There was a knock on the door.
Lady Mathilde had been playing pianoforte for nigh on an hour. The music room resonated to the strains of Beethoven. Mathilde loved to play after breakfast. The knocking grew louder and more urgent.

'Who's there,?' Mathilde called out.

The persistent knocking was deflecting her from the Beethoven sonata. Her nimble fingers had moved effortlessly over the ivories. Mama, she thought, will be pleased that the sonata will be ready to be performed for the upcoming visit of her uncle, Baron Rotchester, from Norfolk.
Mathilde wondered why Uncle Rotchester chose to pay her family a visit at this time. After all Spring was one of the busiest times on the Briarly Hall estate, what with change of tenancies, upcoming hunting dates and Spring balls.

Just as Mathilde was finishing her sonata another loud knocking was heard.

She closed the lid of the pianoforte, and pushed the stool underneath. A pile of musical manuscripts fell to the floor, some dating back to her childhood and earliest attempts at playing. She was bemused at the sight of them.

Briskly she walked towards the door and turned the knob. A well-dressed young man stood outside. He bowed ever so slightly, lilfting his top hat as he did so.

Mathilde thought for a moment that she was mistaken. Their eyes met. How could she forget those chestnut brown eyes that now seemed to look lovingly into hers?
'Lady Mathilde,' the handsome stranger began.

'Please forgive my early morning intrusion, but I was drawn yet again by the haunting sound of Beethoven. We have just finished breakfast, your father and I, and so I requested his permission to follow my heart..ahem.. my love of music, that is,' he continued.

Mathilde blushed nervously, attempting to regain her composure.

'What do you play sir,?' she enquired. 'Do you wish to take a turn on the piano.?'
He agreed readily and seating himself comfortably he began.

Mathilde watched as his slender, long fingers deftly caressed the keys.

'Mathilde,' Lady Betsy called out, 'why have you changed your pianoforte style..after all you are proceeding beautifully as it is.?'

Before Mathilde had time to reply, mama had stepped into the room.

'Ah yes, Sir William,'mama continued, 'I can see you two are getting well acquainted.'
Mama hastened from the music room to the study, leaving Mathilde in the company of the stranger at the pianoforte.

Mathilde was disconcerted by, what seemed,her mama's nonchalant approach to this stranger in their midst.

Sir William rose from the piano stool.

'Lady Mathilde,'he began,' it is an honor to make your acquaintance.'

'Sir,' Mathilde continued ,' this is the second time we have met and in rather odd circumstances.'
'Last time was following afternoon tea with the Dowager and now with this surprise early morning visit.'

'It is disconcerting to be thrown into each others company without ceremonial or decorum.'
'Also, Sir William,' Mathilde continued,' I do not wish that any young man of my acquaintance should feel free to place a kiss on my young woman's lips, without my express consent , as you deigned to do at the Dowagers. It is wholly inappropriate. A Lady has every right to refuse such an offer of intimacy.'

Sir William seemed crestfallen as he listened attentively to Mathilde's heartbreaking words.

'My dearest Lady Mathilde,' Sir William began. ' I wish to offer my sincerest apologies for taking such liberties with my Lady's honor while visiting the Dowager. I was wholly moved by the music you were playing and also by your striking beauty.'

Mathilde listened to the words of this stranger expressing love for her.

'But mama and papa would not approve of such liberal expressions of love for their only daughter,' Mathilde continued.

Sir William hesitated, before responding.
He reached out and took Mathilde's delicate hands into his own.

'Lady Mathilde,' he continued, ' I have this morning met with your father and requested his permission to pay you court.'

Lady Mathilde's peaches and cream complexion turned pink.
' Sir,' she continued, ' I am not my father's chattel. It is I who will decide who pays me court, not my father or mother. We no longer live in the dark ages, after all it is February 1925, Sir, as you are no doubt aware.'

Brusquely Mathilde turned towards the heavy wooden door of the music room, slamming it behind her.

Sir William was perplexed. Lady Betsy stood by the library door and watched as the scene unfolded. She was wringing her hands and murmured to herself and wondered what was to become of them if Briarly Hall was no longer the family seat.