“Indeed.” Then Isabella’s face clouded with worry.
“Your Grace?”
“If I can get Esme to come.” Isabella felt the old concern. “I cannot help wondering if she would be too afraid.”
“I see,” Kitty said sadly.
“Kitty, when Esme and I were little girls, we heard the same silly stories as all the other children. That there was a monster living in a ruined mansion behind a tangle of hawthorns. I am ashamed to admit it, but it is true. And if we are to get anywhere, I must be open and honest with you.”
“You need not be ashamed. And anyway, shame does not help to get things done.” Kitty was bright again. “And you and Miss Montague could not have escaped the tales. That is just the way of things. But do you think your friend would still be so affected? Even knowing how things have worked out for you here at Coldwell?”
“Perhaps not. And Esme is a hopeless romantic after all. Perhaps I could put it all to her in such terms that she could see how we are trying to help the Duke back into the world; to free him from his prison.”
“A romantic heart could surely not resist.”
“Indeed. And especially if I put it to Esme in such terms as she became part of things. As if she is helping him also, even without yet meeting him.” Isabella began to feel a little excitement.
She felt sure it had to do with having a purpose. And not just any purpose, but a very fine one indeed, one which would help another human being.
“That is a very good idea, Your Grace.” Kitty was equally enthused. “Shall you be writing to Miss Montague soon?”
“This very day,” Isabella said and laughed at the obvious prompting. “I think the sooner, the better.”
“Very good, Your Grace.”
“I shall practice on the piano for a while and hope to see the Duke this evening at some point. I can then revisit the idea of Esme coming for tea so that he is aware that I would seek such company. Then, before I retire tonight, I shall write a long and extraordinary letter to my dear Esme and lay it all out before her. I am certain that she will be only too keen to help when I give her all the facts.”
“You have a very busy day planned, Your Grace. You had better make sure you take a hearty amount of food for your breakfast.” Kitty nodded vigorously, and Isabella smiled.
Kitty meant what she said and, as always, Isabella found her mothering most fortifying. It was something that she had never really experienced. Her own mother had left that sort of thing entirely to first her nurse, and then the governess. Unfortunately for Isabella, neither one of those two women had an ounce of motherly instinct to spare.
Esme Montague had always cared for Isabella so well, but they were like sisters. Still, Isabella was always grateful for the sisterly relationship she would have otherwise missed out on and felt certain that Esme would be her very closest friend for the rest of her life.
As long as Isabella did not ruin things by forcing Esme to attend Coldwell Hall, the lair of the monster, against her will.
Isabella determined there and then that she would be entirely honest with Esme and let her know it was to be her choice. She would not force her or beg her.
She would not manipulate her kind nature and tender emotions. It had to be the truth and nothing else.
“Right.” Isabella rose to her feet so suddenly that Kitty jumped a little. “Breakfast it is.”
Chapter 21
“My Dearest Esme,
I have so much to tell you that I hardly know where to begin. I shall first update you with the news that Elliot and I are truly reconciled. After our emotional meeting in the tower, Elliot remained quiet, as I think I told you in my last letter. I did not see him for two days, but I was certain that I was forgiven.
I sneaked once more to his chamber in the daytime and was relieved to see the doll in his very own room. He had placed it on a narrow armchair which sits beneath the portrait of his beloved sister. Anyway, I did not linger long since I have a habit of being caught there, as you know.
I knew that Elliot was simply coming to terms with all the feelings he had likely raked up when he told me all in the tower in the woods. I knew we would soon be in each other’s company again. In fact, I had no doubt at all.
But the manner of our next exchange was really so surprising, Esme! In the middle of the night, I heard a noise outside my chamber door. When I set the lamp, I could see that I had received a note. It was from Elliot, no less. The note said that Elliot wished to apologize for the strained relations between us and that his apology was in the library.
Well, you can imagine my surprise when I sneaked through the darkness and found a brand-new piano awaiting me. I could hardly believe it, so much so that I wondered if I had not made a mistake of some kind.
But no, the piano was mine. When I hurried down to the library this morning, I knew it had to be what Elliot had meant.
As usual, Elliot was nowhere to be seen. I do so wonder how it is he fills his days, especially since dear Crawford Maguire spends so much less time at Coldwell Hall these days.
But I must admit to being grateful for my solitude today, for it gave me an opportunity to practice my new piano in private. Oh, and privacy was certainly needed, I can assure you.
My playing was truly awful at first. It was the playing of a child who is struggling with their lessons. And when I opened the beautiful velvet-covered piano stool to find new sheet music inside, I realised just how much I had forgotten.
I struggled to remember how to read the musical notes, and it took me all morning to recover my memory of that skill. All the while stumbling over the keys and striking wrong notes in every bar.
In the end, I settled upon a piece by Haydn. It was one I remembered from much practice in my youth, and the sheet music I found in the piano seat was nicely printed and wonderfully clear.
I spent the rest of the day in determined practice of that same piece, over and over. I remembered how Elliot told me how he used to play for his mother and what a wonderfully appreciative audience she was for him.
And I must say that I fell to imagining myself playing the piece flawlessly whilst Elliot sat by the fire in the near darkness of the library as I was bathed in the light of the silver candelabra. I have already placed one upon the piano so I might play in the evening.
Of course, it was at that point in my imagination that I struck another wrong note and stopped playing altogether. Realizing I could only truly play well in my own imagination, I wondered if I would ever feel comfortable playing the piano for my husband. After all, he has now twice played the violin in my presence, and I think I ought to return such a favour. Oh, but is it any true favour when a person is not so blessed with musical prowess?
But then I remembered something that Elliot once said to me when we talked about learning to play an instrument, specifically me learning to play the violin. I told him that I would never play as well as he does, and Elliot asked me if that really mattered.
He said that the joy was in playing music for music’s sake, not the good opinion of another. I had not really thought about it much at the time, but the idea came at me with full force as I sat there in the silence and solitude of the library.
I knew then that he was right. Music is supposed to be enjoyed; it is not an accomplishment, as my own mother always had it. It is not a simple tool to impress others and make you more appealing a prospect for marriage. It is music, and that is that.
After that, I played without the same concerns. I did not try to imagine myself playing flawlessly for my husband or anybody else. Instead, I watched as my fingers danced across the keys, and I listened to every note. The melody was wonderful. Not flawless, but really and truly wonderful. I cannot say that I have ever played so well or enjoyed playing so much.
There, you will think me quite mad now; I have no doubt.
This evening after dinner, which I still take in my room for fear of loneliness at the dinner table, I returned to the library. When I made my wa
y in, I could see no sign of Elliot. I had thought he would be there and was disappointed that he was not.
So, I lit the candles in the candelabra to see if I could really play by that light alone. It was wonderful; the glow of the candles showered light over the keys, and I settled down to play the Haydn piece once more.
Again, I had let go of the self-conscious playing concerned only with the judgement of others and instead played from the heart.
Imagine my surprise when, almost halfway through, I heard the beautiful sound of violin accompaniment. Yes, Elliot had come silently into the room with his violin and gently joined in to play the piece with me.
It was as if we were in perfect synchronicity. We played it as one person almost, I am sure of it. At first, I felt the old pressure returning and almost lost the melody at one point to my nerves at the performance. And then I remembered Elliot’s words once again.
Does it matter?
And those words, long ago spoken, lifted my doubt and let me play again with joy in my heart. And Elliot most certainly played from his heart too, for it was the most wonderful sound.
When we had finished the piece, Elliot came into the room and took his customary seat by the fire. He had stood behind me throughout the piece, and I had not felt his presence until he moved away. It was as if I noticed the loss of him more, much as I have done these last days of our estrangement.
“You played that beautifully, «he began to speak as soon as he had settled himself.
“Thank you,” I replied. “And thank you for this wonderful gift. I had never expected such a thing.”
“I really am very sorry for all that has passed between us these last days. And all that has not passed between us. I have grown too used to my own absence as a way of managing my world, and I think it is a habit I ought to break.”
“Elliot, I have understood every moment of these last days, and I do not wish you to make any apology at all.” And then I went on, «But I should like to keep the piano nonetheless.” At which point Elliot roared with laughter.
His laughter, when entirely unguarded, is a tremendous sound. It is deep and loud and has a reverberation that I can often feel deep inside the walls of my chest. But it is like a roar; a lion’s roar to begin with.
As comforting as I find that laugh, I cannot help thinking that it would have made me afraid in the beginning, back when I still thought of the Duke of Coldwell as a mythical, dreadful monster.
“To hear you play has given me too much pleasure to allow me to return the piano. And so, it is safe.” He was still amused, I could tell.
Just a week before, I never thought that I would hear Elliot laugh in my presence again. I never thought he would forgive me for moving the doll and disrupting what I now know had come to be something of a shrine to his lost family.
But to hear him this evening laughing once more has given me more relief than I could have imagined.
And the evening carried on in laughter too. Elliot begged that I would open the piano seat and take out another piece of the sheet music so that we might play again. I immediately told him that I had been practicing the Haydn piece all day and would only be able to stumble my way over any new piece that I attempted without first practicing.
“That does not matter, «he said, and I was reminded again of his words.
The words gave me courage, and I hurriedly opened the seat and searched for another piece. I chose Beethoven this time; a piece I have heard many times but rarely played. But I felt encouraged, just as the young Elliot must have done when his mother had listened with kind appreciation.
By the time I had set up my sheet music on the stand, Elliot had already made his way to stand behind me again.
I did not turn, knowing how uncomfortable my direct gaze makes him, even in the darkness. Instead, I just began to play. And yes, I did stumble over a good deal of it, especially the more complicated parts, which I simplified in a way that would have made Beethoven himself weep.
And yet I enjoyed it immensely, and it was a joy to hear the violin played so beautifully behind me. I had stopped several times along the way as I peered at the music and tried to get it right. And each time I stopped, Elliot stopped also. At one point, I began to laugh at my own ineptitude and could hear Elliot laughing too. But it was not unkind at all. We were both amused, and the whole thing was so very lighthearted. I cannot think that I have enjoyed myself this much nor laughed so much since I was parted from you, my dear Esme.
In the end, we stayed in the library until almost midnight. We have never stayed in each other’s company for more than two hours before, and I could hardly believe that more than four hours had passed so quickly.
Elliot walked me to the bottom of the staircase as he has done before, and bid me goodnight before heading back through the entrance hall. I cannot say where he was going. Perhaps he simply wanted something from the kitchen and would make his own way up the stairs afterwards.
And so it is that I am still awake past one o’clock in the morning as I write this letter to you. You might wonder why I have chosen to stay up when I might finish it in the morning, but I have something to ask you and wanted this letter to go out first thing tomorrow.
My dear Esme, I should like to invite you here to Coldwell Hall for afternoon tea. It does not matter which day and so, if you care to accept, you may choose the day and let me know it in your letter.
Elliot has made it clear that I may receive any guest I wish and, of course, I should only wish to see you.
But I would not like you to feel you must come because I know well that you must feel a certain amount of trepidation at the idea of coming to the place about which we told so many terrifying stories in our younger days.
If it would put your mind at rest at all, Elliot would not be joining us. We would have privacy to talk, and you would not be meeting him at all. We could wander the immense grounds, and I could show you around Coldwell Hall. You of all people would be in awe at the enormity of the ballroom. A ballroom that has lain silent and empty for almost two decades.
I should so like to see you, especially when I once believed that we would never meet again. But where my own father sought to divide us, my husband would seek to do no such thing, and I would hope you may take heart from such a sentiment.
And yet I have another reason for inviting you. I have been scheming with dear Kitty to find some way of returning my husband to the world.
I believe I have told you in one of my previous letters the dreadful tale of the final outing which forced Elliot to take refuge in his own home to the point of making himself a prisoner here. Well, Kitty and I have plans to help Elliot live a very different sort of life. Simply having a visitor here in his home, a place where visitors have not entered for many years, would be a tremendous step. Even though Elliot himself would not be greeting you, he would know he has a visitor here, and perhaps it will help him to expand.
There is more that I would wish to do to help him, and many ideas that I think you could provide, just as you always did when the two of us were together. But I shall not tell you anymore, nor seek to tug at your heartstrings. I will not play upon your considerable sympathies in hopes of enlisting your help. You must do whatever is right for you and know that I shall not blame you if you would sooner not come here to Coldwell Hall.
Regardless of your choice, I should still like to hear from you. I very much enjoy your lengthy letters with all the news from your world. You must not think that I shall stop writing if you choose not to come for tea, for I shall never stop writing to you, my dear friend.
In the meantime, I shall continue to practice the piano and find interesting things to tell you about when I next write.
Until then, take very good care of yourself.
Lords to Be Enamored With: A Historical Regency Romance Collection Page 18
