He bent his head over the keys, plunked out an unusual chord progression, then a lovely serenade came from the piano. No, more like a nocturne; sentimental, romantic, and lyrical. The melody pealed like a soprano voice, but the dark minor key stole its joy.
She listened, enraptured, as Wilhelm spun elegant, complex phrases. And not a note out of place, every chord logical, the harmony inventive—artistry and technique married.
She waited a few minutes after he finished before asking, “Is this one new?”
A simple answer for the astounding revelation that he composed music in his head then played it without flaw.
“It’s beautiful, Wilhelm. Will you transcribe it for me?”
He smiled weakly, but she could see amusement—or was it pleasure—dancing in his eyes at her praise. “If you wish.”
She waited while he gathered manuscript paper and a pen then watched as his script flowed as lovely as his music. He titled the work: Her Voice, In Anger and Affection.
Unless she flattered herself, she guessed Wilhelm had given song to Sophia’s side of the argument with Aunt Louisa. If he had listened to her tone of voice and ignored her words, he would have heard just that in her inflection: anger and affection.