by welis
Until Olivia stood and set Serena aside, slowly making her way across the room. Daphne noticed the approach and paused, the last notes she’d played dying away while the pianoforte continued on, Adam oblivious to the shift in the room. She gazed up at Olivia, who caressed the harp with her gaze, her brow furrowed as if she attempted to work something out in her mind. Daphne allowed her hands to drop into her lap and remain there when Olivia reached out, caressing one of the strings, her touch too light to create a note, but still connecting with the familiar instrument.
Adam struck a discordant note, swiftly turning his head as he finally noticed that Daphne had gone silent. He drew in a sharp breath, but remained quiet. The entire room seemed to hold its breath as they collectively waited for Olivia to move, to speak, to … do something. To give them hope that she was not completely lost.
Yet, she seemed lost in her mind, her gaze darting and her lower lip disappearing between her teeth as her hands began to shake. Before she could pull away from the strings, Daphne reached out to grasp her hand, gently moving it back to the instrument. She smiled, keeping her tone low and light when she spoke.
“I’ve heard you play beautifully,” she remarked. “I think we would all love to hear you.”
The gazes of the others bored into Daphne, but she ignored them, focusing on Olivia. Adam’s sister stood on a precipice, just on the edge of regaining one of the many things she’d lost.
She swallowed and cleared her throat before replying. “I … I do not think I remember how.”
Daphne breathed a small sigh, relieved for some sign that Olivia was still with them, still lucid. She slowly rose from her seat and shifted away to make room for Olivia. Then, she took the other woman’s arm in a gentle hold and began carefully maneuvering her into the chair.
“That’s quite all right,” she replied. “Would you like to try? I am certain once you attempt it, your mind will take to it as easily as it once did.”
Olivia cast her a glance, her dark eyes filled with uncertainty. Daphne merely gave what she hoped was an encouraging smile. When Olivia still did not move, Daphne turned to glance at Niall, who had stumbled farther into the room, eyes wide, mouth pinched. She invited him to come with a wave of her hand. He seemed to war with himself for a moment, and she understood his inner struggle. The man did not trust her with his Livvie, but also seemed curious about where this could lead.
“Please,” she whispered, imploring him with her gaze and hoping he could see her sincerity. “I think you can help her with this in a way the rest of us cannot.”
Niall sighed, but nodded in agreement, quickly making his way to them. When he drew near, Daphne reached for his hand, smirking when the man flinched and glared at her. Ignoring his assessing stare, she guided his hand toward Olivia’s. He curled his large, rough fingers around Olivia’s slender ones, and Daphne stepped back, motioning for him to come closer.
“Put her hands to the strings,” she whispered, her gaze locked on the two joined hands—a stark juxtaposition reminding everyone in the room that they did not belong together.
Niall had the hands of a man who’d done manual labor his entire life—big and calloused, with scars crisscrossing the knuckles. In contrast, Olivia’s were petite, pale, long-fingered, smooth. Yet, she responded to his touch, her fingers bending, then straightening, moving as if they wanted to remember what to do.
The butler cast Daphne a questioning glance, and she smiled at him. “It’s all right … just help her remember. Help her try.”
He nodded and turned back to Olivia, moving to position himself behind her. He used one hand to guide her fingers to the strings while bracing the other on her shoulder.
“Ye know how it’s done, mo ghradh,” he murmured. “I remember ye used to play such beautiful music. That part o’ ye is still in there someplace.”
Daphne could not help a smile at the words he’d uttered—clearly the rough tones of Gaelic. She did not need to know what it meant to know it was some endearment
Olivia’s fingers twitched, and she closed her eyes for a moment, inhaling a deep breath. Then, they twitched again, this time plucking at a string and sending a light note of music floating through the air. Her eyes flew open, going wide as she tried again, pulling at the same string once more. Niall remained in his place, bringing his other hand to rest on her opposite shoulder.
Daphne glanced at Adam, finding him on the edge of the piano bench, hands clenched between his spread knees. He gripped his fingers so tight, his knuckles had gone white, but he remained still, watching with baited breath.
Olivia tried different strings, testing the notes. Inclining her head, she furrowed her brow and listened to each one, as if trying to recapture some long-lost memory. Her other hand joined the first, and she became bolder, testing two and three strings at a time, finding various chords. Her expression changed the longer she tried, the furrows in her brow smoothing and her mouth curving at the corners.
Daphne saw the exact moment it all came back to her a rush, her head tilting at just the right angle, eyes closing, fingers becoming swift and light like the butterflies from which she’d gotten her pet name. And with everyone looking on, she began to truly play. Daphne smiled, recognizing the beginning refrain of Francios-Adrien Boieldieu’s Harp Sonata. The girl played as if she’d never stopped, each note falling from her fingers effortlessly.
Niall’s head jerked toward Daphne, and he stared at her in disbelief, mouth falling open in shock. His typically shuttered gaze was open, showing her every bit of the joy and relief he felt in that moment, making her own eyes well up with tears.
She could only nod at the man in acknowledgment, her throat constricting, hands folding together over her chest as she looked on. Olivia finished Harp Sonata, but kept going, seamlessly finding her way into another composition, and then another. The other occupants of the room ceased to exist for her as she unleashed years’ worth of stifled talent, her mind seeming to call up the memory of every song she’d ever played.
By the third composition, Niall had tears in his eyes and a wide smile on his face—the first Daphne had ever seen. As he turned away from Olivia and lumbered toward her across the room, she could not conjure the usual unease he made her feel. Not when he was smiling at her as if she’d just placed the moon in his hands.
He leaned down from his towering height and yanked her toward him, wrapping his arms around her shoulders in a tight embrace. She gasped, momentarily stunned, but quickly recovered and returning the affection, bringing her hands up to rest on his back.
“Thank ye,” he rasped in her ear, his voice thick with emotion. “Thank ye for givin’ me back a part of her, lass.”
She smiled as her tears fell, wetting her cheeks. It was perhaps the warmest embrace she’d ever felt, and she did not know whether to be elated or shocked that the previously cold man proved capable of affection.
“Nonsense,” she managed through the lump in her throat. “It was you who did it, not me.”
Drawing back to look down at her, he held her shoulders tight and shook his head. “I was wrong about ye, ye know.”
She smiled and shrugged. “You simply did not know better. You can hardly be faulted for it.”
“Perhaps not,” he relented. “Still … I pegged ye as being like yer brother. I willnae make that mistake again.”
Releasing her, he went back to Olivia, sinking to his knees on the floor beside her chair. As if no one else were in the room, he leaned forward and laid his head against her thigh, resting in her lap with a deep sigh. Olivia opened her eyes and glanced down at him, but did not stop playing, seeming unable to break the spell that had fallen over her and brought a dead part of her back to life.
Daphne backed away, giving them space, edging closer to where Adam sat at the piano bench. Being so near him inevitably drew her gaze to him, and she found him watching her, and not his sister, his expression inscrutable as always.
Yet, she did not need him to say anything
, or for his eyes to emote his feelings. Because, when he reached for her, his touch was gentler than she’d ever felt it, his hands skimming her waist as he sank her onto his knee. Then, pulling her back against him, he laid his head upon her shoulder, burying his face in the fabric of her gown and inhaling, his breath coming out in a relieved rush.
He kissed her there, then turned his head and rested it against her, tightening both arms around her middle and keeping her close.
“Well done, little dove,” he whispered.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
livia played the harp until she nearly collapsed from exhaustion, slumping into Niall’s arms. As the butler rose, lifting her up and holding her close, she clung to him, eyes bright, a wide smile stretching her lips. He murmured something about getting her to bed so she could rest. Daphne left her place on Adam’s lap and went to Serena, hoping to pass the time before her afternoon nap with some time spent out of doors.
Adam declared his intention to join them, so together, the three of them made their way to the back courtyard together after collecting spencers for both herself and Serena to ward off the cold. Despite the crisp chill in the air, lack of clouds or fog allowed the sun to shine down into the little space, making the day more pleasant than the one before it had been.
While Adam settled onto a stone bench to watch them, she and Serena retrieved the skipping ropes they had left here a few days ago. They giggled together, their slippers slapping over the courtyard stones as they practiced skipping—Serena proving far better at it than Daphne. The rope kept tangling in the hem of her gown and around her ankles, making her quite terrible at it.
Amusement glistened in Adam’s eyes as he watched them, his posture and expression more relaxed than she’d seen it since she’d known him. She wondered if her presence here had had any impact on his mood. He certainly seemed less sour than he had been all the other times she’d encountered him since his appearance in London. She wanted to believe that she had something to do with the way his mouth curved into a little smirk just now, the green of his eyes more vibrant when he was in such a relaxed state.
You are being ridiculous, she told herself.
Of course it had nothing to do with her. He was simply content, with his sister and niece near, and Olivia doing so well now that she’d weaned herself off the laudanum. She was glad for him, truly, even if he was holding her captive and refused to let her go. She had come to terms with the reality of her situation … and could admit to herself that she did not mind being his captive so much. Being able to live in Fairchild House again, surrounded by the familiar, by him and his family. Sharing his bed. She did not want for anything, except an end to this feud between him and Bertram, which was far from over. It kept her from becoming completely comfortable, as she wondered if each day might be the day Adam made his move.
She did not have to wonder for long, as it turned out.
Serena dropped her skipping rope and declared that Adam could not catch them, to which Adam asserted that he most certainly could. Which then led to Daphne dropping her own rope and taking the girl’s hand, and the two of them leading Adam on a chase across the courtyard. They dodged him by slipping through a wrought iron archway draped in greenery and down a little path leading toward the back of the small garden.
It was there they found the figure of a man standing near the gate, hands braced on the metal railing, mouth twisted in an amused smirk as he eyed them over the vines wound around the iron.
Daphne stumbled to a halt, her hand tightening around Serena’s so tightly that the little girl yelped and squirmed, trying to wrestle out of her hold. But she clung to the child, pulling her back as the man pushed the gate open and stepped into the courtyard with a grin.
Blast it, she’d forgotten about the broken latch … something that should have been fixed ages ago, but that her father had neglected, as he’d had to do so many things with them in such dire straits.
“Bertram,” she spat, wrinkling her nose at her despicable brother.
He looked as if he’d just climbed out of the gutter, his clothing wrinkled and stained with things she’d rather not guess at. His hair stood on end, and his flushed cheeks and glassy expression told her he’d obviously spent the night before and much of the morning over-imbibing.
“Dear sister,” he said, his light tone undercut by the venom in his words. “Imagine my surprise when I happened to pass by during my walk to find you here.”
She scowled at him and attempted to push Serena behind her back, not stupid enough to believe he’d happened upon them by chance. He had known she would be here.
Heavy footsteps on the path behind them warned her of Adam’s approach, stiffening her spine and quickening her breath. Though her idiot of a brother did not seem at all fazed. It was almost as if he’d destroyed his own sense of self-preservation, drowning it in gin.
Adam’s hand shot out, fisting the front of Bertram’s shirt and snatching him forward. Her brother’s feet nearly left the ground as Adam loomed over him, a snarl twisting his mouth.
“You have ten seconds to get off my property before I snap your neck,” he growled, his voice trembling with a force that told her he was barely holding himself in check—and likely only because of Serena, standing there clinging to Daphne’s clothes.
Despite his precarious position, Bertram laughed. “Then I suppose I ought to state my business quickly. You see, I happened to encounter a man who once served as my father’s steward… a man who says he was let go once you took up residence at Fairchild House.”
A sinking feeling in the pit of Daphne’s gut made her feel wretchedly ill as she realized Bertram had them over a barrel before he’d even declared the rest. A household’s servants were privy to many of its secrets and could usually be counted upon to be discreet. But a man who had worked for her father, who had been let go and cast out by the new resident of the house, would feel no loyalty toward the home’s newest occupant.
“What do I care that you’ve sunk so low you now take to drinking and consorting with servants?” Adam spat, seeming oblivious to what was coming while Daphne was far too aware.
Bertram raised an eyebrow and inclined his head. “Interesting, the things he heard and saw when coming to collect his final week’s pay from your butler … things concerning a certain sister appearing here in the middle of the night … a child fitting the description of that one, there.”
Daphne put a protective arm out as if to shield Serena, but it would change nothing. Bertram had already gotten a good look at the girl.
Adam stiffened, his shoulders drawing so tight, it was no wonder they didn’t rip the seams of his shirt. “Be careful what you say next.”
Bertram shoved away from him, a harsh bark of laughter shaking his slender frame. “No … you are the one who ought to be careful here. You see, I find it curious, the features and coloring of this child who has been hidden away in Scotland for so many years. Five years, to be exact, yes?”
Adam’s hand curled into a fist, and he drew it back as if to strike, a snarl tearing from deep in his chest. “I will kill you—”
“Fifty thousand pounds,” Bertram declared smugly, only seeming slightly threatened by the massive fist about to wreak havoc on his visage.
Adam paused, his brow creasing. “What?”
“For my silence,” Bertram added. “Fifty thousand pounds is what I require to turn around, go home, and keep my silence about the girl.”
Despite having known this was coming, indignation bristled Daphne’s spine, and she stepped forward, wedging herself between the two men and jabbing a finger at Bertram’s chest.
“Am I to believe you are blackmailing us?”
Her brother sneered. “Oh, it is us now, is it? Tell me, Daphne, what has he said or done to make you feel as if you are truly a part of his little family … as if you are anything more than a whore who warms his bed?”
Her own hands curled into fists, and she nearly used them on him, but the hold of A
dam’s hands on her upper arms stayed her. She glanced back to find him glowering at Bertram, his body practically vibrating with the force of his rage.
“You see, I’ve already met with a magistrate,” Bertram added, shifting his gaze to Adam with a smug smirk. “And he assures me that the law is on my side here. The child is clearly mine, and has been kept from me all these years. I’ve been told the mother is fit for Bedlam, so it is in the best interest of the child to be placed in my custody.”
“Over my dead body,” Adam growled, shifting at Daphne’s back.
She pressed a hand to his midsection and tried to steady him, knowing that if he unleashed his wrath onto Bertram, he would not be able to stop. Serena did not need to witness such violence.
Bertram shrugged one shoulder. “I do not require so hefty a payment, Hartmoor. Fifty thousand pounds will do. I will give you three days to deliver the funds before I pay another visit with the magistrate at my side.”
He turned to walk away, but the sudden appearance of Niall threw the courtyard into chaos. The butler came stomping down the path, his face a study in rage, hands clenched into meaty fists.
“You,” he rasped, pointing an accusing finger at Bertram.
In the blink of an eye, he’d closed the distance between them, grasping Bertram’s lapels and shaking him like a rag doll. Then, his fist drew back and landed, crashing into her brother’s face, producing a most satisfying spray of blood. However, that satisfaction did not last long, as Daphne realized Niall did not intend to stop.
Serena screamed, burying her face in Daphne’s skirt as Niall threw Bertram against the fence and began pummeling him. Bertram grunted and groaned, trying without success to free himself from the butler’s ironclad hold on his shirt, unable to dodge the large fist crashing into his face, his ribs, his gut.
Glancing at Adam, she found him looking on in silence, his face expressionless, arms crossed over his chest. She took hold of his arm and shook him, eyes wide with shock as she realized he meant to do nothing.
