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Ordinarily, Jeanne, Vicomtesse de Cherdillac lived for the Rotenek season, when she could apply her skills as a hostess and enjoy all the delights--all the delights--of the concert halls and opera house. Something was different this winter. The world felt all out of balance.
* * *
It had not seemed possible for Beethoven to sound as deadly tedious as the singer was accomplishing. Where had Mesnera Arulik found him? And the earlier tenor had been the same. Jeanne had heard more engaging performances from street urchins in the Plaiz. The entire season had been remarkably flat, but one couldn’t sit at home endlessly staring out the window. Jeanne raised her fan to hide a yawn. Count Chanturi caught her movement and leaned closely to whisper, “You need a new lover.” His eyes glinted with amusement below dark arching brows that had broken many a heart when they both had been young. From any other man the comment would have gone far beyond permission, but Rikerd was scarcely offering himself; they both knew that.
Jeanne snapped the fan shut and rapped him on the knuckles just for form's sake. “What I need is a new tenor.”
He dropped his voice even softer. “What you need is a new soprano. Confess,” he continued. “You've been as dull as lead all autumn. When will we see our de Cherdillac sparkle again? You always sparkle when you're in love. Will you be going to the ball the ambassador is holding in Efriturik's honor? It's sure to be teeming with sweet young things.”
* * *
It had not seemed possible for Beethoven to sound as deadly tedious as the singer was accomplishing. Where had Mesnera Arulik found him? And the earlier tenor had been the same. Jeanne had heard more engaging performances from street urchins in the Plaiz. The entire season had been remarkably flat, but one couldn’t sit at home endlessly staring out the window. Jeanne raised her fan to hide a yawn. Count Chanturi caught her movement and leaned closely to whisper, “You need a new lover.” His eyes glinted with amusement below dark arching brows that had broken many a heart when they both had been young. From any other man the comment would have gone far beyond permission, but Rikerd was scarcely offering himself; they both knew that.
Jeanne snapped the fan shut and rapped him on the knuckles just for form's sake. “What I need is a new tenor.”
He dropped his voice even softer. “What you need is a new soprano. Confess,” he continued. “You've been as dull as lead all autumn. When will we see our de Cherdillac sparkle again? You always sparkle when you're in love. Will you be going to the ball the ambassador is holding in Efriturik's honor? It's sure to be teeming with sweet young things.”
