Entanglements - Rachel McMillan Page 0,2

music as he did about modern hair styles for men so what purpose did it serve). Schubert’s An De Musik was one of her favorite pieces to sing. Her voice swelled around its German phrases achingly scribed to speak to music’s soft power. Music, Esther long thought, was the best juxtaposition of all that was intelligent and enjoyable.

Then (and perhaps most offensively), there was Thomas’ passion for dusty old musical historian Ralph Von Witterhorn. Thomas had read one long esoteric tome speaking to the dullest musical opinions pen ever put to paper and miraculously thought he had a doctoral degree in everything from composition to performance. Several times Esther informed him that music stretched beyond Von Witterhorn’s penchant for Baroque operas no one had heard of. Thomas Weatherton never seemed to hear her.

“Pawn.” Thomas’s voice cut through her reverie.

“Yes?” Esther answered as if present during a roll call. “Erm. I mean… pardon?”

“I found this on the floor.” Thomas presented her with a piece from her father’s marble chess set. He pressed it into her hand but not before lifting her palm to his lips. “I promise we will resume our games.”

“Lovely. I am looking forward to it.”

His eyes sparkled at her. “I know that this is hard for you, Esther. I know you think I only desire your hand in marriage for a fortuitous business opportunity.” He paused and waited for affirmation.

“How could I possibly think that?” A question, her mother taught her, can defer a direct lie. “After you have given me the opportunity of my own recital.”

“Exactly, my dear.” He patted her hand as he might a lame kitten.

She imagined Thomas fancied her as much as she did him. But, their arrangement secured her father’s social position and a merger between two business ventures. The entanglement between the Weathertons and the Hunnisetts began with Esther’s deceased mother who stood to inherit a grand fortune. This prospect would secure the bowing of every shipping magnate in Boston Harbour to the Hunnisett empire. The death of her mother meant the death of their fortune. But, the Weathertons enjoyed her father’s acumen and recognized the power of the Hunnisett’s steady name. Her father exchanged Esther’s hand for investments in his shipping empire and the estate. The heir to the grand fortune, Thomas, would gain a suitable bride and Paul Hunnisett’s investors would back the growing Weatherton empire.

Thomas was all too pleased to oblige. After all, one of the chapters in his dustily boring book spoke to the singular musical effect of a woman who could charm and beguile prospective investors. Esther could make Thomas look more charming than he actually was at upstate soirees. (To be fair, so could a rabid squirrel).

Esther loved music, naturally, but not at the expense of a buffoon of a fiancé. Yet she had no choice but to entwine her destiny with his. She had one living parent, a dwindling dowry and the prospect of safety in a grand estate.

Her father and Thomas were allowing her one last dream before she was packed off under a blanket of stuffy nuptials in just over a month’s time. To show off to his Bostonian friends, Thomas insisted she perform a recital selection of her favorite pieces. Esther’s imagination peeled back the russet curtain and her nose smelled the tang of snuffed footlights.

“But I’ll need an accompanist.” Esther said, stripping the buoyant excitement from her voice, accepting the second rate smattering of stars as she prepared to bid farewell to her dream of being a concert performer forever.

“I know, my dear.” Thomas said. “Your father and I are inviting half of the city as well as a few colleagues from Newhaven and Montreal. We will find you the finest accompanist.”

“And a rehearsal pianist and space, Thomas.” Her mind whirled with preparations. “I can go to the store at the Berklee Conservatory for my sheet music. But, I will need a qualified pianist.”

“Qualified.” Thomas rose from the settee where his closeness stiffened her shoulders and collar and tickled her nostrils with liberal cologne. He poured several lengths of brandy and studied her “I bet there are different levels of qualified.”

“I suppose.”

“And it is just a rehearsal.”

“Yes, but…”

“I think that Mrs. Mayweather—she does all of those charitable bazaars with that church in the North End. Her husband helped me find my Cadillac, you know. She might be able to find me someone at a fraction of the price.”

Esther clamped her mouth shut. When he wasn’t going on about Von Witterhorn, Thomas