P.S. I Love You

by Jo Noelle

  Tears brimmed in her eyes. Her hand touched her chest as her pulse raced. She had given them a word. As a teacher, she had taught many signs to children, but never before had she given a child their very first word. Her breath stuttered through her nose as she struggled to regain her composure.

  Her voice was barely a sigh when she finally said, “This is an amazing place.” She noticed Simon’s and the Millers’ eyes were welling also.

  “What else could you teach them, miss?” Mr. Miller asked.

  Simon answered, “Anything is possible. They could learn to say anything.”

  They stayed until the tables were cleaned, and the lessons began. With little slates and beans as counters, they worked simple math problems, the older students helping the younger.

  Again at the abbey’s entrance, Cora asked, “May I come again?”

  “Whenever you wish,” Simon answered, then bid adieu to the caretakers. When they had gotten on their way, he asked, “If you were to say what the children were doing in their lessons, how would it look?”

  Cora said and signed “math” and “addition.” Simon’s hands repeated the motions. For the rest of the walk, Cora signed as she and Simon spoke. It felt liberating. It felt joyful. It felt like home. This was her first language of love, and she cherished the feeling.

  Once back at Leavensfield, they entered through the front door together, then went to change from their riding clothes.

  Refreshed but famished, Cora stepped into the green salon in time for afternoon tea. Although Simon’s mother offered Cora a cup and saucer, she did so with narrowed eyes and pursed lips. Apparently, she had noticed their absence today. Simon entered a few moments later.

  Lady Georgia Tuttle clapped her hands with excitement. “Simon, we’ve decided to add a musicale to the entertainments. You approve, don’t you?” asked the elder of Simon’s sisters.

  Oh, heavens! Please, Simon, say no.

  “Say, yes. It will be great fun.” Lady Virginia Tuttle was nearly bouncing in her chair, awaiting his approval.

  “I would love to participate,” Lady Atkins added.

  The dowager set her tea aside to await the answer. “What do you say, Simon? We haven’t had a musicale for a couple of years. It would be a lovely evening.”

  Does no one in his family consider how much Simon might hate that kind of event?

  “As you wish, Mother.” Simon answered.

  Cora caught a sly glance between Virginia and Georgia before they raised their teacups to cover their lips. A moment later, Georgia settled her cup on the table and stood. “I was hoping you would allow it. I’ve made a game of choosing instruments.” She picked up a silver bowl from the hearth. “I’ve placed the names of several instruments in the bowl. Whichever you choose, you play. We will each have five days to practice, and then we’ll perform for the houseguests.” She placed the bowl within the reach of each lady in attendance. May declined to play, claiming it would likely ruin the evening.

  After each pulled out a slip of paper, Georgia announced she would play the violin, Virginia the piano, and Lady Atkins the piano also. Simon’s mother refused to play an instrument but offered to sing if another guest would accompany her. When the bowl came to Cora, several papers were folded at the bottom. She wondered which other instruments were in the music room at Simon’s house. Three days wasn’t nearly enough time if she drew an instrument she didn’t know—especially with the standards she ruthlessly held herself to. Still, everyone drawing a slip had taken that chance—she wouldn’t cower from it either.

  She chose a paper and unfolded it. “Harp,” she read aloud. Simon’s mother raised her eyebrows and stared at his sisters, who dropped their heads as if to cover their smiles. Simon looked likewise surprised.

  “Well, three days,” Virginia repeated, hurrying to put the bowl away on the hearth. “I’ll have the other women choose when I see them later today.”

  “I’m looking forward to the performances,” Lady Atkins added. “When may I use your music room, Simon? I’ll need a little practice to brush up a new piece I’ve learned.”

  “I’ll post a schedule after the other women have chosen,” Georgia said.

  When the family gathered for dinner that night, Georgia announced that the schedule was posted. Simon’s mother said that Lucy and her mother would play a duet with a violin and viola, and another guest would play the flute. Cora was relieved she hadn’t pulled that slip of paper, but the woman didn’t seem nervous at all.

  Cora spent as much time as she could at the school. It was convenient that her practice time was scheduled around the same time the gentlemen joined the ladies in the parlor after dinner. Yes, how convenient. Not. Still, she enjoyed the uninterrupted time during the day to go to the school. She loved how quickly the students were picking up the signs, and she carried their happiness back with her to Leavensfield.

  One evening, before she entered the family dining room, she heard her name and stopped before entering. Out of sight, she heard Simon’s mother and Lady Atkins discussing her. The nerve! She debated between entering and disrupting them and waiting to hear what they were saying. Eavesdropping won.

  Simon’s mother was speaking. “That Cora person is an unwelcome guest in my home, while you are like family to me. She should leave, not you.”

  Lady Atkins answered, “Your son seems to think she is welcome.”

  “She’s a novelty. An American. They have no culture, no history, no refinement.” The dowager harrumphed. “His fascination with her will wane like a child’s when his toy becomes old.”

  “I have no intention of waiting for her to become old.”

  “Don’t worry. She’s only after his money or his title.”

  That’s rich. She’s speaking to the one person that would be true of and doesn’t even realize it.

  His mother continued. “There can never be an honorable relationship between them. He can’t marry her. He won’t be willing to be a social outcast. He understands his duty to the title. We’ll give it a little nudge, and he’ll abandon her.”

  What? Neither woman seemed to know Simon at all. Her appetite was gone, especially if it meant sharing a room with these women. She spun on her heels. Maybe a second session of a workout would do her some good. Several steps away, she stopped again. No. She’d rather enjoy a breakfast where their conversation was stifled by her presence. She turned back, but the two women exited the breakfast room before she got there and walked her way.

  Kill them with kindness. But when the women were within a few steps, both of them turned their faces to the wall and refused to meet her gaze as they walked by. “Good morning,” she said brightly, anyway.

  After a quick breakfast, she left Leavensfield, intending to stay away most of the day. She almost wished she’d gone to London with Lucy and May to shop for Lucy’s wedding, but she had wanted to be near Simon whenever possible. Since he spent so much time with matters of the estate, she often went to the children’s school without him. In the evenings after dinner, she practiced in the music room or did kickboxing, then took walks outside before retiring.

  That night, she heard Simon’s mother speaking to Wetheridge. “If you marry the girl, your problems as well as mine will be solved. Take her across the border and marry her. Soon.”

  Should she tell Simon? He’d been worried about his sister’s interest in Wetheridge, and it seemed that now his mother was involved, too. He would want to protect his sister though Cora believed his sister would welcome it, and with her mother’s blessing, there might not be much Simon could do to stop it. Really, what would she say? “I heard your mother say this, but I don’t know who it was about, but it might be your sister.” That was worse than gossip.

  The third day, she spent more time at the school. The children greeted her enthusiastically, embracing each sign she showed them. Teaching was its own reward, and, this was unlike any teaching experience she’d had. These children needed her desperately. They had no language. Well
, not exactly—they were learning to read lips as a way to take part in someone else’s language. Signing could give them their own.

  Simon was going to be back the next day. She’d missed him so much. She wanted him to see the children’s progress as well. As she joined the guests in the salon before dinner, Simon’s mother stood in the middle of the room, but began walking her direction.

  Within a step, she whispered, “Oh, are you still here? Take your place at the end of the line.” Then she faced the center of the room and spoke to the other guests. “Dinner is being served.” The guests ordered themselves by precedence and filed out. The numbers were uneven, and Cora was unescorted, as was Lucy since Everett wasn’t expected back until the next day.

  Cora extended her arm to her friend, and they accompanied each other through the doorway. Wetheridge met them in the hall, having joined the group late. “As luck would have it, it’s my pleasure to attend to two beautiful women for supper.” He bowed and led them behind the group.

  It was a kind gesture. Cora hadn’t expected Wetheridge to be chivalrous but was pleasantly surprised.

  Chapter 21

  Simon

  Simon had barely returned home when his mother followed him up the stairs to his room.

  “You have to do something, Simon. I will not have your name disparaged and your sisters’ opportunities frittered away because you have an unfortunate attraction to a woman who’s little better than a servant.”

  Simon came to a stop. His mother barely halted in time not to collide with him. “You will not speak of my attraction as if it is any of your concern.” He took a deep breath to hold his temper, and without looking her way, informed her, “I’m having the dowager house refurbished. You’ll move in as soon as it’s completed.”

  “I’ll happily move there if you leave off with that American. They are little more than the byproduct, the waste of England cast off decades ago. Lady Atkins is—”

  Simon whirled to face her, his voice stern. “You’ll move whether you’re happy or not. Stay out of what’s my business alone.” Though she didn’t say more, he wondered if their conversation had convinced his mother to stop meddling. He hoped so—but he doubted it. The workmen he met with on his recent trip assured him they would have repairs completed within a month. Right now, that felt like a month too long.

  He bathed the dust and horse smell of his travels from his body and dressed with precision. Tonight after dinner was the musicale. His mind pulled up the cherished memories of Cora’s private concerts. Unfortunately, tonight would be unlike either of those. It was doubtful that he would hear even half the notes played by any of the musicians.

  He did look forward to seeing Cora and watching as she played. He loved the passion that rang through her notes, the excitement in her eyes, and the satisfaction in the slight smile that tugged at her lips. Did she know that when she was deep into the enjoyment of the music, her eyes closed, and her breathing deepened? It was as if she became music.

  Simon entered the salon. No one else had arrived. He looked toward the clock on the mantel—he was very early. His mother and sisters wouldn’t be here for at least ten minutes, assuring that they would be in place a quarter of an hour before their guests began to arrive.

  Sitting on the mantel was the silver bowl that had carried the papers for the instrument selection. It had been quite a surprise to him when Cora’s paper had been a harp. Neither of his sisters, his mother, nor Lady Atkins played that instrument. He had been surprised that they would include it and risk humiliation if they had to prepare a song. As far as he knew, the instrument hadn’t been played since his father’s sister had played it when Simon was a child.

  He walked over and picked up the bowl, curious what instruments hadn’t been selected. He unfolded one after another, dropping each to the side. When the bowl was empty, eight papers sprinkled across the tabletop—they all said “harp.”

  Simon’s mother entered the room and gave barely a glance at him. He was determined that she would answer for the trick being played out.

  Georgia and Virginia came in immediately. They greeted their mother first, then Simon. Their eyes dropped to the table, the papers, and then back up to him. To Simon, it looked as if they would flee the room. “Stop.” The girls stopped but didn’t face him. “I don’t need to know why you did it. It’s obvious you have planned an embarrassment for Miss Rey.”

  “What are you talking about?” his mother asked, sounding annoyed and finally looking his way.

  “She doesn’t know,” Virginia said. “It’s just a game. We didn’t think you would take such offense.”

  Simon pinned the girls with a stare. He knew his mouth was sealed tightly against the harsh words he wanted to say. After a slow walk toward them and a long silence, he said, “I’ll inform Miss Rey that she isn’t obligated to attend the musicale this evening. If she chooses not to attend, I will not, either.”

  Protest flared in his mother’s eyes, but Miss Atkins arrived at that moment. Her eyes too went to the bowl and papers on the table. “Have I come at a bad time?” Her voice was shrill and her hands clasped in front of her tightly. Red crept up her neck and cheeks.

  Simon realized that she also had drawn out a paper in his presence and had lied about its contents. She had been privy to the fraud as well. How could his family think this woman would ever be a good match for him? They didn’t. They only thought Lady Atkins was a good match for them without considering him at all.

  The doors opened again, and Lord and Lady Cottrell, Lady May Cottrell, and Cora entered. When Simon took a step toward the group, his mother rose suddenly and put her hand on his arm to retain him. He sidestepped and continued to the new arrivals. After greeting each one, he said, “Miss Rey, I would like your opinion about something.” He swept his hand toward the windows at the far end of the room.

  “Of course.”

  As they walked across the room, it seemed as if the whole room was silent so as to listen to their conversation. Or maybe it wasn’t, and he just couldn’t hear the conversations behind him. When they stopped at the last window, Simon asked, “Are you set on participating in the musicale tonight?”

  “Yes, but that’s an unusual question. Why do you ask?”

  Simon glanced over his shoulder to see his mother, sisters, and Lady Atkins all looking their way. “The drawing for instruments was false. All the slips of paper said “harp,” and my sisters and Lady Atkins lied after choosing.”

  Cora’s expression hardly changed, but she nodded. “They were hoping for my failure.” She smiled, and her eyes seemed to Simon to light from within. “Well, they’re in for quite a surprise.” She put her hand on Simon’s arm. “Lucky for me, it’s one of the instruments I play.”

  “Piano, violin, harp—how many instruments do you play?” Simon asked as he placed his hand over hers in the crook of his elbow.

  “Quite a few.” Cora’s smile broadened, and she winked. “But not as many as my father did.”

  “You aren’t going to tell me, are you?”

  “No. My plan is to show you.” She leaned closer and whispered, “One by one.”

  Simon liked that plan very much.

  “I’m sorry the musicale will be less than enjoyable for you. However, don’t worry about me. It just became infinitely more interesting.”

  Simon liked the mischievous look on Cora’s face and turned to lead her back, but she tugged gently on his arm, and they stopped. “I’ll arrange a private concert for you with the harp if you’d care to check your calendar for the next few days.”

  “It would be my pleasure.” He walked her back, and the noise of the room became more apparent to him. The room had filled, and all the guests were accounted for as they exited to dinner.

  Chapter 22

  Cora

  Cora was grateful that dinner quickly followed the conversation she’d had with Simon about his sisters’ scam. It was just another part of this evening she’d rather not spend too much t
ime thinking about. When Simon offered to dismiss her from the evening’s entertainment, she nearly jumped at it but not for the reason he thought. Yes, his sisters’ trick was despicable, but she wanted to avoid performing—period. Instinct pushed her to quit, but determination not to let the fear of it rule her life kept her lips closed.

  To keep the stage fright at bay while preparing her piece this past week, Cora had tried to fool herself during practices, repeating that she was playing for herself or at other times for her father. She pretended she was in her father’s study and tried not to think about being in front of an audience. She imagined his dark mahogany desk and bookcases. She even fabricated modern reasons for the sounds she was hearing—it was her horses she could hear; the crunching gravel was a car moving slowly down the lane; the rain was a welcome storm at her usually dry home in Texas.

  At dinner, Cora could hardly eat, though Wetheridge prompted her at each succeeding course. She made an effort—a bit of fish, a little soup, a cooked beet. The less she ate, the less she would throw up later, if it came to that. She was determined that it would not.

  More guests arrived after dinner, including Aunt Nellie, and soon the musicale began. The anxiety of waiting for each musician in turn increased the distress of the wait. When she was growing up and had performed, she could wait back stage, watching as the other participants left the green room in the order of their performance. Usually, she only saw and heard one or two performers before her. If she found herself feeling the stress of needing to perform perfectly, she would remind herself that this was for her own enjoyment. If others enjoyed it, that was a bonus. That thought had seemed to free her momentarily. She was hopeful that she would conquer this tonight.