Wolfe stepped away so the two might continue their conversation. Isla shared his passion for music.
Wolfe was happy Isla seemed content. He entered into a conversation with Lord Pierce. The man’s interest in music was decidedly less developed. Lord Pierce’s interests were more in the direction of helping others, and he proceeded to speak about intricate politics instead.
Wolfe eventually made an excuse so that he could visit the jeweler. When he found the group, they were debating the merits of visiting The Lamb’s Inn.
“Let’s go to the tavern,” Callum said. “I haven’t been there in years.”
“I’m sure it’s not proper to take the ladies there,” Hamish said.
“Ha,” Callum scoffed. “This isn’t London. We can find a private room there.”
Wolfe followed them into the tavern. It didn’t matter what they did now. He had the ring.
He entered the now familiar tavern, ducking slightly to avoid the low medieval beams. Wolfe scanned the crowd. Several of the men had been there when Flora and he had been there last.
“Ah, it’s the earl,” one of the people in the tavern said.
“Where’s your lady friend?” one person asked.
The others looked at him.
“Lady friend?” Callum asked, and Wolfe attempted to appear unfazed by the comment. He’d promised himself to not reveal anything about Flora, and he certainly was not going to break that vow before Lord Pierce and Mr. Warne.
“They played the most beautiful piano together,” one man said, and his eyes took on a dreamy tone.
“Is that so?” Mr. Warne asked.
“Aye. It’s rare to see a woman play so well.”
Wolfe cleared his throat. “They are referring to my Christmas consultant.”
Mr. Warne’s eyes widened. Evidently Harrison was not the only person who found Flora’s occupation unexpected.
“You’re not speaking about Flora?” Callum asked.
“I am,” Wolfe said. “She is remarkably talented.”
“Like an angel,” the burly publican said, and his eyes glazed, as if he were even now remembering her music.
Wolfe didn’t blame him in the slightest.
“How extraordinary,” Callum said.
“Remarkable,” his wife breathed.
“You appear shocked,” Mr. Warne said, addressing Callum.
“She used to be my wife’s maid,” Callum said.
“A maid?” Mr. Warne’s eyes narrowed, and he steepled his fingers together. “How very extraordinary to find her so talented. I would have thought it odd that she’d even know how to play.”
“We weren’t aware of it. But we would have let her practice had we known.”
“Oh, indeed,” the duchess said.
“We don’t need to speak about her more,” Wolfe said quickly. He knew she respected her privacy.
“Oh, but you must. She truly is such a good musician,” the publican said.
She was.
All these people were so eager to have her play for them again. If he could not convince Flora to remain with him, he wanted to give her the opportunity to play her compositions before an audience. It was her dream after all. She’d never even heard her work be played before. The musicians he’d hired would be able to do that.
If she did decide to stay with Wolfe, she might still be nervous of playing in London, even under his protection.
But this was Scotland. This was the upper, fairer portions of Scotland, away from whatever harm she’d come from. Why not have her play here?
He smiled, contemplating how he might make the ball even nicer.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The musicians were practicing playing, and the house was filled with Christmas music, even though their guests would not arrive for a few hours. Wolfe paced the ballroom, but everything was perfect. Garlands draped from wooden beams in the old ballroom, melding well with the old fashioned wood. His parents had always despised the room, thinking it should be more modern, more like the glittering ballrooms that let in lots of light, even though people only danced in them at dark. Those ballrooms had cerulean ceilings with gods and goddesses perched on clouds wearing very little. But there was something about this starkness that Wolfe appreciated. It was not pretentious, in fact with Flora’s touch it felt like home, more even than when he was a child.
The air was infused with the scent of oranges and cloves. Fire danced in the great stone fireplace in one corner of the room. Flora had found dark red curtains that suited the Christmas spirit and had draped them over the windows, including the ones that led to the few balconies.
The candles were not all lit yet. That would happen sooner, before the guests arrived, but they were placed around the room, and he could imagine how beautiful it would look in a few hours.
Flora flitted about the ballroom, making everything look lovely. It was difficult for him not to stare at her.
It would be easy to say she was below him, merely because of her birth. Many other people would say the same. Perhaps if he married her he would spend the rest of his life noting the raised eyes that lifted when they entered a room together.
Devil it.
He wanted to speak to her. He crossed the ballroom, despising the way her eyes widened, as if she didn’t expect to see him.
“It’s you,” she breathed.
“You appear surprised,” he said softly.
“We had a good time. That is all. You needn’t be speaking more. You certainly haven’t been doing that lately.”
“Oh, Flora,” he said. “I have longed to speak to you.”
Her eyes knit with confusion. “To say goodbye?”
“No,” he said.
For a moment her face seemed to crumple. “I am leaving in the morning.”
“Look,” he said. “Just promise to save me a waltz.”
“But I’m a guest,” she said.
“And yet I cannot think of a lovelier waltz partner,” he said, taking her hands in his. He wanted to take her in his arms and he wished the ballroom were not filled with quite so many footmen.
He left her, wanting to say everything to her, but not wanting to disrupt his sister’s event.
Finally, horses pranced outside the windows. The first guests were arriving. Festive jingles rang out, and Wolfe smiled. He offered Isla his arm. “I believe now is the time when we should greet our guests.”
“Your guests,” she said. “You arranged it.”
“With some help,” he said. He touched his pocket, conscious of the ring inside. He was eager to propose to Flora, but he would wait until after the ball. Isla deserved that. He didn’t want anyone to speaking about anything except how beautiful his sister was.
“You look magnificent,” he said.
“It’s really no effort,” she said nonchalantly, but her eyes sparkled, and he knew he’d made her happy.
She wore a ruby colored dress that glimmered in the light. Black lace was embroidered around the neckline which was rather lower than he thought appropriate, though he wasn’t going to begin the ball by questioning her on that. There were some things one shouldn’t discuss.
“That color is very festive,” he said.
“Oh?” She waved a fan.
“It’s almost as if you truly like Christmas,” he said.
“Perhaps this was a good idea. It was quite amusing to look for this.” She glanced at the ceiling and at the many garlands. “I do wonder what our parents would make of all this.”
“Most likely they would lecture about how this is a fire hazard.”
“Yes. They were always sensible.”
“Perhaps,” he said. “But they weren’t always kind.”
Isla squeezed his hand. “You’ve made things up to Callum,” she said gently.
“Do you mind that I gave him back the castle Father took from him? I should perhaps have asked you, but—”
She shook her head. “No. It was good you did that.”
More p
eople streamed into the room. The musicians played a minuet, and some enthusiastic party-goers began to dance.
“This is quite the grandest ball the Highlands has ever seen, my dear brother,” Isla said.
He grinned proudly. “Ah, yes. I am glad you think that.”
“What some of these people want all the way in the Highlands is beyond me. I’m sure they don’t all have relatives here.”
“Perhaps some of them desire to spend time with you,” Wolfe said gently.
“Oh. I see. Is that why there are so many eligible men here?”
“I’m glad you found them eligible too.”
FLORA CONTINUED TO move about the room, making certain everything was lovely. People laughed and danced. Some exclaimed over the Christmas tree, and others marveled at the yule log.
Her heart still raced, pondering Wolfe’s strange desire to dance with her. He’d abandoned her easily once his sister and friends arrived. Why would he want to dance a waltz? They’d danced a waltz together before, and it had been intimate and incredible, and not something she could dance before hundreds of guests without revealing just how much she cared for him.
Wolfe’s gaze seemed to be often on her. He was standing before the Christmas tree now, speaking with one of the musicians. He turned toward her, and she abruptly averted her gaze, but not before she saw a smile spread on his lips.
How on earth was she going to forget his smile? She hadn’t forgotten him ever since she was a child, and she knew him so much better now.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Wolfe announced, and the room quieted. “I would like to announce, that we have a talented artist with us tonight.”
Some people clapped.
“The most talented artist in fact, that I have ever met.”
Murmurings sounded, and he beamed.
Her heart fluttered. This wasn’t in the schedule.
“I’ve been to many concerts over the years,” he said. “But it is my supreme honor to introduce Miss Flora Schmidt.”
He intended her to...play?
He strode toward her. “Come, Flora.”
“Are you certain, my lord?”
“I couldn’t be more certain.” He led her to the piano, and leaned toward her. “The others will accompany you.”
“The other...”
“Musicians.” He smiled. “I want you to have your moment. Those compositions are not just for the piano. I want you to hear what your music sounds like. Whatever else happens, I want you to have this moment.”
“What else do you exactly intend to happen?”
His eyes glimmered. “One surprise at a time, sweetheart.”
She sat down at the piano.
“You mustn’t look so surprised to be here,” Wolfe said. “You’re the very best pianist I know.”
Right. Of course. He admired her talent. That was all. He would admire her talent even if she were a hoary-haired octogenarian man, and he would likely gush about the same enthusiasm about his discovery. If she weren’t here, he would laud his performers instead.
Naturally he would laud her performance. He lauded everything.
Her heart ached. Something about his boyish enthusiasm was appealing, and she could see how he’d managed to create a gaming hell, even when he’d been young, even when so many people must have been shocked, and even when many people must have doubted his vision. No one had thought many people would come all the way to the Highlands for a Christmas ball, but evidently they had.
He’d radiated charisma, and she’d fallen for it, even though the one thing servant girls whispered to one another was that one should never ever be taken advantage of by the master. One should never listen to their praise, one should never think it was something more.
She’d considered herself intelligent, and she’d laughed at being told something so obvious.
But here she was. She’d fallen for it.
At least Wolfe and she had taken precautions, but she didn’t know if that made her feel better, because even though it was mad, she still thought about him, still yearned to lie in his arms again.
“I would speak more, but you have an audience.”
She nodded and her heart thundered.
The room was quiet, and Flora placed her fingers on the piano keys. Her heart beat madly, and she wondered how she might ever remember to play the notes at the correct tempo if even the simple influx and outflux of breath seemed challenging. The glossy white and black keys remained enticing, remained familiar, even if the large ballroom filled with onlookers was not.
And so she played.
She played notes she’d scribbled while working at the vicarage and in London, she played notes from her heart, and then, most incredibly, the musicians joined her.
Wolfe must have found her music and hand copied it for them. He hadn’t only been entertaining guests. He’d been thinking of her.
He was right. Soon she would go to Cornwall, but now she could enjoy playing her music with so many others. She wasn’t in London. She was safe.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Flora finished playing. She rose from the piano. The music was finished, but it had been replaced by a new sound, that of applause.
It thundered through the room.
Her heart sang, and she moved from the piano, into the thick crowd of people.
A hand grabbed onto her.
Wolfe.
Of course he was there beside her, and her heart warmed.
In the next moment she was pushed behind the Christmas tree, and then behind the balcony.
“Hello... Miss Schmidt.” The voice didn’t belong to Wolfe or any of the footmen and male servants, and a shiver shot through her spine.
It’s him.
She didn’t want to look at him. She didn’t want to confirm what every nerve ending seemed to naturally know: that it was him, the man who killed her father and who could only want to harm her.
Where was Wolfe? She needed to find him. He always made her feel safe.
“Don’t leave,” Mr. Warne said. Something glinted in the moonlight.
A knife.
She inhaled sharply.
“If you try to leave, I’ll be compelled to hurt you. You don’t want that, do you?”
She shook her head rapidly, staring at the knife.
“How odd,” Mr. Warne remarked. “Back in London you went by a different name. I suppose you were ashamed of your father.”
She swung her head at him. “Leave my father out of this.”
He grinned. “Ah. It is really you. I am certain. I thought it doubtful two women could play the piano so beautifully.”
“Many people play the piano beautifully,” she said.
“You are too humble. Besides, those were your own compositions, were they not? You always did consider yourself a composer. Foolish child and now foolish woman.”
She stiffened.
“Come with me now,” he said, his voice suave and gentle.
“I couldn’t possibly,” she said.
“You think anyone notices you?” the man continued, clasping onto her hand. “Do you think you’re special?”
“No.”
“You’re a servant. No one notices a missing servant.” The man forced her toward the balcony. In the next moment he opened the door and shoved her outside into the cool air.
Perhaps she could escape. Perhaps she could scream. Perhaps—
Something cold that she recognized as a barrel pressed into her back.
“Now, don’t do anything crazy,” he said. “Better you just die than to suffer more.”
“Is it?” she asked, “if it means they catch you?”
His eyes twinkled. “You don’t want to know what I can do. Might go after that earl of yours. You were making eyes at him quite a bit. As if a man like him would notice a woman like you.”
“You followed me here and you somehow weaseled your way into an invitation,” Flora said.
“Nonsense,” Mr. Warne said. “I didn’t
need to do that.”
“You have some magical powers? These are good people. You shouldn’t be here.”
“I thought you knew more than that,” Mr. Warne said. “I was invited here. Finding you was a fortunate coincidence.”
Flora blinked.
“You didn’t know? These are my friends.”
Her eyes widened farther.
“I often go with the host to concerts together,” Mr. Warne said.
“You did always like music.”
“Like it? I was good at it.”
“Then why did you murder your piano tutor?” Flora asked.
“That had nothing to do with music. Now, I’m thinking, I could just kill you right here and be done with you.”
“What if someone finds the body?” she asked smugly.
“I’ll hide it.”
“You think people won’t notice? There are couples skating on the lake below,” Flora said.
There weren’t, but he didn’t need to know that.
“Is that so?”
She raised her chin. “There are all sorts of festive activities. It’s Christmas after all.”
“Well, luckily, I’m not planning on taking you on a walk around the estate. I imagine you already know it too well. We’re going to enter my carriage and drive from here. And if you say anything, I won’t hesitate to kill the groom outside. He looks pretty young. Thirteen? Fourteen?”
Flora’s heart sank.
The man had murdered before.
SOON IT WOULD BE THE waltz. Wolfe went in search of Flora, but he did not see her. He frowned and asked some of the footmen. They hadn’t seen her since her piano performance.
She was gone.
The ballroom was filled with people, but none of them were her. No one had her precise facial shape, and no one had her precise form.
Why would she leave now? Was it possible she didn’t want to dance with him, didn’t want to be with him?
He despised the hint of doubt that drifted through him, twisting his organs in odd manners, so that he felt simultaneously nauseous and faint.
Wolfe clenched his fists. He had no intention of spending the rest of his life knowing he’d met the perfect person for himself, one who shared his interests, and that he’d let her walk from his very own ballroom.
The Earl's Christmas Consultant (Wedding Trouble Book 3) Page 12
