Sitting up, I stopped myself. Why did that matter? I did not want him anyway. He was too far below my station, too poor. I was being absurd. Quickly covering the new tracks in my head, I moved back to what I was comfortable with.
Leaning my head back again, I took a deep breath and thought of my grand house and pretty dresses and perfect match. No James, no North, no gray skies or rocky coast.
No struggles, no disappointments, and no heart.
Chapter 13
“Love looks not with the eyes.”
Mrs. Abbot ordered a tray of my favorite lemon tea cakes when I came to visit. It had been a week now since I had seen her, and she welcomed me with my favorite sweets.
“Thank you!” I put a hand against my belly, feeling a faint rumble. “I fear I might eat them all.”
She laughed. “Please do! I know they are your favorite. Although I suggest you save one for Sophia. If not, she may duel you for it.”
My smile widened. Sophia and Lord Trowbridge were coming with Clara this afternoon. I pushed the tea tray to the opposite side of the table, hoping the distance could offer me a little control. I flexed my injured hand slowly, careful of the stitches beneath the now thin layer of bandage. The stitches would be removed soon, and I was not looking forward to it. I let my gaze wander to the pianoforte, allowing a wave of grief to settle over me once again. Being so close to the instrument was a sharp reminder of what I had lost. I closed my eyes and imagined the music floating through the air, sifting out the heavy, painful things from my heart.
“Oh! I think they are here!” Mrs. Abbot exclaimed. She called her daughters to the room and we all sat facing the door, waiting for the butler to let them inside. I straightened my posture and listened to the sound of feet in the entryway. Then a clear, soft voice echoed, “Where are the cakes?”
I grinned, recognizing Sophia’s voice. The butler grumbled a reply and Sophia came skipping around the corner. She stopped when she saw me, her face molding into a shy smile.
“Good afternoon, Sophia! I have missed you.” I smiled when I saw the twine coiled on her head.
She stepped forward and stopped just in front of me. Without another word, she unwrapped a similar piece of twine from around her wrist and presented it to me, grinning without reservation now. “I brought a crown for you too.”
I laughed, taking the tan piece of string from her. “Why a crown for me?”
“Because you said you didn’t have one.” She shrugged, tipping her head to the side. My heart warmed inside me and I placed the twine in a ring on top of my curls.
Sophia’s smooth forehead scowled. “What is wrong with your hand?” Her voice was careful.
“It was … broken.” I held it out to her and she leaned closer, studying it.
“Where are these fingers?” She pointed at the place where my fifth finger should be, and at the shortness of my index and middle fingers.
I moved my hand away. “Gone.”
She looked up, her round eyes concerned. “Do you miss them?”
I couldn’t help but smile at the sincerity of her question. “Indeed.” I took a breath. “There is very much I miss about them. I require assistance writing, dressing, and arranging my hair. And I miss playing music.” My voice was hushed as I spoke to her, as if sharing a secret. I looked up at the doorway of the room, where Clara, Lord Trowbridge, and James were being greeted by Mrs. Abbot. I looked again. I hadn’t known James was accompanying them.
He caught me looking at him and smiled. My breath lodged in my throat and I cleared it, returning my attention to Sophia.
She clasped her hands together in front of her and rocked back and forth. “You should do what Papa says to do.”
My brow furrowed. “And what is that?”
“When you miss something very much, just think of every good thing you have. Think of all the good things you have been allowed to keep, and hold onto them tight. Then you don’t miss the other things quite so much.” She gave a small smile. “That is what I do when I miss my mama.”
I marveled at the wisdom of such a young girl. “I will try it,” I assured her.
Her smile grew and she turned around. “Uncle Jamesy!” She ran across the room and landed in James’s outstretched arms. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
He chuckled. “I hoped to surprise you.” His eyes flickered to me and I wondered if he knew how much his appearance here had surprised me. I thought of the last time I had seen him. He had left so abruptly and I hadn’t seen him for a week since. I puzzled at the time that had passed. Had it been only a week? It had seemed much longer than that.
Clara walked in the room and sat in the chair beside me. Her cheeks were flushed yet again, and her smile was wide. I followed her eyes—they were on Lord Trowbridge.
“He asked me my opinion on his waistcoat color today,” she whispered to me. “I told him to choose the green. He looks well, does he not?”
It was true. It seemed that Wortham men and the color green were designed for one another. James had worn a green waistcoat once. Today he wore blue.
Lord Trowbridge looked across the room at Clara. I sat up straighter in my seat, looking for any connection between them. The faintest hint of a smile crossed his lips and Clara’s eyes fell down, focused intensely on her hands in her lap. I found myself close to laughter. “You must hold his gaze,” I whispered. “Smile in return. Don’t let him see how he affects you.”
She scowled. “It may be easy for you, but I am a novice. Besides, you have never been affected by a man.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw James walking toward the settee where I was sitting. My heart quickened. “That is not entirely true,” I mumbled to myself. I quickly straightened my hair and tried to appear unconcerned when he sat down beside me.
“What a lovely accessory.” He grinned, his gaze on the twine atop my head.
I reached up and touched it, laughing. “Sophia insisted that I wear one too.”
He shrugged. “I find it quite becomes you.” It was less his words but more the smile that followed that forced my eyes away from his face.
Why did he look at me like that? It was horribly unnerving. I felt something at my neck, burning up into my ears and cheeks. No. No no no. I was not blushing.
My gaze darted to Clara and she raised an eyebrow. Her lips quirked into a smile.
I ignored it and recovered my senses. I looked James in the eye. “Don’t make the mistake of assuming that flattery will improve my opinion of you. You are still far below ‘love,’ ” I said in a quiet voice. I allowed myself a small smile.
He laughed, leaning toward me and whispering, “Don’t make the mistake of assuming that I care.” The lighthearted look in his eyes shifted, and he shook his head subtly. “I mean to say that you look lovely. Whether it improves your opinion of me or not.” He quickly flashed a smile, as if trying to convince me he was merely jesting. For a moment I thought he would stand up again and storm out of the house like he had the week before. I wanted to ask why he had done that, but I didn’t know how.
My heart fluttered in my chest and I dared another look at his face. He was sincere. I searched my memory for the last time I had looked in a mirror. It had been two days at least. I shuddered. He must have been wrong. I did not look lovely, but the compliment still fluttered my heart, and the look in his eyes made me strangely breathless.
I scooted two inches away before offering a simple, “Thank you.”
He nodded, his eyes never leaving my face, and leaned toward the tea table. I watched as his hands deftly poured the tea pot and cream. I looked down at my hands, embarrassed. It would be strange to sit here and not drink any tea, but I feared I couldn’t pour it without spilling.
I looked around the room where everyone else was now sitting around the table. Mrs. Abbot was engaged in conversation with Lord Trowbridge, and the room was growing quieter.
Taking a deep breath, I reached my good hand toward the teapot, hoping my injur
ed hand could be sufficient to steady my cup. But as my hand moved close to the handle, James stopped it with his own.
My eyes flew up to his and he handed me the cup he had just filled. “I was filling it for you.” He gave a half smile—just a little quirk of his lips and warming of his eyes.
A slow melting started at my head and made me weak all over. I scolded myself for feeling that way, for admiring James’s kindness. It simply wasn’t acceptable. I thought it would be strange to thank him again, so I smiled instead and darted my gaze away, trying to focus on Clara and Lord Trowbridge.
“Are you very fond of music?” I heard Mrs. Abbot ask Lord Trowbridge.
“Indeed, I am.” His eyes flickered to James. “He may murder me for saying so, but my brother is an impeccable musician. He is far too humble to boast of it.”
James straightened and smiled, releasing a fast breath at the same time. He lowered his eyes. I had never seen his confidence waver like this. “My brother exaggerates.”
Lord Trowbridge shook his head. “I don’t. He has a great talent for it.”
Mrs. Abbot turned toward James. “You must play a song for us!”
He looked at his brother, eyes hard, but smiled. “Since I have been betrayed, I suppose I must.”
Lord Trowbridge laughed. I was surprised by what seemed like a drastic change in his personality. I wondered what had changed him. He never smiled before. His eyes flickered to Clara and she grinned at him, making him smile even wider. Ah.
My gaze drifted to James as he stood and walked to the pianoforte. I felt a pang of jealousy as he sat down and positioned his hands over the keys. He sat in silence, and I listened, waiting for the first note to ring through the air, wondering which note it could be, and which note would follow. I tried to match a melody with the way he sat, the way he talked and laughed, and the way he lived. But it was impossible. There was too much depth in his eyes and in his heart. A thousand melodies flitted through my mind but none of them fit, and when the first note rang through the air, my breath caught in my chest.
I watched in awe as James played a song I had never heard before. His hands pounded the keys strongly, then melted into soft trills that wrenched at my heart and left me captivated. The song was haunting, happy, and full of aching despair, all at once. It was not intended to be special, but the way he played it made it so. The notes that he chose to play suited him to perfection, and I hoped the song would never end. I loved it.
When the notes softened again, I knew the performance was coming to an end. I realized I had been holding my teacup so tightly it could have broken in my grasp. My throat tightened as a tear slipped from my eye. I swiped it away unnoticed.
The last note hung in the air, and the room burst into applause. I set my teacup down and almost clapped my hands too, but stopped myself. There was yet another thing I could no longer do. I held my hands in my lap quietly, feeling a fresh wave of emotion overcome me.
James stood from the bench, accepting the compliments from around the room. Lucy grinned up at him and he smiled back. She said something, but I didn’t hear. He laughed.
My heart sunk a little further. Lucy was much kinder than me, surely she deserved him. Perhaps I should have sent his love letter to her after all. She seemed to like him well enough, and he didn’t seem to be very opposed to her anymore either. The thought made me sad for a reason I couldn’t explain. Then his eyes met mine from across the room and I caught my breath again. I hoped my tears had dried away.
“I didn’t know you could play so beautifully,” I said as he reclaimed his seat beside me. “Whose piece did you play? I have never heard it.”
“It is mine,” he said, meeting my eyes.
“You cannot be serious!” I struggled to find the words for how I felt. “You are—you are a magnificent composer.”
“Flattery will not win my good opinion either, you must know.” He grinned, and I found myself thoroughly enjoying this little joke we now shared.
My eyes wandered longingly to the pianoforte. James noticed.
“Do you play as well?”
I dropped my gaze and shook my head no. “Not anymore.” I remembered, embarrassed, how I had been the day of my injury, sitting on the bench, pounding on the keys and crying. James had sat beside me. Surely he knew how dearly I loved the instrument. Or perhaps he had excused the whole thing as a tantrum. As I imagined how I must have appeared, I felt a fresh wave of humiliation. A tantrum was much more like it.
“Music will not part from you unless you abandon it.” His eyes were serious, and I had no choice but to listen. “How do you suppose music will find you if you keep it trapped inside an instrument?”
I held up my injured hand. “But I cannot play the pianoforte without fingers. It simply isn’t possible. I will never play the same way again, no matter how intently I try.”
He studied my face for a long moment. He was thinking, jaw clenching and unclenching, eyes moving fast. A slow smile lifted his lips. “Yes. You will.”
I scowled. “How?”
“Are you otherwise engaged tomorrow afternoon?”
“Not at all.” I was still confused.
“Do you think Mrs. Abbot would object to us using her pianoforte?” he asked in a quiet voice.
“She assured me I was always welcome. But why—”
He stopped me. “I am going to teach you.”
“Teach me what?”
He leaned forward, smiling widely. “How to play music the way you did before.”
He was being ridiculous. I stared at him with disbelief, tempted to roll my eyes at him like I used to. “Very well. But I still don’t believe it is possible.”
“I have proven you wrong before, have I not?”
I pressed back my smile behind compressed lips. “I daresay … I hope you can do it again.”
James chuckled. “I intend to.”
I looked into his smiling eyes, and dared myself to hope, to trust. If nothing else, it would be an enjoyable afternoon with a friend. A dangerously handsome, endearing friend. Another cursed blush tingled on my cheeks. Drat. I would need to enforce some very effective protection around my newfound heart if I wanted any hope of keeping it.
“Until tomorrow then,” he said.
Chapter 14
“If music be the food of love, play on.”
We had agreed to meet at two. I wore a shawl wrapped tightly beneath my cloak to keep warm. Large flakes of snow landed on my shoulders and head, and I looked up, watching them spiral from the sky in pretty flurries of white.
My stomach fluttered with nervousness. I didn’t know exactly what James had planned, but I was excited, moving with quick steps across the snow. There was no way I could really play the same, but he seemed to believe I could, and so I leaned against that belief.
When I arrived in front of the Abbots’ home, I walked up the steps, careful not to slip. The butler let me in and Mrs. Abbot was there to meet me. I tried to smooth the wet, melting snow out of my hair but gave up when I realized it was bound to look horrendous no matter how I fixed it.
“You walked here? Good heavens, Charlotte! You shall catch a cold!” She took the wet cloak off my shoulders as if it were a dangerous thing, shaking it and handing it to the butler. “I could have sent a carriage, you know. Poor Rachel and Lucy have caught the same cold and are confined to their rooms, sleeping at this late hour.”
“Oh, dear.” I looked toward the west hallway. “I hope they recover soon.” I was surprised by the genuine concern I felt for them.
“I am sure they will, not to worry.” She gestured to the drawing room door at the right and I followed her in and we sat down. “How is your injury healing?”
I hesitated. The pain and swelling had decreased significantly, but I knew that soon the stitches would be removed and soon after the bandages would be minimized and I would have to see the damages. I could no longer avoid it. The bandages had become a blessing to keep me blind to what had really happene
d three weeks ago. I took a deep breath and smiled. “It is healing very well.”
She smiled, but there was a hint of disbelief in her expression. “Everything will be all right, Charlotte. You will find a way to be happy.” A tear glistened in her eye as she squeezed my arm in an effort to comfort me. I found it strange that she cared so much about me—my concerns and fears and hardships. Mama had never cared about those things.
I didn’t notice the front door open again until the cold air floated through the house and touched my skin and gave rise to chill bumps. I turned to see James walk through the entryway and into the drawing room to join us.
He gave a charming smile. “Thank you for your hospitality, Mrs. Abbot. There simply isn’t a pianoforte that compares to yours,” he said. He could sound very refined when he cared enough to do so.
“I am glad to hear it. Please do not hesitate to grace this home with your musical talents. I don’t understand how I have been so fortunate to have two of the most talented musicians of my acquaintance play on my old, antique instrument.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “You have both touched my heart.”
I smiled through my nervousness. At least Mrs. Abbot would be here with James and me, keeping things on a comfortable level of propriety.
Mrs. Abbot’s smile widened. “Well then. I will leave you now to tend to my daughters.”
No. “What?” I kept my voice from sounding panicked.
“Rachel and Lucy need my company. Surely you understand.” I thought I saw a spark of mischief in her eyes. “You will be required to share the drawing room with no one but Mr. Wortham. In peace and quiet.”
I almost protested again but thought better of it. She gave one last smile and flitted out of the room. The room suddenly settled in silence and I was still facing the door. I counted to ten in my mind, wondering which second would be the most natural to turn around on. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen? I could hear myself breathing.
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