“Lovely.” He murmured noncommittally.
The few moments he’d spent talking with Charlotte had been the most pleasant in recent memory. Her eyes had sparkled as she’d argued how romance involved politics. And by god, she’d had a point. Was it possible that he might be as attracted to her intelligence as he was to her countenance?
Or did his emotions go beyond that? Was it possible that two people were created for one another at the onset of their existence? The woman had quite thrown him for a loop. He’d never believed in such folly.
To be honest with himself, he’d never believed in love—the romantic kind, that was. He believed in familial love, which developed over years, cultivated with loyalty and responsibility.
“Would you care to take a stroll to the orangery?” Miss Fairchild touched his arm.
He’d barely been aware that she had set her artwork aside.
He glanced out to see the storm had increased in its intensity. Damned if he wasn’t trapped here for the day, and likely the night. He scrubbed one hand down his face.
Anything would be better than spending his time looking at fashion drawings. “I’d be delighted.”
And so, he spent the next hour strolling through Viscount Denton’s manor, all the while, enduring conversation as stilted as it had been before Charlotte joined them earlier.
In truth, worse.
When the sound of male laughter echoed into the foyer from the direction of the billiards room, Anthony sensed a chance for escape.
“Your cousins?” He flicked a glance in the direction the voices were coming from.
“And uncles. Do you play billiards, my lord? Do you enjoy it?” If he was not mistaken, she wished to escape him as well.
“Indeed.” And then a hesitant step away from her. “Do you mind?”
A sound that resembled something in-between a choke and a laugh gurgled from her. He was right. Any attempt she made to hide her own relief right now would be quite futile. “I’m certain Mama has had a chamber prepared for you. Simply ask any of the servants when you’re ready to retire.” She walked backwards as she spoke.
And she was to be his wife.
No small amount of relief swept through him when he stepped into the all-male domain, decorated in rich heavy wooden tones. He was greeted heartily.
And scotch? Ah, yes. He’d love one.
And another. Ah yes, why not another?
Three hours later, he’d completely forgotten the reason he’d come. Something to do with a marriage contract? He struggled to maintain his balance when finally going in search of a servant to show him to his room.
Not just any servant.
Charlotte.
Chapter 8
Music of the Heart
Miraculously left alone for the afternoon, Charlotte searched out some lemon oil and a soft cloth. Ever since spying the gleaming piano in the seldom used music room, her first day as a member of the staff, she’d felt compelled to… polish it.
And it did, in fact, require dusting. Such a shame to ignore such a beautiful instrument for days on end. She sat down at the pianoforte and discovered her task for the afternoon.
The ivory keys were a dull, yellowish color. Taking a moment to fetch milk and a cleaning paste, time ceased to exist when she returned and set herself to scrubbing at each key individually. Occasionally, she’d set the cloth aside and allow her fingers to dance across them in one of her favorite runs. So caught up in the task was she that she didn’t hear the door open. She only knew she was no longer alone, until an achingly familiar voice startled her.
“Charlotte.”
She hadn’t known him for even a week. Yet, in some ironic twist of fate, he’d come to mean the world to her.
Her fingers stilled. She glanced over her shoulder, and she let out a sigh of relief to discover that at least he’d come alone.
“My lord,” she answered. Did he have need of her? Was he searching for her on Susan’s request? Charlotte reluctantly pushed back the bench and began to rise.
“Don’t get up on my behalf.” He closed the door behind him and sauntered across the room. “You play?” Now he was standing, leaning really, against the wood she’d polished earlier.
Feeling self-conscious, she nodded. He should not be here. “I played for my father’s congregation.”
“You enjoy it.” She glanced up briefly. His eyes were hooded and lazy. More sensual than normal…
“I do.” She answered tentative. “Are you… well?”
He laughed, a low, ironic sounding chuckle. “As well as can be expected.” And then, “Play for me?”
It could not hurt. Could it? Playing for others always gave her more pleasure than simply playing for herself. It forced her to concentrate harder. She tried to channel her emotions so the listener might feel the music as it was meant to be…
“Play something soothing.”
It was Christmas, after all. She did not require sheet music for the song she had in mind. Immediately, she lost herself in her favorite carol. And she sang.
* * *
The first Noel, the Angel did say
Was to three poor Shepherds in fields as they lay.
In fields where they lay keeping their sheep,
In a cold winter’s night that was so deep.
Noel, noel, noel, noel.
Born is the King of Israel.
* * *
She knew every verse by heart and finally finished up with the last one.
* * *
If we in our time shall do well
We shall be free from death and Hell
For God hath prepared for us all
A resting place in general.
* * *
Charlotte ended the final note tenderly. She had nearly forgotten she wasn’t alone. The song brought back so many memories of her father, the life she knew…
“You’ve a gift.” Lord Mapleton spoke the words softly. “Both the playing and the singing.”
Heat crawled up Charlotte’s neck into her cheeks. She wasn’t embarrassed, but it had been so long since she’d been paid a compliment. She blinked away a sudden stinging behind her eyes. Music had always affected her emotionally.
“Thank you.” She’d change the subject away from herself. “Do you play?”
In answer, he walked closer and indicated she allow him to join her on the bench. “Not as well as you. My mother insisted we all take lessons at a young age.”
He played some of the melody from another lively Christmas carol. She joined him in adding to the song. At the song’s finish, they absorbed the silent peace that always followed music.
His touch had affected her before, almost beyond reason. But in that moment, without warning, the effect of his nearness was nearly too much to bear. His physical person tugged at her, like a magnet. To keep from leaning into him, she slid off her side of the bench. She retrieved the cloth she’d used earlier and wiped at the wooden cover.
“Originally this lovely instrument was called the gravicembalo col piano e forte.” She needed to fill the silence between them before she said something she oughtn’t. “It translates to ‘keyboard instrument that’s soft and loud.’ Which is far too wordy and so it was shortened to pianoforte.” She knew she was rambling. Likely she sounded like a stuffy governess––telling him something he already knew.