Harry the virgin Duke of Somerset knows little of love, while Louis the sly Duke of Warwick knows too much. When the two dukes come together for the Bilsdale fox hunt in Yorkshire, Harry finds himself drawn into Louis' bed. But when secrets from Lou...
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"To regret the past, to hope in the future, and never to be satisfied with the present: that is what I spend my whole life doing."
–Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky
William was a servant during his first visit to Moscow. On his second visit, he was a prodigy.
His entire life he had been taught to make himself invisible, to silently serve his master, now he was expected to be seen and most importantly heard. Gone too were the lavish palaces that he stayed in when he travelled with the Duke. Pytor Tchaikovsky lived modestly in a small but handsome flat near the Bolshoi.
William slept in the guest quarters, reserved for the composer's most promising pupils. He rose early every morning, shined his shoes, ironed his shirt, and recited the same mantra: I am a different person. I will never again be who I once was.
Pyotr rose even earlier. He was awake before dawn.
The composer was mounting his eighteenth opus, The Tempest, a symphonic fantasia in F minor, after the Shakespeare play. It consumed him.
This was very different from his life with the Duke, who didn't work and slept in past noon. Pyotr valued discipline and routine above all things.
He would not even take a carriage to the theatre. He walked. In the bitter cold. It was, again, part of his routine.
They passed St. Clement's, the church's five domes dusted with snow, and the bronze monument to Minin and Pozharsky in the Red Square. A dove perched on Minin's hand, which extended proudly towards the Moscow Kremlin.
William stood shivering, even in his new cloak and fur hat. Pyotr asked him if he would prefer to take a carriage and hailed a coachman. But when the horse drew near, it became spooked and let out a fearful neigh.
The boy spent his days training at the conservatory where Pyotr once taught, and his nights at the Bolshoi watching from the rafters as Pytor's colleague, Nikolai, conducted the orchestra. The composer paced backstage with a critical ear. He never clapped. The slightest deviation from his score drove him mad.
He took a keen interest in William's studies and kept a close eye on his progress. At the composer's request, the boy would play for him every night.
One evening, during supper, Pyotr put down his fork and knife and asked William to play a piece from The Tempest.
Out of sheer terror of disappointing him, William played the piece without any mistakes.
"You're performing with my orchestra tomorrow night."
He nearly fell of the bench. "I'm not ready!"
"The pianist from St. Petersburg that Nikolai recommended is a philistine."
