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Chapter Fourteen

September 21, 1818

It had been a day and a half since John had crept into her bed and shared a little about his life. A day and a half since her heart had broken over the situation with his father and the title he didn’t want. A day and a half since she’d known she wanted to be a real wife to him in every way a woman could, yet she couldn’t move past the fear that held her captive.

Those feelings stemmed directly from her time at the asylum where, again and again, she’d set out hopes in her mind, let them build up, and when they didn’t materialize, the disappointment was extremely crushing. Depression and anger would usually follow, rendering her “difficult” and “insane” to the staff at the asylum because she didn’t understand how to voice her emotions or even live with them.

Eventually, she’d stopped dreaming, stopped hoping… until the day Cousin Andrew came and took her from that horrid place.

Until she met John on that snowy road, when he’d shown her the first real kindness she’d ever had, shown her what being a hero meant.

And now, due to all of that and being married, her mind was lost in a morass of confusion and emotions she didn’t understand, a longing for something she had no idea how to ask for, feelings that stemmed for her husband and grew each time he was near.

“Caroline!”

John’s call yanked her from her musings, and she looked up from the drawing she had just finished. It was of two people, both depicted as storms, one designed as a man and the other as a woman in a ballgown, and they were waltzing about an opulently decorated room. It was her intent to do a series of drawings showing how, over the course of the dance, in each other’s arms, they became more like themselves instead of the storms inside them.

He burst into the morning room with that cheeky grin she adored so much. “There you are. I’ve been searching all over.” With no less enthusiasm, he bounded over the floor and then scooped up her hand. She dropped the sketchbook as he tugged her into a standing position. “It’s finally ready.”

“What is?”

“Your pianoforte.” John threaded their fingers together. “Brand and I wrestled it into the drawing room and then we had to wait for the fellow to come and tune it, but finally, it’s ready for you.” The excitement in his voice transferred to her.

A thrill shot down her spine. “I can play music?”

Oh, how she’d missed it!

“Absolutely, you can, and I can’t wait to hear it. Brand says you used to be a musical prodigy when he was a little boy.”

Warmth filled her cheeks. “Notes come easy to me.” She only had to look at a piece of sheet music, play through it once, before it was imprinted upon her brain. Each time she played one, different emotions seeped into her renditions. No performance was the same.

“What you put into the world gives it depth, where many people only remain shallow.” He pulled her along the corridors until they arrived at the drawing room. Brand stood near a pianoforte. His grin was as wide as John’s. “Look. There it is. We even located some various sheet music in the attics. It might be outdated, but you probably don’t mind that.”

Caroline drifted closer to the instrument. For so long she’d been without a way to express herself through music that tears sprang to her eyes at this boon. She glanced first at John and then at Brand. “You did this. For me?”

“Yes.” Brand nodded as if his head were on marionette strings. “Do you like it?”

She looked again at the pianoforte and then to John. “I feel… happy.” Over the course of their association, everything he’d done had been to bring her to this point. Was she worth so much to him, then? It was staggering to ponder.

“Good!” He led her to the bench with the green brocade cushion. The colors had faded over time, and the stuffing was rather lumpy in spots, but she sat because he was so enthusiastic. “If you wish to play now, Brand and I will be your willing audience.”

“Yes, I’ll play.” Caroline rested her fingers upon the keys. There was no dust on the keyboard, which meant it had been protected by a cover. The relative coolness of the ivory was reassuring.

“Marvelous!” John patted her shoulder. Then he and Brand moved a bit away to slip into matching chairs. Anticipation lined their faces.

With excitement riding up and down her spine, she shuffled through the yellowing sheet music. All the pieces she’d seen before, and as soon as she read the titles, the music popped into her head as if she’d never been away from the instrument before.

Seconds later, she struck the first notes of her selected piece, and the familiar light notes of the music filled the air. Caroline gasped with delight and pleasure; the sounds embraced her like long lost friends. The last time she’d played had been a few weeks before she’d been uprooted from her life and deposited in the asylum. More than ever, she was convinced she’d been born to produce lovely things that brought joy to others. At least in this she excelled.

Midway through the piece, something inside her broke and the sea of emotions she’d had no choice but to hold back all her life came rushing to the forefront. They were overwhelming enough to cause a sharp pain in her chest. Her fingers briefly stumbled over the keys, but she was helpless to stem the tide.

“When I was first sent to the asylum, I thought it a lark.” She kept her eyes closed as she continued to play the music. It allowed her to concentrate more fully on her words, putting them into proper order. “Stupid, naïve I was. Didn’t know it was forever.”

“Caroline, you don’t need to share if you don’t wish it.” John’s deep voice rumbled through the room. Fabric rustling and the faint squeak of a spring betrayed that he’d stood up from his chair.

“Have to else these emotions will suffocate me.” Her fingers flew over the keys as she built toward a crescendo. “My family abandoned me. Left me at a strange place, strange people.” She pressed the keys with more force than strictly necessary. “Didn’t love me anymore.”

“I’m certain they still love you, deep down.” John’s voice sounded from behind her. When he lightly touched her shoulder, she flinched, and her eyes flew open.


Tags: Sandra Sookoo The Storme Brothers Historical