His eyes widened with astonishment at her words, but then he nodded. “Yes, Jack, three. But my heart,” he continued. “My heart has begun to heal. And like these two trees, you and I, if we take care of them correctly, they will support each other. They will grow together. Their roots will make each other stronger. Their limbs will support each other.” He tilted his head down toward her. “And they will whisper to each other. They will warn each other of danger, and they will help each other thrive. These ash trees will have enduring hearts, hearts that are true and hearts that are strong, with hearts that will last.”
She studied him and then the two small ash trees that wouldn’t survive unless they were planted in good soil, with just the right amount of space between them. Too close, and they would harm each other. Too far, and they could not support each other.
The message was clear. He knew they were not his mother or father. And if they took care, they would be together, strong and true for all their future.
He waited, silent.
She traced her fingertips up the stem of one of the saplings, then touched the leaves of the other. “I have never heard anything so beautiful in all my life, James, but I am not a tree and nor are you. What if we are bowed and broken in a storm? We have not weathered what has been given to us well.”
He took a step forward and traced his own hand over her cheek, tilting her head back gently. “Neither of us is broken. And I can no longer pretend, Jack.”
Her breath caught in her throat at his touch and his declaration. But she hung on a precipice, waiting to hear the longed-for words, uncertain if he could ever say them.
He traced his fingertips over her cheek and then slid them gently to the nape of her neck. “I loved you the moment you threw yourself in through my window. Your boldness, your fierceness, your wild passion for life, it woke me up and spoke to me in a way that I never knew was possible. I had denied myself for so long, but I will not deny myself any longer. You were right.”
“I was?” she teased, daring to tilt her face into his touch.
He laughed softly, but there was an ache to that sound. “In almost every way. I cannot know the future, but I know this. I am wasting my life waiting for a possibility that may never come.”
Slowly, he set aside the saplings and lifted his other hand to cup her face. “Please, my love, live every day with me now, here, always. Let us drink in this moment and let us not let it go. Storms will come,” he declared, his voice rough with emotion, “and we cannot know what will break upon us. But together, we are stronger. Together, we can face more. And I love you, Jack. I think I always have. And I know that I always will, no matter what my fear says. With you, I am greater and stronger than my fear because you have showed me the way. You’ve always fought for what you believed in. And you never turned away from that.”
“And I never will,” she whispered, sliding her hands to his shoulders.
“So do not turn away from us now. I will never choose fear again,” he vowed. “I will always choose you.”
“Us,” she declared boldly. “Wewill always chooseus.”
…
In all her life, Jack had never felt so empowered or believed in.
Her fingers danced over the ivory keys. Her mind was transfixed by the notes she had memorized long ago, and she threw herself body and passion into the composition.
As it came to its great crescendo and she allowed her fingers to rest, the notes reverberated throughout the salon. A rush of nearly unfathomable excitement washed over her. She could scarcely draw breath.
For she was not just waiting for the approval of the select aristocrats that James had invited. Oh no, she was waiting for something far more powerful indeed.
There was a long pause as the invited audience waited, rapt. And then a single clap of applause filled the air.
Her heart hammered with triumph as she swung her gaze in that direction.
Jack could not stop the smile radiating across her face. Herr Beethoven’s eyes shone, not with amusement or tolerance, but pleasure.
He stood, his wild, dark hair framing his fierce face. He was so young. It was astonishing how young he was, but he was powerful as he strode across the room, embodying the space.
The audience stared at him, positively transfixed.
He barely noticed, which only increased the sense of exhilaration in the gilded room.
Half the ladies looked as if they were about to swoon, as if Apollo had come down amongst them. Jacqueline did not care about his looks or the way he wore his crimson cravat and black coat.
No, she only cared that he seemed pleased by her abilities. He offered his hand to her. “Brava,” he said in his deep voice with its rich accent. “My dear duchess!”
And then he switched to German, a language she knew as well as her own, and continued,“I am so pleased with your performance. Come, come, you must bow.”
She slipped her hand into Herr Beethoven’s, allowed him to guide her before the pianoforte, and curtsied, her head bowing ever so carefully to the many aristocrats who had been invited to have the pleasure of listening to her and then Herr Beethoven play.
She let her gaze lift up and meet her husband’s.