After the rehearsal, refreshments were served. Matilda stood near a side table with a cup of tea she had not touched. A fashionable widow named Mrs. Alberton approached her.
"You are very fortunate, Miss Dracott."
Matilda looked up. "Am I?"
"To spend your life so close to real talent."
The words were delivered kindly; that made them worse. In the past, Matilda would have smiled and agreed; she would have made herself smaller to ease the moment. Instead, she said, "Proximity can be educational, madam. So can observation."
Mrs. Alberton blinked. "Indeed." She moved away.
Matilda's heart beat harder than it should have.
Robert appeared beside the table a moment later, holding no tea. "A dangerous answer."
"Was it?"
"Very. Someone may begin to suspect you possess opinions."
Matilda almost laughed. "I have always possessed them."
"Then society has suffered a serious failure of intelligence."
She looked at him. "You enjoy making people uncomfortable."
"Only when they arrive too comfortable."
Before she could reply, Beckham approached with several printed pages under his arm. "Your Grace. Miss Dracott." His smile was formal now. "I am afraid I must steal our composer for a moment."
Matilda felt the insult before she understood it: Beckham had turned toward Hester.
Robert did not look away from Matilda. "How confusing," he said. "I thought the composer had been standing here."
Silence. Beckham's face hardened almost imperceptibly.
Hester came closer. "Your Grace, you do enjoy your jokes."
"Frequently." Robert's gaze remained on Matilda. "Not always."
Hester changed the subject: "The final variation will be finished tonight."
Matilda looked at her. "I have not said that."