Sonata for a Scoundrel (36 page)

From the corner of her eye, she caught movement in the wings: Varga, snatching up his violin case. The duel was over, and the cascade of applause was not for him. Knowledge of his defeat was clear in the set of his shoulders, in the way he hurried away, not once glancing back to the brilliantly lit stage.

At last Darien held his hand up for silence. It was a long time coming.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice projecting to the back of the theater. “Tonight, I wish to introduce you to the composer—the
true
composer—of Becker’s glorious music.”

Ignoring the sudden buzz of consternation in the crowd, Darien turned to her.

“No,” she said in a low, strained voice. “Darien, are you mad?”

He bent to speak softly into her ear. “Clara, you deserve this recognition. You deserve so much more than you give yourself.”

“You can’t tell them!” Panic raced through her. “You can’t risk your career for this, for me.”

“Too late.” He lifted his head and raised his voice. “Ladies and gentlemen, nobles and commoners, I give you Miss Clara Becker!”

There was no applause. The air stilled, hardened, and cold pressure gripped Clara’s lungs. Oh, he had ruined them all. She could not look at his face, nor the audience who had turned from friend to foe in a heartbeat. Staring at the floor, she willed herself not to weep. Willed her feet to carry her back to the sheltering shadows of the wings.

Her family was ruined, Darien’s fame tarnished—possibly beyond repair. What had he done?

Before she could turn away, Darien caught her arm. Humiliation burned through her as the silence continued, with her and Darien pinned on the stage.

Then, out of the darkness beyond the footlights, came the sound of a single person clapping.

The audience stirred and murmured like fallen leaves, the rustles growing louder as they turned to see who would do such a thing.

Her mouth dry as sand, Clara lifted her eyes, searching. The sound was coming from the most opulent box at the front of the theater, the stage lights reflecting off the standing figure of a woman in a pale dress. Diamonds glinted at her throat and from the tiara in her dark hair, and Clara could just make out her strong features.

Caroline Augusta. The Empress Consort of Austria.

Beside her, Emperor Francis gave her a look from beneath his stern brows, then rose to his feet, adding his heavy applause to his wife’s. A gasped breath later, the entire theater followed suit, the air once again pulsing with applause.

Clara glanced into the wings, her heart squeezed with worry for Nicholas. How would this acknowledgement affect him? He stood just at the edge of the shadows, and she saw a slow smile spread across his face as his world righted itself. All was well.

Then Darien did the unthinkable.

There, before the assembled nobility of Europe, in front of an enormous crowd, he went down on one knee and grasped Clara’s hand.

“Clara,” he said, shouting over the applause. “Clara Becker, I love you. Would you do me the utmost honor of becoming my wife?”

She looked down at him, and the crowd quieted once more. Such a spectacle! The musical duel nearly paled in comparison to Darien’s revelation that she was the composer. And now, consummate performer that he was, the audience was witness to his shocking proposal of marriage.

Yet there was no calculation in his expression. His eyes were full of determination and sincerity. And love. It was the only thing that could save them.

“Yes,” she said.

“Louder.” He squeezed her hand.

“Yes.” More strongly this time, but it was not enough. Clara gathered air into her lungs and, in a most unladylike way, shouted her answer.

“Yes!”

The audience exploded into cheers, a huge wave of acceptance washing over her and Darien. She blinked back tears, to see Nicholas yelling approval from the wings, Henri and Peter beside him.

A moment later, Darien was on his feet. He set his violin on the piano bench, then swept her into his powerful embrace. Her heartbeat was the pounding of hands and feet, her breath the cries of approbation careening up five stories of balconies and echoing off the painted ceiling.

His lips met hers in a passionate kiss. A kiss full of love, full of fire, resonating with the perfect harmony of two souls who have finally found one another.

EPILOGUE

Last night’s performance by the Reynards in King’s Theatre marked the triumphant close of this musical family’s latest European tour. As usual, Maestro Reynard compelled the audience with his sublime mastery of his instrument. His wife, ethereally lovely in silver satin, premiered a new composition commissioned by Queen Victoria, to the monarch’s enthusiastic praise.

The couple’s ten-year-old daughter, a violin prodigy in her own right, took the stage with her father to perform Telemann’s
Canonic Sonatas
with breathless virtuosity. And their young son’s command of Bach on the keyboard promises great things.

Indeed, the Reynards will leave the world a lasting musical legacy.

-The London Times, April, 1841

C
lara curled up on the divan, sipping her tea while Darien read the latest reviews out loud. It was good to be home. Although the children enjoyed traveling and performing, eight-year-old Benedict was prone to mischief, and Annabel to poutiness.

It was easier to knit their family together in the months they did not tour. Not to mention giving the children some semblance of a normal upbringing, although Annabel spent hours a day practicing her violin. She kept demanding new pieces from her mother, searching for an elusive melody that Clara was unable to capture.

She would not be surprised if her daughter turned to composing her own music within the year.

Just as Nicholas had, at last, embraced his poetic muse and begun publishing his own works to some acclaim, Clara knew that her children would have their own paths to follow. No matter what their parents might think, or demand.

“Well.” Darien folded the newspaper away and took a sip of his coffee—a taste she had never managed to acquire. “The reviewers liked our concert well enough.”

“I don’t care what the reviews say. It’s the audience that matters.”

She smiled at him. It had been over a dozen years and hundreds of successful concerts since their marriage, yet his features were still most beloved to her. The brush of silver at his temples and the lines at the corners of his eyes bespoke the years passing, but when they played, time had no meaning. Together, they reached the pure, perfect heart of the music.

And together, they always would.

HISTORICAL NOTE

Sonata for a Scoundrel
is set in 1830-31, midway through the era now called the Romantic period in arts and music (roughly 1800-1850).

Although a few women composed music during that time, they did not have the societal approval to do more than “dabble.” Penning a few small pieces was acceptable, but it was unthinkable for a woman to aspire to become a professional composer.

Fanny Mendelssohn (1805-1847) was actively discouraged from composing by her father, who believed that being a housewife was the only suitable calling for a woman. Musical scholar David Montgomery has said of Fanny: “Only the lack of compulsion (or perhaps opportunity) to publish more often seems to have prevented her skills from developing to match those of any major European composer of the day.” In other words, Fanny Mendelssohn may well have been one of the most talented composers of her era, had her gifts been allowed to flourish.

Like Clara, Fanny allowed her compositions to be published under her brother, Felix’s, name. The story of the near-scandal alluded to in
Sonata for a Scoundrel
is true, although I took some artistic license by placing the siblings a decade early. Felix Mendelssohn was a great favorite of Queen Victoria and Prince Albert, and the queen made a show of learning and performing one of his songs. After she sang, Felix confessed that the composition was actually his sister’s, and only his high standing with the royals allowed him to emerge unscathed from this social blunder.

Clara’s namesake, Clara Schumann (1819-1896), might also have been a great composer had she lived in a different time. Her husband, famed composer Robert Schumann, wrote in his diary: “Clara has composed a series of small pieces, which show a musical and tender ingenuity such as she has never attained before. But to have children, and a husband who is always living in the realm of imagination, does not go together with composing. She cannot work at it regularly, and I am often disturbed to think how many profound ideas are lost because she cannot work them out.”

It was not until the early 1900s that women composers began to be recognized as capable of creating more than small-scale parlor music. Even today, the musical contributions of women throughout history are often overlooked, and there are still only a handful of internationally renowned women composers.

Darien Reynard is loosely based on one of the most famous violinists to grace the stages of Europe, Niccolo Paganini (1782-1840). Paganini was such a master on his instrument that he was frequently accused of selling his soul to the devil in exchange for his musical brilliance.

Unlike Dare, Paganini was also a talented composer. For decades, his music was thought unplayable due to the immense difficulty of his pieces. It is only with intensive modern violin techniques that performers are able to attempt Paganini’s works.

Clara’s compositions are partially inspired by the music of Frederic Chopin, who came to prominence about a decade after this novel is set. Baroness Dudevant, whom Clara observes at the salon in Paris, is the famous novelist George Sand, who carried on a tumultuous affair with Chopin from 1837 until shortly before the composer’s death from tuberculosis in 1849.

Franz Lizst is also introduced at the salon. He was, indeed, a halfhearted player, until he was inspired by a meeting with Paganini in 1832. From that point on, he applied himself to his practice and composition, and became one of the great musical superstars of his age.

Pieces mentioned in the novel include:

Beethoven
Violin Sonata No. 9
(Kreutzer), played at Darien’s first concert in London.

Telemann
Fantasia No. 7
, played in Brighton.

Handel
Chaconne in G minor
, also performed in Brighton.

Beethoven
Sonata in D major Four Hands, Opus 6
, played by Clara and Nicholas at the inn.

Amis, la matinee est belle
from
La Muette de Portici
by Daniel Auber, performed by Henri at the inn.

Tartini
Sonata in G minor
, Varga’s opening piece for the duel.

Mozart
Sonata in E minor K. 304
, Varga’s second piece.

Telemann
Canonic Sonatas
, played by Darien and his daughter Annabel, mentioned in the epilogue.

Bach
Prelude and Fugue BWV849
, played by Darien and Clara’s son, Benedict, mentioned in the epilogue.

Additional composers recommended for listening:

Fanny Mendelssohn

Clara Schumann

Paganini (especially his
Caprices
)

Frederic Chopin

Felix Mendelssohn

Robert Schumann

Franz Liszt

Hector Berlioz

THANK YOU!

Thank you
for reading SONATA FOR A SCOUNDREL! If you enjoyed it, please consider helping other readers find this book:

1. This e-book is lendable – consider sending it to a friend who you think might like it.

2. Leave a review on Amazon, Goodreads, or any other site of your choice. It makes a difference, and is greatly appreciated!

3. Request that your local library purchase a print copy, so that other readers can discover Anthea’s historical romances.

Be the first to know about new releases and reader perks by subscribing to Anthea’s
quarterly newsletter
.