Patience pursed her lips together. His substantial chest was directly in front of her, teasing her. She knew what it felt like to be crushed into his embrace, but she wasn’t going to let him get away with that last sentence. “No,” she said.
“You won’t do it?” He stepped back the slightest amount, creating space between them. Unacceptable.
“Of course not.” She grabbed him by the lapels of his coat and pulled him back to her. “Why would I write something you would never get a chance to read?”
Patience pulled herself up on her toes, using her grip on his coat as leverage. His arms wrapped around her waist and lifted her the last few inches until her toes only skimmed the ground. “You honestly think you will never be upset with me?” he asked.
Blast. Nicholas had long since told Anthony of the reasons for her forced honesty. There was no getting around an answer. “Well, I suppose at some point you may frustrate me a little.”
He bent at the waist as he leaned toward her ear, allowing her feet to stand firmly back on the ground. She was expecting a kiss, but instead, he only whispered. “Make me a list, darling. I will read it whether you are upset with me or not.”
She had no quick reply, no flippant remark. When Anthony was this close to her, it was as if her mind was in a haze. “All right.”
He smiled, and Patience was brought back to the first time she’d met him in the garden, so stiff and formal. She never would have thought that young man would someday find himself in that same garden with his arms around her. He leaned down and kissed her, his mouth warm despite the chill in the air. He cupped her face in his hand and explored more and more of her lips. Her shoulders relaxed as she fell deeper into the kiss. In the distance, she could hear Mama singing. Not one of her recent French ballads, but instead a fast-paced children’s song.
A nudge at her knee brought her mind back to focus. She opened her eyes to find Ollie pushing his nose between the two of them. She shoved him a bit with her leg, but it only made him more insistent.
Anthony firmly pressed one last time on her bottom lip and then pulled away.
He narrowed one eye at the Great Dane. “Ollie may remind you of me, but I’m afraid he isn’t ready to give up his position of power yet.”
“He will have to get used to it.”
“Yes, he will. Is that your mother singing or one of the maids?”
“No, that is Mama. I’m surprised you haven’t heard her sing yet.”
“Her voice is . . .” Anthony paused. It was difficult to devise a word to describe Mama’s singing. “Energetic. The children must be having a wonderful time.”
“They might be, but I’m certain Nicholas is barely tolerating it. He has probably run out of lectures for Harry about proper forms of address.” Their home was so full and alive with the children here, and even before they came, it had never felt empty. Nicholas and Mama would have to return to an empty home this afternoon. She wished there was something she could do to help. Even the music room window looked darker than the others in their home, as if it knew her family had brought their problems with them. “I worry about how I left the two of them alone. Our house used to be filled with happy moments. Now I fear it isn’t filled with anything.”
Just then, the music changed, and Mama started a soft, slow love song. It was one Patience had only heard her sing twice since she’d returned from France. She hadn’t been able to sing it through either time, always faltering and then stopping halfway through when it mentioned the man always being there.
Her voice was strong and resolute now though. Perhaps this time she would finish. With only one line to go before reaching the one she could never sing, her voice started to falter. The keys on the piano kept playing, but her voice came in and out.
Like the strains of a finely tuned cello, a soft but deep baritone joined in with Mama. It started off quiet, but by the second line, the volume matched what hers had been. Mama’s innocent soprano joined back in, and together, they sang two more lines. And then Nicholas broke from the melody to harmonize. Patience hadn’t heard him sing for at least four years. The sound wafted into the garden, coating the trees and shrubbery with music.
Patience fell forward into Anthony’s coat and breathed in his scent to stop the tears forming in her eyes. He placed his hand on the top of her head and held her close to him.
He cleared his throat. “Nicholas has a fine voice.”
She could only nod against him.
“They are going to be all right.”
Her voice finally started to cooperate. “I know.”
“Should we go in and join them?”
“Not yet. I want to listen for just a few more minutes.”
The music coming from inside the house changed to one of Papa’s favorites. This time, Nicholas sang the opening notes of the ballad. Mama’s voice started, faltered, and then started again. Each time she lost her voice, Nicholas would sing with more enthusiasm until Mama’s voice was strong again.
The music room window no longer looked dark. Music had changed it somehow. Perhaps Mama had always known that was what was going to bring her family back together. At least for a little bit. At least for this moment. And what more was life than powerful moments strung together to create a vibrant melody?
Anthony laced his fingers through Patience’s and pulled her back toward the house. The gravel crunched under their feet, and the wind had stopped blowing enough for the sun to warm their backs.
“You know, you never gave Nicholas that letter of recommendation,” Patience said. “I worked very hard to earn that.”
“I also owe you twelve shillings.”
“When are you planning on fulfilling your promises?”
They had reached the door that led into their home. Anthony placed his hand on the knob and then turned to Patience and kissed her on the nose.
“As soon as you make me that list.”
About the Author
Esther Hatch grew up on a cherry orchard in rural Utah. After high school, she alternated living in Russia to teach children English and attending Brigham Young University in order to get a degree in archaeology. She began writing when one of her favorite authors invited her to join a critique group. The only catch was she had to be a writer. Not one to be left out of an opportunity to socialize and try something new, she started on her first novel that week.
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Other Books By Esther Hatch
Roses of Feldstone