*Rapunzel*
I prepare for bed in something of a dreamlike state. I bathe and put on a nightdress and a wrapper, then sit on a stool as Mary takes the pins from my hair and brushes it out.
Horace is such an odd mixture: grave and intense, with just the faintest strain of sardonic humor. His heart is true. But he is a complex man who, in my estimation, reveals almost nothing to anyone.
"Would you like to slip into bed now, my lady?" Mary asks.
"Not just yet," I say, smiling at her. "I must practice first. Thank you; that will be all."
After Mary slips away, I take my cello from its stand by the wall and begin to tighten the bridge. Even weary as I now am, I have to play for at least an hour. Tomorrow, the day of the wedding, will be entirely lost.
Years ago, when I began to refuse to tr
