Blackmoore(2)

“Is it true?” She placed a hand on her heaving bosom. “Can it possibly be true, Kitty?”

“Kate,” I reminded her, playing on. Mozart required concentration, and now that Maria’s wails had quieted to whimpers, I intended to make good use of the comparative quiet.

In an instant, Mama stalked over to the pianoforte, her shoes making hard clicks on the wood floor, and snatched my music off the instrument.

“Mama!” I stood, reaching for my music, but she backed away and held it above her head. Only then did I manage a really good look at her face, and my heart quickened with dread.

“Is it true?” she asked again, her voice low and trembling. “Did you receive an offer of marriage from Mr. Cooper and reject him? Without even consulting me?”

I swallowed my nervousness and lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug.

“What was there to consult about? I have told you how I feel about marriage.” I reached for my music, but she held it higher, outstretching me with the two inches she had on me in height. “Besides, it was Mr. Cooper!

He has one foot in the grave! He will probably not live to see another year, if that.”

“All the better! Would that all of my daughters were so fortunate!

How could you have thrown away this opportunity, Kitty?”

My upper lip curled in distaste. “I have told you over and over again, Mama. I have no intention of marrying anyone. Now please give me my music. Surely you want me to perform well at Blackmoore.”

Her lips pinched together, her face turned red, and she threw my music onto the floor. It landed badly, with pages scattering, bent, like the 4



wings of wounded birds. “Mama! Mozart!” I crouched down, hurrying to retrieve the pages.

“Oh, Mama!” Her voice was high and mocking. “Mozart!” She flut-tered her hands around her face. “Mama, I do not want to do anything sensible like marry well. Mama, I want only to go to Blackmoore and play Mozart and waste every hard-earned opportunity.”

I stood, my music gripped to my chest, my face hot. “I do not think my goals, although they may be different from yours, can qualify as a waste—”

“Your goals! Oh, my, that is rich.” She paced in front of me, her shoes clicking hard with every step, as if she would stamp out my will and my voice too if she could. “What exactly are your goals?”

“You know my goals,” I muttered.

She stopped in front of me, her hands on her hips. “What goals? To disappoint? To waste precious resources? To turn into an old spinster like your aunt Charlotte?” Her dark eyebrows flattened above her eyes. “Is this why I have invested in you? To gain nothing in return but a silly girl who cares only for Blackmoore and Mozart?”

I lifted my chin, willing it not to quiver. “That is not true. I care about more than that. I care about India, and I care about Oliver, and I—”

“Oh, do not mention India to me, girl. Not again!” She threw up her arms. I flinched involuntarily. “I cannot believe Charlotte would dare to invite you against my wishes. India! As if you already were not enough of a burden on me, with your stubbornness and your—” She whirled around and stalked back toward me. I told myself not to shrink. I hugged Mozart to my chest and commanded my chin to stay raised. I held her gaze.

“This is the end, Kitty,” she said, raising a finger and shaking it in my face. “I have had enough of your willfulness. I will show you that I know what is best for you, and I will do it starting now. You will not go to India. I will write to your aunt Charlotte myself and tell her I have finally made a decision. And—” She grabbed my chin, forcing it up to close my 5



J u l i a n n e D o n a l D s o n mouth, which had opened in automatic protest. Leaning close, so close I could smell the stale tea on her breath, she whispered, “—and you will not go to Blackmoore. You will stay here and learn your proper place, and do not bother speaking to your father about it, or you will be in even worse trouble than you are right now.”

She released me with a flourish, a triumphant light blazing in her dark eyes.

I shook my head, my heart pounding. “No, Mama. Please. Not Blackmoore. Please don’t take Blackmoore from me—”

“No? No?” She held up one finger, silencing me with the hard stare of her eyes, and said in a low voice. “Go to your room and unpack, Kitty.”

I stared at her eyes. They were the same color as an old, rusted trap I had found in the woods when I was seven. A rabbit had been gripped in its iron teeth. The little thing was no longer struggling when I found it, but it still breathed, and it saw me. Its eyes moved when I bent over it.

I tried frantically to free the animal, but the rusted old metal would not yield to my prying fingers.

In desperation, I had finally run to Delafield Manor and dragged Henry back through the woods. He looked at the rabbit. He shook his head. He picked up a large rock and told me to turn away and cover my ears. I cried, but I did as he said.

A few moments later, his hand was on my shoulder, and I opened my eyes and lowered my hands. He said that the rabbit was no longer suffer-ing. He said that was the best we could do for the poor thing. I supposed Henry got rid of the trap later. I never saw it again, even though I spent nearly every day in the woods. But I could not forget the look of it. I could not forget the large teeth and the rusted color and the tenacity of its grip.