appreciation of the trick. She ended plaintively, “who but my lady,

Greensleeves?”'

The audience applauded. She rose and flounced to her seat. The opening

gauntlet had been well tossed. It is not a performance I want to follow, Katerina admitted to herself as she shuffled, her knees weak, to the harpsichord bench.

Swallowing hard, she looked at the instrument for a long moment, pleading silently with it to help her.

“‘Scarborough Fair,’” she said at last. Then she placed her fingers on the

keys and began a complicated run of notes. She had never been so aware of the people staring at her back. She felt vulnerable, exposed, and she glanced up.

Warm gray eyes met hers encouragingly. Christopher. Christopher will

support me. Soothed by his sweet look, she turned her attention inward and began to sing. “‘Are you going to Scarborough Fair/ Parsley, sage, rosemary and

thyme/ Remember me to one who lives there. /She once was a true love of mine.’”

She sang the nonsensical lyrics lightly. She couldn't match Aimée for depth

and richness, so she didn't try. Instead, she focused on the feather lightness of her nineteen-year-old voice, singing sweetly and prettily, accompanied by flashy notes on the harpsichord. It's the best I can manage. I pray it's enough for a pleasing performance.

As the end of the song neared, she had a flash of insight about its message.

True love can overcome insurmountable odds, perform impossible tasks. Haven't

Christopher and I done that? We have. We've done the impossible. It meanssomething.

Understanding dawned at the end of the last verse.

It means I love him. Truly love him. At the staggering realization, her voice faltered and grew husky. She played a fancy interlude to cover the mistake, and

when she began to sing again, it was for her husband's ears alone.

“‘When at last he has finished his work/ Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme/

He'll come to claim his cambric shirt/ And ever be a true love of mine.’”

She finished with a flourish of fingers and took a deep breath, only to jump

in alarm as applause thundered around her. Feeling unsteady, Katerina remained

seated at the harpsichord.

Aimée moved to the pianoforte and began immediately. Not surprisingly, the

other woman's second was in French, another folk song, called “Jeune Fillette.”

This teasingly flirtatious number described falling in love in the springtime, with

pointed references to fickle lovers, male and female.

It was a clear invitation, and she gave Christopher a pointed look as she tripped lightly over the coloratura notes, demonstrating that a mature voice did

not need to be heavy or slow. She could beat Katerina at her own game—and in

her own marriage—her blatant glare seemed to claim.

Again, the tension rose. How can I meet this challenge? Not in her rival's language, to be sure. Katerina had intended to sing in French also, but

abandoned the plan, making a last-minute substitution. I can't out-flirt Mme St.

Jean, but perhaps I can offer something more poignant.

Remaining at the harpsichord, she played a few simple chords and then

began with “Drink to Me Only with Thine Eyes,” a plaintive love song. Again, it

was a message to Christopher, as though no one else were in the room. The couple could have been in their row house for all the attention she paid to any other member of the audience. She could see from his intense expression that he

understood she was singing to him… and liked it.

Last was each woman's Italian song. Aimée had practiced hard to master the

complicated accompaniment, so she could play it by muscle memory and turned

her full attention towards Christopher as she began to sing “Se Tu m'Ami” by Paolo Antonio Rolli. Everyone in the room but him knew Italian and understood

what this woman was doing. The song sent a blatant message; a girl of easy virtue offering herself to a man, but making it clear he should expect no fidelity.

From her seat on the harpsichord bench, Katerina could see that Christopher

remained oblivious, but Alessandro did not. Neither did most of his guests. What a sad blow to be dealt in such a public venue, Katerina thought, regarding her grandfather in sympathy.

Unaware, focused on undermining her rival's confidence, Aimée continued

to flirt with Christopher through song, naughtily promising everything but her heart. Though she performed with superior skill, the audience applauded tepidly.

They didn't like her manner, Katerina realized. They found it inappropriate.

The discovery mattered less to her than how her husband would react.

He didn't. His lovely silver eyes remained fixed on her, and it warmed her to

her core.

At last, it was time for Katerina's final song. She walked slowly from the harpsichord to the pianoforte. Once again, she chose to give her husband her unveiled heart: “Per la Gloria d'Adorarvi” by Bononcini from the opera