Мэри Бэлоу: Someone to Romance

Mr. Norton and Mary returned in a carriage that was far more comfortable than the one they had come in. And, despite Mary’s protests, Ruth had been dispatched with her. Jessica could manage perfectly well without her maid until she reached Brierley herself, she had assured Mary not quite truthfully. And it was unthinkable for Mary to travel alone, with only a man for company—though she had done it on the way to London, of course.

Jessica and Gabriel were to leave tomorrow. All their belongings were packed. Tonight was a farewell with the family, though Jessica did not doubt that at least a few of them would turn up at the hotel tomorrow morning to wave them on their way.

The thought of leaving, of being far away in a place she had never seen before, a place moreover that had a rather sad history as far as Gabriel was concerned, brought a lump to her throat. But she swallowed it away determinedly and smiled as she greeted her relatives and the other guests at the soiree.

She was, after all, Jessica Thorne, Countess of Lyndale.

Aunt Matilda would be very pleased with her soiree, she thought later in the evening. Her drawing room was crowded, though not packed to the point of discomfort, and it seemed that all her guests, family and friends alike, were in unusually high spirits. The past week had been a good one for the family despite the stress. They had come together, as they always did, to deal with a crisis that threatened one of their own, and they had prevailed. Jessica had married well, her husband had assumed his title, and the two of them were about to set off for the earl’s home and estate and the beginning of a new life together.

“And as is perfectly clear to us all, Jessica and Gabriel,” Aunt Matilda said to them at one point in the evening, “you have followed the Westcott family tradition and made a love match. We heard about the scene in the tearoom, did we not, Elizabeth? Mama told me even before Charles read it aloud to me from the morning paper the day after.”

“And Colin and I heard it from a dozen people who thought we might be interested to know,” Elizabeth said, looking from one to the other of them with her usual twinkling smile. “I only wish I had been there to see it for myself. What a romantic moment it must have been. It drew cheers.”

Jessica felt herself blushing. Not so much over the reminder of that scene in the tearoom, but because Gabriel was at her side, hearing Aunt Matilda assume that theirs was a love match. She had no idea if it was true and she tried not to think of it. They were indeed embarking upon a new life, and it would be challenge enough, though not nearly as great a one as Gabriel had feared when he had chosen her as his bride. Her specifically. Not because he had loved her, but because he had judged that she had the connections and character and education and experience and demeanor to do an adequate job as his countess.

Those guests who were not family seemed as happy to be at the soiree as everyone else. The new Earl of Lyndale and his countess had achieved a great deal of fame since the masquerade ball, and they were obviously the main attraction this evening. None of which did anything to allay Gabriel’s fraught nerves, Jessica suspected.

One of the guests, a thin, pale young lady who was there with her mother, opened the impromptu concert with three songs to her mother’s accompaniment on the harp. She had a sweet, untrained soprano voice, which did not at all seem to go with her unremarkable appearance. She was someone else, Jessica thought, who held great beauty inside herself until it was time to release it as music.

“She sings like an angel,” Grandmama said loudly enough to be heard by almost everyone after the applause had died down.

Yes, she did.

She was followed by the very young son of Viscount Dirkson’s elder daughter. He played some sort of jig on his violin and got everyone’s toes tapping, even though he paused a few times, breaking the rhythm, while his little fingers felt around for the note he needed in order to proceed. He favored the audience with a gap-toothed grin when they applauded, and when someone suggested an encore, he played it all over again, pauses and all, before setting his instrument down with a clatter and dashing for his grandpapa, who scooped him up and let him hide his face against his broad shoulder.

Viscount Dirkson was also Katy and Seth’s grandpapa, Jessica thought suddenly—Abby and Gil’s children, that was. And she felt a sudden melancholy at the thought that her cousin and best friend was so far away and soon would be farther. When would they see each other again? But that was the nature of life when one grew up, and she could not honestly say she wished she was going to stay here, close to her family. Not when that would mean letting Gabriel leave without her.

But this was no time to let her thoughts wander. Viscount Dirkson, still holding his grandson, was telling everyone that Gabriel had kindly agreed to play for them—beginning with Bach’s “Jesus bleibet meine Freude,” roughly translated to mean Jesus shall remain my joy , with which he had enthralled the Westcott family some weeks ago.

There were some smatterings of applause and a buzz of interest as Gabriel took his seat on the bench, arranged the tails of his evening coat behind him, and looked down at the keyboard as he flexed his fingers in his lap. He was still horribly nervous, Jessica thought, resisting the urge to rub her sweating palms over her skirt. She was sitting quite close to him. The movement might distract him. Her heart was pounding in her ears. He looked really quite, quite gorgeous—a totally irrelevant thought to be having at the moment. His hair needed cutting. It was curling all over his head. She was glad he had not yet had it cut.

Oh please. Please, please start.

And he did. And he had been right. The music he produced was nothing like it had been the last time. And everything like it. For it was not a performance of something that had been written down and memorized. Yet it was Bach, surely as Bach was meant to be played. And it was music that seemed to come from a deep well of beauty and creativity and rightness . As he had done at Elizabeth and Colin’s, he closed his eyes soon after he started playing and tipped back his head slightly, a frown of concentration between his brows—until toward the end he bowed his head over the keys, his eyes still closed.

Jessica found herself swallowing repeatedly so that she would not disgrace herself either by sobbing aloud or by allowing tears to spill from her eyes down her cheeks.

When he was finished, he lifted his hands from the keyboard and made no other movement for a while. Neither did anyone else. Until Avery of all people got to his feet to applaud and everyone else followed. Except, for a few moments, Jessica.

Oh dear God, she loved him.

Not for his looks. Not for his sense of duty and honor. Not for the music that was in him. Not because he was still bringing her a rose each day. Not because he had hurried to that tearoom, knowing she would be beside herself with worry. Not even because his frequent lovemaking made her deliriously happy. Not because of anything .

She just loved him.

He was back in his surroundings, she could see, and looked acutely embarrassed as he acknowledged the applause with a smile and a curt nod of the head. His eyes met Jessica’s and there was something in his, something far back within them, that caught at her breathing and surely stopped her heart for a moment before it resumed its beating, audible to her ears again.

He next played a short piece by Mozart and something else Jessica could not identify. Then he got to his feet and moved away from the pianoforte even though someone at the back of the room—the same person as last time?—begged for an encore.