Chapter Fifteen
July 11, 1817
Rain drummed softly against the window glass as Sarah hummed a few stanzas from the waltz she’d shared with her husband the night before. Oh, but that had been a glorious evening! With her head in the clouds, she pulled her flute from its case and then went to stand by one of the drawing room windows. It was where she set up the wooden stand that held her precious sheet music—one of the last gifts her father had given her.
Last night had been nothing short of magical. Never in her life had she felt as close to a man—or Andrew for that matter—than she had during that waltz. Her feet had scarcely touched the floor. He’d been attentive and charming, witty and dare she say protective, but beyond that, they had shared something intimate, something unexplainable during that dance, perhaps exchanged a tiny sliver of each other’s souls.
That exquisite change lingered with her even now.
Had they been alone instead in her great uncle’s drawing room, she might have lost herself in him, given him everything, but since they’d been mingling with the local gentry, she’d had to remain content with drifting in the strong circle of his arms. No, she wouldn’t soon forget that waltz or the benchmark it had made in their relationship.
And perhaps she’d fallen in love with him a tiny bit. She caught her breath. Was that true? In the span of a week, could things between them have changed so drastically? Perhaps it had only been the magic of that one moment. He’d certainly made an effort to control his emotions as well as his responses since his mental break, but would it last?
Could a man make such deep inroads in a mere seven days?
I suppose it depends on his motivation.
Time would tell.
After Sarah warmed her fingers and lips with a few scales and arpeggios, she practiced a particularly difficult piece that she hadn’t quite committed to memory yet. She’d planned to audition with it in London—if she could master it. Well, that was before she’d married. Over and over, her fingers flew through the notes as her eyes skipped along the sheet music. The lilting melodies that swooped and flew sent her soaring, and each time she arrived at the three-quarter mark, her fingers fumbled on a complicated run of notes making for discordant tones.
“Well, drat.” She heaved out a breath of frustration. “That stretch always baffles me. My fingers don’t move as quickly as they should.” Would she have been able to tackle the piece if she were ten years younger?
What a depressing thought that was.
“Don’t give up.” The baritone of his voice shattered her concentration.
“Andrew.” She started and glanced up from her music. He had come into the room, apparently on silent feet, and had seated himself on a low sofa, which had been his wont this past week whenever she spent time practicing. It was both endearing and nerve-wracking. “I won’t, of course. This is Paris Symphonies from Haydn, and it’s currently vexing me.”
“You’re determined enough that you’ll master it in no time.” He rested an ankle on a knee with an indulgent smile. “Why did you select that piece over another?”
Had his voice always sent gooseflesh popping along her arms? “It’s a favorite and…” Should she tell him of the dream she couldn’t forget?
“Yes?” The silver threads in his hair glimmered in the candlelight, and today his stormy eyes were more gray than blue.
“I had thought to audition before a few groups in London if I ever had the opportunity.” As nonchalantly as she could, Sarah placed the flute in its case. “But now I’m a countess.”
“What difference does that make? Have you suddenly lost the ability to play simply because you hold a title?”
“I suppose it doesn’t.” She peered at him, alert for any sign of brewing temper, but his body language was relaxed and his grin this side of wicked. “I didn’t wish to do so in the event it would fracture my focus on new responsibilities.”
“If that is something you wish to do, I don’t want to stand in your way.” He shrugged, but there was a guarded light in his eyes. “I can accompany you to London, say the word.”
Flutters flitted through her lower belly at the concession. “I’m not quite ready for all that. Let me practice for a few more weeks.”
He nodded. “Have you ever performed in front of an audience?”
“Aside from you?” She couldn’t help smiling, for he was the most appreciative audience she could ever hope for. “I have not.”
“Perhaps it’s something you should think about.” He shrugged. “What if, when you play before a crowd, you decide it’s not for you? No matter how well an audition might go, and regardless of how wonderful I think you play, it’s much different than standing before a room full of people, all looking at you.”
Was he trying to dissuade her from a goal? “That’s true.” Or perhaps he was merely being logical. Sarah drifted away from the windows toward the sofa. “Once I conquer this piece, then I’ll think about performing.”
“You have memorized several other equally beautiful pieces,” he said in a soft voice. “If you truly wish to go to London for this, you can.”
Now that was a grand concession from him, and her heart trembled. “I… thank you.” Why did the thought of doing this suddenly make her fearful?
He gazed at her with speculation. “Did either of your parents have a proclivity to music?”