Chapter 14

Spread out across the small music room, half of it consumed by the pianoforte, Nathaniel settled in to watch Leah play. Sarah sat at the bench with her daughter, braced to turn the pages of the sheet music when the moment came though Nathaniel suspected it was for a simpler reason—to offer moral support. Meanwhile, Abigail was yawning rudely in the far corner, so dismissive of Leah that Nathaniel had half a mind to scold her there and then.

Do not make me do that, Mother. I do not want to do that. Do not turn me into him, he urged silently as if his words could reach his mother's mind, but she was ignoring him.

However, as Leah began to play the first notes of a familiar song, the room stilled as though even the air was holding its breath. Abigail sat up a little straighter, her eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to remember the song. Nathaniel knew it: Sonata No. 14—a piece that could bring grown men to tears and make ladies weep for the lost loves they had never had.

Leah closed her eyes, her hands dancing a smooth waltz across the keys, the notes fluid and mesmerizing, rising and falling, playing softly one moment and with ferocity the next, the light and shadow of the music revealed by the storytelling of her fingertips as she weaved it into the air. A sorrowful tale to some. A hopeful tale to others. A peaceful tale to many more.

As Nathaniel watched the music travel up her arms and into her body, making her sway and rise and fall with the ebb and flow of the song, he longed to know what story was playing in her head. She seemed sad yet at peace, but when she pushed herself into the darker, more desperate notes, there was an anger in her that bristled up her spine and curved her shoulders, driving her hands harder into the keys. If Abigail was worried about her pianoforte, she did not show it. Instead, out of the corner of his eye, Nathaniel saw her swallow uncomfortably as she discreetly slipped a handkerchief out of her sleeve. A moment later, she turned her head and dabbed the silk against her eyes.

She is crying. Nathaniel's heart ached though he could not be sure if it was his mother's tears or the music or the sadness upon Leah's face or all three together.

As the notes softened once more, so did every fiber of Leah's being, her fingertips barely touching the keys as her body swayed like a reed in a gentle summer breeze. But the breeze appeared to be bringing a storm with it as the music swelled one final time, and Leah poured her heart and soul into every note, her eyes still closed as she played. She had not needed her mother there at all, for she had it all safely in her memory, dredged up from the lonely days after her wedding day abandonment where the pianoforte had been her only sanctuary—just as she had said.

Nathaniel might not have known how she played before her fruitless wedding day, but if this was her "much improved," she was being far too modest. She was… exceptional. Indeed, he did not have the words to describe how she was moving him, for though he liked music well enough, he could not remember ever having such a visceral reaction.

Touching his cheek, he realized there were tears upon it—tears that she had coaxed from eyes that had not cried in almost twenty years. The last time he had wept was the first time he was thrown into a boxing ring. After that, his eyes had dried up entirely, never daring to shed another tear. Yet, here they were, running down his face… and he was not alone. His mother had ceased trying to dab away the evidence, her shoulders shaking as she released whatever pain she had been holding onto, pain that Leah's music, Beethoven's music, had given Abigail permission to relinquish.

And sitting upon the bench, Sarah's eyes shone with tears as she gazed at her daughter in wonder as though she had never heard her play before. Perhaps, she had not.

At last, and all too soon, Leah played the final, gentle notes of the piece and let her fingertips fall from the keys and into her lap. There, she sat for a few moments, her eyes still closed, lost in the magic she had just conjured, oblivious to the fact that the rest of the room had crumbled.

Hesitantly, she cracked open one eye and searched the music room. It took Nathaniel a moment too long to realize why—no one had applauded her talent. Indeed, he realized she must have been thinking she had played awfully if no one could offer a single round of applause.

"A masterpiece!" Nathaniel shot up, clapping as loudly as he could, hoping she could not see the tears upon his cheeks. "My goodness, Leah, you said you loved to play, but you did not say that the pianoforte loves you in return! If I had known, I would have demanded to hear you play at the Dibney's party."

He blinked in surprise as Abigail also got to her feet, smacking her palms together with gusto. "You are… very good, Lady Leah," she conceded tearfully. "I have never heard that played so… beautifully. I fear you have… stolen my breath away with your talents, for I cannot… speak." She blew her nose on her handkerchief, shaking her head as though she could shake away her feelings. "Goodness, how foolish of me. I must powder my nose at once. Please, excuse me."

Before Nathaniel could think to stop her, his mother hurried from the room, leaving Leah looking more perplexed than before.

"Is she well?" Leah asked, chewing her lip.

Nathaniel smiled. "She will be. She is unaccustomed to showing emotion in public, but it will be a swift recovery, I am sure." He paused, the room too hot, his own emotions too wild. "Leah, might I interest you in a walk in the gardens? I find myself in need of fresh air, but I would enjoy your company if you are not averse?"

"Mama?" Leah said as if asking permission.

Sarah, in the midst of dabbing her own eyes, wafted a hand. "Go and enjoy the garden. I shall watch from here while I tend to this leak that has sprung from my very heart." She sighed, smiling. "I had no notion you were so talented, Leah. When we return to Druidstone, I will insist upon you playing the pianoforte in the Grand Drawing Room every day."

"No, Mama, for that is why no one has heard me," Leah explained, her demeanor adorably bashful. "I am not allowed into the Grand Drawing Room, and Father certainly would not allow me to play his pianoforte. I have been using the smaller one in the old chapel so as not to disturb anyone."

Sarah pulled a face. "Nonsense. From now on, that pianoforte is yours."

"Well, you shall have to be the one to persuade him," Leah said, rising to her feet, and she took Nathaniel's proffered arm.

With that, Nathaniel led her to the French doors at the rear of the music room which opened out into the long, lawned garden of the Mayfair townhouse. It was not nearly as beautiful as the gardens at Bergfield Manor, and certainly not the gardens at Druidstone Abbey, but it was pleasant enough for a stroll to clear his mind and dry the tears on his cheeks.

Leah leaned as far into Nathaniel's side as she dared, wishing she had paused to request her pelisse and fur tippet, for it was bitterly cold out in the shadowed gardens, especially after the heat of the music room and the warmth that always came when she played the pianoforte.

"Are you cold?" he asked, covering her hand with his.

She shrugged. "A little."

"Come this way," he urged, guiding her across the dew-soaked lawn to a structure at the far end. A pavilion of sorts with glass windows and what appeared to be a brazier glowing in the darkness. "The footmen like to come out here after they have served dinner. My mother demands that the townhouse be as hot as a furnace, but it is too toasty for everyone else."

Leah hesitated. "Will the footmen not be annoyed that we have taken their spot?"

"They will be retiring for the night," Nathaniel promised, holding her hand until she was settled upon the steps of the pavilion, right in front of the heat of the brazier. Only then did he sit beside her, bringing his palms up to the glowing heat as he murmured, "It seems you really meant it when you said you had secrets."

She shook her head. "I did not say I had secrets. You did."

"Did I?"

She nodded, noting that dark shadow under his eye. "I imagine you meant your clumsiness."

"Ah, well, that is not something a gentleman wishes to mention when he is courting a beautiful, talented woman," he replied, chuckling softly. For reasons unknown, the sound of that laughter annoyed Leah. Was the thought of courting her, truly courting her, really so amusing?

"But we are not courting," she said stiffly.

He paused, frowning down at her. "No, but for us to be believed, I suppose we must behave as if it is real." He tilted his head to one side, making her squirm beneath the heat of his gaze.

"What are you looking at?" she grumbled, meeting his gaze with narrowed eyes.

He smiled. "You. I am trying to figure out how you became a spinster. It is unfathomable to me that a gentleman—nay, a thousand gentlemen have not sought your hand in marriage." A funny laugh escaped his throat, partway between a choke and a hiccup. "You are remarkable, Leah. So, I cannot understand it."

"You should be able to if you think hard enough." Leah brought her knees up to her chest, resting her chin in the dip between the peaks.

Nathaniel scoffed. "Because that wretched weasel jilted you? No, that is not reason enough. If any gentleman has been granted the honor of an evening in your company, they would surely follow it with a marriage proposal, regardless of what happened between you and Jonathan."

"No gentleman has been granted my company until you," Leah replied cautiously, uncertain of how much to reveal. "It is because I was jilted, but not in the way you might think. After that day, I vowed never to trust a man again in any capacity, and the easiest way to ensure that vow is to avoid them all together."

"You do not trust me?"

She shrugged. "Not too much. That is why we have a contract."

"If I had suffered as you have, I suppose I would feel the same," Nathaniel said, but he did not sound sure. "Apologies, Leah. I do not mean to spin in circles with you, but are you quite certain you did not love Jonathan? Why would you close yourself to the possibility of meeting a better gentleman if he did not have some sort of hold upon you?"

Anger flared in her chest, her cold hands clenching. "There was no love, and I shall not tell you again. I trusted that cretin with my reputation, and he destroyed it. Imagine what he would have done with my heart had I been foolish enough to give it?"

He nodded sagely, but that doubt still lingered in his expression. The longer it stayed there, the more irritated Leah became, for it was like trying to insist to a constable that she had not committed a crime while being hauled away in manacles, her pleas ignored entirely. He did not believe her, and deep down, she did not believe herself which only made it more infuriating.

"You heard the lady," a voice drifted out from the dark, startling Leah. "He has always been stubborn, Lady Leah."

Nathaniel jumped to his feet. "Colin, is that you? What have I told you about hiding in the gardens at night? You almost scared Leah to death!"

"Scared you, you mean," the voice replied, laughing. "Frankly, I am just glad you were not kissing in secret. That would have made our first meeting rather awkward."

Heat flooded Leah's cheeks, even as the cold wind nipped at them. Kissing? The notion should have made her frown or laugh, yet it swirled in her mind like a dream, offering a glimpse of impossible possibilities.

Nathaniel grimaced. "Colin, come out here at once."

"As you wish." A figure blended out of the shadows up to the left of the pavilion where tall privet hedges cut the garden in half. A basket dangled from his arm, and there appeared to be a bird upon his shoulder.

Leah stood up, smoothing down her skirts. "You are the brother I have been hearing so much about?"

"Nothing damning, I hope." The skinny, impish boy smiled. He had the same dark hair as his brother, but his blue eyes were lighter, like sea ice. And though he would one day be handsome, he still had the awkwardness of youth in his features—something to grow into. "He is always telling me I should engage in more gentlemanly pursuits, but I prefer to be in the gardens or out on the moors or wandering through the forests."

Nathaniel groaned. "No, I am always telling you to at least wander with a friend, for it is not good to be alone so often."

"I am not alone." Colin put a fingertip to the thin legs of the bird on his shoulder, the creature hopping onto his finger. "This is Robin."

Leah smiled. "But he is not a robin."

"No, he is a sparrow." The boy chuckled. "He finds it amusing, and so do I. My brother does not."

The sparrow trilled and fluttered back to Colin's shoulder.

"I do not think you should carry a bird around," Nathaniel grumbled. "That is all. I find many of your exploits amusing, but when that creature swoops in out of nowhere and steals a corner of my toast, I am less entertained."

Leah approached the boy and his bird. "I think Robin is beautiful. May I?"

"If he will allow it," Colin said, turning his shoulder toward Leah.

Hesitantly, she lifted her finger, realizing how desperately she wished to be chosen by the sparrow. The creature seemed to understand, and with a ruffle of his feathers, he hopped onto Leah's finger. From there, he walked up her arm until he found her shoulder where he settled comfortably into the puff of her capped sleeve.

"He likes you," Colin observed, smiling.

Leah gazed at the bird, overcome with affection. "Yes, I think he does."

"Oh, I was not merely talking about Robin," Colin said, flashing a puckish grin at his brother, who promptly looked horrified and pretended to pick a leaf off his tailcoat.

Leah continued to admire the bird though her heart raced, and her cheeks felt feverishly warm. He likes me… She turned the thought over in her mind, the words too vague to provide answers. In what way did Nathaniel like her—as a friend, as a conspirator, or as something more? But the longer she considered it, the more confusing it became until she was not certain which possibility scared her the most.

My heart is my own, she told herself. I will not risk giving it to any man, ever again. After all, Nathaniel had warned her not to fall for his charms, just as he had made it clear that everything he said and did was a performance to make it seem real. And she would be the greatest fool of all if she allowed that to trick her heart all over again.