CHAPTER SIX

Adam stood at the back of the room and tried to keep the tears from falling down his cheeks. It now seemed foolish to have deprived himself of such rapture for all these years.

The music filled his soul, his mind and body transfixed by the woman before him. Emilia’s talents for the pianoforte were unsurpassed, at least in the company that Adam kept. Even some of the professional concerts he had been to paled by comparison.

It was not just her precise and fluid technique that made the music seem to become a part of her, but the expressions and passion that danced across her face. She moved with the music, her eyes closed, barely needing to refer to the sheet in front of her at all. She became one with the instrument as though she were carved as part of the piano itself.

Despite his best efforts, Adam felt a tear break free, tracing a path down his cheek. It was as though, in the pit of his stomach, a cauldron of emotions had lurked for months with the lid tightly fastened. Now, as the music sent a tendril of joy and happiness through the room, the spiralling fingers of it prized open the lid, and everything began to burst free.

The music spoke of loss, resilience, light, and beauty that persists, even in the darkest depths of despair. For the first time since Anastasia’s death, Adam felt a spark of something bright and new ignite within him. It was a trembling, terrifying moment of recognition, surrounded by a room full of strangers, most of whom were listening with interest and admiration, but nothing of the soaring ecstasy Adam felt.

Time seemed to slow, the air thickening and growing stiflingly warm as the figure before him transformed. It was no longer Emilia at the pianoforte but Anastasia—clear as day, impossibly vivid, and achingly beautiful. Her fingers glided over the keys, her voice humming softly in tune, and her form swayed in tender harmony with the melody.

Then she raised her gaze, and Adam’s heart stilled in that breathless, timeless moment that seemed to stretch into eternity.

How he had longed to see that kind gaze again, to look upon her gentle face and witness the warmth in her eyes once more. She leaned back, her fingers still playing, and she laughed. It was a high, magnificent sound that seemed to transcend the space, and for the first time, her memory did not trigger pain. Adam could feel the sadness, as he had always done—perhaps he always would—but beneath it, there was something else now. Under the chaos of his sorrow and grief was an undercurrent of bright, tender joy, and he allowed it to touch his heart as the tears fell in earnest.

Then the music stopped, and reality snapped back into place.

Emilia lifted her fingers from the keys and breathed a sigh of relief. The room erupted with applause from every quarter, and she rose, making a small courtesy to the company. She felt elated by her performance — not quite renewed, but certainly, as though she had proved her talents once more.

Her relief and gratitude were extinguished, however, when the Duke of Elderbridge immediately approached in front of her audience, eclipsing them from view with a smile that looked more like a smirk.

It is almost as though he is pleased with me. She thought. As though he were a tutor, and I had passed the first test.

He bowed to her, and she curtsied quickly, aware of how many eyes were now upon them.

“Lady Emilia, that was superb. " His deep voice grated at the back of his throat.

She forced a smile. “Thank you, your Grace. There is nothing I enjoy more than playing.

“And performing. You are very talented indeed.”

She felt the heat of an infuriating blush suffuse her cheeks. To anyone watching them, it would look like she was blushing at a compliment. In truth, she was merely out of practice at taking them. She wanted to stamp her foot in frustration as a knowing gleam entered his eyes.

Can this man truly believe I am interested in him? He is old enough to be my father.

“I would request the first dance from you, my Lady. I have never been so pleased to be in the company of such a partner.”

The thought of allowing him to dance with her made her skin crawl, but she would not embarrass her mother and father in such a public setting.

“Of course, your Grace, I would be delighted,” she managedas her eyes flitted across the room to look at her parents. Her mother had her hands clasped before her in apparent glee, and her father looked exceedingly proud.

They are not proud of me for my playing. They are proud that my music has finally attracted a suitor.

There was a bitter taste in her mouth as the Duke of Elderbridge took her arm, and the crowd parted for them as though they were newlyweds.

They walked back toward the ballroom, the duke saying nothing on the journey as the bustle and babble of the crowd followed them over the highly polished floors of the entrance hall.

Entering the room, Emilia noticed the group of players in the corner were awaiting their arrival and as soon as she set foot inside, they began to play a waltz. Emilia glanced back at her mother, enraged at the possibility that this had all been by design, but her look of fury was wasted as her mother was whispering rapidly in her father’s ear.

She turned back to the floor and tried her best to relax. The worst thing she could do was put the duke off entirely. If she were too obvious with her innermost feelings, every single guest would observe it in an instant. Despite her own disgust at the match, anyone else in high society would see the duke as an ideal husband for her. She had to tread carefully to ensure she did not disgrace herself further.

As the rest of the couples congregated, Emilia felt the duke’s fingers settle in the small of her back and take her hand in his. She deliberately lowered her shoulders, trying to keep her face neutral as they began to move.

Passing around the edge of the dancefloor, Emilia felt a prickling at the back of her neck as though someone were watching her. Her face felt hot and uncomfortable, and she discreetly tried to glance at the crowd.

At the edge of the room, all three of the duke's daughters were standing in a line, like Grecian statues, staring at their father as he passed them. Emilia averted her gaze instantly, but the eldest, Sophia, had narrowed eyes, her fingers gripping the fan in her hands so tightly that she might break it. Penelope and Caroline whispered together incessantly, their eyes travelling over Emilia’s figure and making her miss a step in the dance.

The duke’s fingers tightened immediately around her, and Emilia endeavoured to regain her composure. To refuse the dance would have been unthinkable, yet now the implications of it seemed far worse. She was flooded with anxiety as she considered how this might look. With two weeks of the house party ahead of them, the duke would have no obstacles in his pursuit of her. She could not imagine how she would repel every single advance without causing offence.

“You are an excellent dancer,” the duke said, that same strange smile on his lips. Emilia didn’t believe he was intending to smirk, but he had a look of laughing arrogance that didn’t come over well.

“Thank you, your Grace, as are you,” she replied, trying to pull her fingers from his grip. His hand was tightening at every pass they made.

“I am pleased to be able to make your acquaintance finally,” he murmured, the smell of brandy wafting over Emilia’s face unpleasantly. “I have long admired your father and felt that a match within his household would be most fitting.” Emilia smiled faintly, fixing her gaze just to the right of his ear. “As you know, your father is cursed with the same predicament as I.”

“Your Grace?”

“Too many daughters,” he said, as though it were a great joke. “Lord Sternwood knows the pain of never birthing a son. I believe you would make an excellent mother to my girls, and my hope is that my curse will soon be lifted.”

Emilia stared at him, astounded by his audacity. Though she was her father's only child, the duke’s words implied that even she was of little worth compared to a son. And so here he was, during the very first dance of the season—their first true conversation—already speaking of his need for an heir. The room felt suddenly smaller, the distant chatter growing faint as her pulse quickened. His eyes held a smug certainty as though the marriage had already been agreed upon. She swallowed hard, bile rising in her throat. The prospect of a future with him felt suffocating, the very idea causing her skin to prickle with unease.

As Emilia attempted to keep her poise and twirled about the floor with the duke, Adam was having his own troubles.

Leaving the drawing room had been more complicated than it should have been. The tears on his cheeks were certainly not mirrored by anyone else. No other man or woman had been so affected by the piece, and Adam was forced to discreetly wipe at his eyes before leaving the room.

Turning, he found Lionel standing behind him, shielding him from view. His cousin had evidently seen his emotional state and taken it upon himself to protect him from prying questions. Adam gave Lionel a grateful nod, and his cousin returned it with a concerned expression.

As soon as Lionel had departed, however, Adam was approached by Lady Seraphina Cheswick. She was searching for her handkerchief, which she said she had accidentally dropped; however, Adam was unsurprised to find it with ease, just beside his shoe. As he returned it to her, there was a charged moment of expectation—her parents stood nearby, watching them intently.

They approached Adam and their daughter, the Marchioness inclining her head with a gracious smile. “Allow us to introduce ourselves; I am Lady Chesingdale, and this is my husband, the Marquess. It is our distinct pleasure to present our daughter, Lady Seraphina.” After exchanging the usual courtesies, it seemed only fitting that he should ask her for a dance.

However, now that they turned on their third go-around on the floor, Adam would happily have switched partners with anyone else in the room.

“Oh, I have much to be grateful for, my Lord,” Lady Seraphina was saying. “I have such a wonderful abundance of friends in Bath, you know. Have you ever been to Bath, my Lord?”

“Yes, when I was—”

“It is the most wonderful city on Earth. I do believe that if I should ever marry, I would wish to live there. Have you taken the waters? They were so restorative. I was so intrigued by the Roman baths and how the people had once lived. I was being told the most amazing story by a friend of mine, do you know Lady Viola Templeton?”

“I do not belie—”

“She is the daughter of the Duke of Hastings, lately married. Such a wonderful patron of the arts. She was the first to introduce me to the Roman Baths and is the greatest authority on such things.”

And so it continued for the whole of the dance.

Adam had tried to participate in the conversation at first but soon gave up, allowing the young lady to prattle on. He didn’t want to judge her too harshly—Lady Seraphina seemed just as nervous as he was—but she spoke so incessantly that he could barely get a word in.

Her conversation revolved entirely around the latest gossip, making her appear frivolous and lacking in intelligence. Worse still, she seemed utterly unaware of how tiresome she was.

His attention had drifted several times to the other couples on the floor and found himself searching out Lady Emilia in the throng.

She had beautiful form and almost faultless steps, but her smile was insincere, her back stiff and rigid against the duke. Adam thought Lady Emilia may not be too fond of her dance partner. She was leaning subtly away from him, and whereas Emilia’s feet were sure and perfect, the duke was a little clumsier in his bearing. His nose was rather pink, as were his cheeks, a sure sign of too much brandy before dinner.

Adam felt a surge of protectiveness at the sight of her discomfort. Watching her delicate fingers flex against the duke’s wide, bulbous shoulders seemed wrong somehow. He tried to focus on what Lady Seraphina was saying to him, but it was no use. The more he watched Emilia, the more her discomfort became apparent.

“Do you not think so, my Lord?” Adam looked back at Seraphina’s upturned, expectant face and felt a bolt of panic. What had she been saying?

“Yes, quite,” he attempted, and her eyes lit up at his answer. He wasn’t sure what he had agreed to.

“Are you remaining at the house for the party to follow?”

“Indeed, are you?”

“I am,” she ran her eyes over his hair and back to his face. “I am most pleased that I will be able to get to know you better, my Lord,” she added with a coquettish smile.

“Likewise,” he added automatically as they passed his aunt, watching them happily from the edge of the room.

Adam inwardly shook himself, trying to dispel the overwhelming feeling of protectiveness he felt for Lady Emilia. It was not simply that he wished to shield her from the duke; there was also a faint glimmer of something else at the back of his mind that felt alarmingly like jealousy.

He was unsure why he felt such a need to be near her or why his heart picked up whenever she entered a room. Adam was certain it was merely misplaced affection for his fond memories of the music she played. It would pass; he was sure of it.

It has to.

As the dance neared its end there was one more couple on the floor, who knew nothing of the discomfort Emilia and Adam were feeling.

In his eagerness to dance, an activity he greatly loved, Lionel had decided to mark the cards of as many eligible ladies as he could.

Having observed Adam’s sadness at the performance, Lionel had intended to pull his cousin aside and ensure he was well, but his infernal mother had somehow achieved her aim, and Adam was now standing up with Lady Seraphina.

In turn, Lionel thought he might invite Emilia for a dance, but the duke had beaten him to it. Turning to see if his mother was still interfering his eyes had alighted on a sparkling comb hanging loosely from the hair of Emilia’s friend. He had wracked his brain to remember her name and miraculously recalled she was a Miss Fairfax.

To his shame, he had not paid much attention to anyone but Lady Emilia in the first moments of the ball. She was an exquisite musician, and Lionel hadn’t remembered a performance he had enjoyed so much in recent memory. He had scarcely acknowledged Miss Fairfax, and now, he was quite irritated with himself for not having given her more attention.

Miss Fairfax was uncommonly pretty, with eyes that reminded Lionel of honey—his favourite food.

He approached her, feeling rather awkward, and cleared his throat. As she turned, the comb, which was already loose, flew out of her hair, and he was rather proud of himself for catching it effortlessly and giving her a winning smile.

“Miss Fairfax, I believe it is frowned upon to hurl combs at guests without any warning.”

To his ultimate joy, she neither blushed nor apologised but raised an eyebrow in challenge.

“Well, my Lord, it is frowned upon to appropriate a lady’s possessions, so I suppose we are at an impasse.”

Lionel found himself laughing heartily at that. He quickly offered to replace the comb, muttering continually about his lack of expertise, and the final result was rather crooked. One swift movement from the lady, however, and it was perfectly straight again. She had long, very dark hair, which shimmered in the candlelight, and her eyes were flecked with copper as he looked at them.

“In light of my behaviour and stealing from you when we are not yet fully acquainted, may I ask to make amends by requesting you join me in a dance?”

Her expressive eyes twinkled at him. “I should be delighted.”

“It is Miss Charlotte Fairfax I am addressing?” he confirmed, always a little uncertain he could remember a name correctly.

“Yes, Lord Spencer. We met once a few years ago I recall. I hear you are very fond of dancing.”

“My reputation precedes me, I see. With the right partner, a dance can be most diverting.”

“I shall have to ensure that I come up to muster then,” she replied mischievously, and Lionel grinned down at her as they made their way onto the floor.

He found they had a great deal in common, and he had not enjoyed himself so much in weeks. Though reserved in manners and impeccably polite, when not under the heavy gaze of her mother, Charlotte came to life.

They discussed literature, of which they had a shared love, and Lionel learned that she had a cat named Fergus, who she adored. His mother also had a cat named Mischief, who was constantly causing havoc, and they had a merry time enthusing over their feline companions throughout the rest of the dance.

The next set was a quadrille and necessitated the need for new partners. Adam had never felt such relief to be released from Lady Seraphina’s company; the lady had scarcely paused for breath in five minutes together.

His relief was quickly obliterated by nerves, however, as Emilia Sterling became his partner. As she stepped into his arms and they took up the well-ingrained positions of the dance, Adam found it difficult to breathe.

How odd she must think me, for my behaviour when we first arrived.

He tried not to stare, but now that he was closer to her, she was even more exquisite than he had thought. Her lips kicked up into a gentle smile, her skin soft and glowing, and he was gratified to find that her body was entirely relaxed against him—nothing like it had been with the duke.

“You must think me terribly odd,” he said eventually when he could stand the silence no longer.

“My Lord?” she asked, looking confused.

“I am aware that you saw me watching you play this afternoon. I apologise if I came across as rude with my abrupt departure; I was enchanted by the music. I love that piece and had not heard it for some time.”

A faint flush suffused her cheeks, and Adam watched it with fascination.

“I did not think you odd,” she said with a slight frown. “I wondered if perhaps my playing had caused you to leave; I was only practising, after all.”

That startled a laugh out of Adam, and afew people nearby turned to stare at him. “I do not believe for a moment that anyone could find your playing offensive . You have a true gift for the pianoforte. I have never heard a performance like it.”

“You enjoyed it then?”

The hesitancy in her words gave him pause, and he looked down at her in surprise. Their gazes caught, and all the reassurance he wished to provide her with seemed to pour through that look and mix between them.

“Very much,” he said softly. “I have not allowed myself to listen to music often in recent months. It has some painful memories, but I believe I could listen to you play that piece, or any piece, all day long without losing interest.”

Emilia’s heart fluttered in her chest as she listened to Adam’s words. She had always been told she had a talent for music, but there was something in how he expressed it that made her truly believe it.

“Do you play?” she asked.

“No, I confess, I have never had much talent for music. I believe my mother wished to burn my violin when I was a lad.”

She laughed lightly as they briefly swapped partners with the other couple in their group, and he watched her elegantly navigate the steps.

“You are a talented performer.”

“Thank you, my Lord. I have often wished to compose my own music, but I cannot help but compare it with the masters. My own tinkling tunes seem too simplistic by comparison.”

Adam moved through the centre of the square and out again, the two couples coming together once more.

“I can understand your hesitancy, but one can never achieve anything for fear of failure.”

“You are right, of course. Perhaps once the season is over, I shall try to revive my old pieces.”

“I should like to hear them,” Adam said eagerly, realising he meant it. Unlike his automatic responses to Seraphina Cheswick, there was no pretence with Lady Emilia. Her bright eyes sparked as she looked up at him, and Adam’s heart was pounding so loudly that he wondered if it did not drown out the lively music all around them.

From the other sideof the dancefloor, unobserved and partnerless for a short while, Frederick Bentley watched Adam moving across the floor with Emilia and tried not to snap the stem of his glass.

Adam’s movements had changed considerably since he’d been dancing with the Cheswick chit. He was more fluid now, happier, lighter on his feet, and that was a worrying sign. Frederick’s teeth dug into his lip as his eyes followed them around the room. Emilia, in turn, was all smiling openness around Adam, and Frederick’s shoulders tightened incrementally at each pass about the floor.

“I have such hopes for him.”

Frederick’s ears pricked up as he noticed Lady Spencer, Augusta standing beside Lady Sternwood, watching the dancing couple just as he had done.

“I long to see Adam happily married again after the losses in his life. He deserves to find contentment once more.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Lady Sternwood replied, “such an affable and kind man; I would wish him nothing but happiness and am so glad he could attend our little party.”

Frederick took a sip of his wine. The prospect of Adam marrying again was a terrible blow that he had not anticipated.

Why can’t the man remain locked in his study for the rest of time and wither away as I had expected?

Adam had not been seen outside the house for years, and suddenly, Frederick had walked into the ballroom to find him looking better than ever. The last he had heard, Adam was two steps from a nervous collapse, and Frederick had been waiting in the wings ever since.

Now, he looked like a spritely youth, a faint smile on his lips, poised and collected. It was infuriating. If Adam were allowed to remain in Lady Emilia’s company for too long, Frederick could well imagine an attachment forming between them—and with it, his hopes of inheriting the earldom would be dashed forever. He could not afford to let such a prospect unfold.

His throat tightened around a nervous swallow as he thought of the debts awaiting repayment back in London, and his resolve sharpened.

Moving slowly through the crowd, nodding to each vague acquaintance and keeping a bland smile on his face, he considered his options carefully.

Positioning himself behind the Duke of Elderbridge and his prim, priggish daughters, Frederick observed the duke watching Lady Emilia. The man had the expression of someone who had already staked his claim on her.

A plan slowly formed in the back of Frederick’s mind, and he sipped his drink, realising that there may well be a way to ensure that they could be pulled apart forever.

That is the trouble with scandal, Frederick thought happily; it never fully fades away.