn to pout.
Katerina felt dizzier than ever trying to keep up with the swirling
conversations. Though only composed of seven people, to her, the party felt like
a crowd… a noisy one. The swish of fabric sounded unnaturally loud in her ears,
as did the thuds of booted feet.
She glanced around the room, hoping to fix her eyes on something to steady
herself. The hostess wore a puffy brown dress with wild yellow flowers on it.
Katerina blinked and turned away. The vibrant green of the blonde's gown
assaulted her eyes with its painful brightness. Even the fire seemed to stab at her.
A smell of stale cigars hung in the air, which added to her nauseous dizziness.
In desperation, she turned to the back of the room, behind the seating area,
where the most welcome sight greeted her. A battered pianoforte sat in the corner.
“Do you think,” she asked Christopher, looking intently at the softly
gleaming black of the wood, “that anyone would mind if I played the piano for a
while?” She indicated the instrument.
“Let me find out.” He addressed the room, “My guest, Miss Valentino, has offered to alleviate your boredom with a turn on the pianoforte. Anyone
interested?”
“Oh God, another debutante hammering on the piano,” the drunk
complained. “My dear, have a care. If you play badly, we'll be delighted to eviscerate you in effigy.”
“If I play badly,” she said softly, “I would deserve no less.”
Her comment made everyone gawk.
“Try it.” The young man called Cary urged, and several other guests
murmured in agreement.
Katerina attempted to stand, but the pressure of the corset against the wounds
on her back made the move too painful. “Help me,” she whispered to
Christopher.
He shot her a concerned glance but rose and extended a hand, lifting her to
her feet. Tonight, she had left off gloves, and her bare, icy fingers met his again, this time creating a shock of awareness that left her momentarily even more breathless. Then she inhaled as deeply as she could inside her tight laces and made her slow way to the piano, sinking onto the bench.
“Do you need any sheet music, my dear?” the hostess asked.
“Not at the moment,” she replied. “I have a few favorites memorized. Does
everyone enjoy Beethoven?”
No one objected.
Katerina took another breath, intending it to be deep, but was unable to manage it within the restrictive boning, She blew on her fingers to warm them,
looked a long moment at the keys as though communicating silently with them,
and at last positioned her hands on the keyboard. She closed her eyes and began
