“The air is healthful in the north,” I said, tucking the quilt to her chin, then wondered why that sounded familiar.
Nessy yawned, her cheeks hollow. “I’m tired.”
“Have a rest. We have traveled a long way.”
She curled up, and her breath settled into shallow, uneven rasps, as much comfort as she ever had in sleep. I smoothed damp hair from her pale forehead,but I did not remove my glove. I was afraid of what I would sense. Perhaps I could check after her next dose of tea. The tea did help, for a while.
I eased her door closed. Notes drifted down the hallway from a distant violin. I walked that way, past an unused parlor and several guest rooms pleasantly but sparsely furnished, then stopped by the open door of a small sitting room.
Mr. Knightley was playing; through the doorway, I glimpsed the expert motions of his bow arm. He had practiced during our trip, technical studies I heard muffled by closed doors, but this was a virtuoso performance—dazzling runs and thrumming double stops as dark and throaty as a pair of singers in intimate duet.
The phrase halted on a sour note with an exclamation ofbah!Music sheets shuffled noisily.
I knocked on the door jamb. Mr. Knightley took a step to see me, blinked, then bowed, the curves of his violin complementing his form. “Miss Woodhouse.”
“I do not wish to interrupt. But Iwaslistening, so I should not pretend otherwise. That is beautiful. I have never heard it.”
“It is Bach. The Partita in D minor. A brilliant work, almost lost. But Simrock’s edition is half illegible…” He scowled at the score.
I hesitated, my toes on the threshold. We had walked together every day while traveling, but it would be improper to linger alone in an isolated room.
Mr. Knightley apparently had the same realization. He set his instrument aside. “May I show you Pemberley?”
We strolled down the hallway. Mr. Knightley had visited before, and he named paintings and rooms. He rapped his knuckles on a passing mantle with a smile. “As you see, there is no deficit of walnut.”
“Like your home?” I asked innocently. This had become a joke—I would pry about his lifestyle, and he would defer. This time his evasion was a flourish of his deft hands, so I pouted. “You are hiding something. I think you are a secret baron!” He laughed, so I asked, “Haveyou a home?” Perhaps a musician slept in tavern lofts and patron guest rooms.
Abruptly, he was solemn. “I live in Chelsea. The city has not yet swallowed all the farms, so I watch the sun set into an orchard. One might think it was the country.”
“Oh,” I said, disconcerted that our game had ended so suddenly.
“My room is positively foul with music manuscripts,” he added. “You could not bear it.”
“I like happy clutter. It is clothes that disturb me.”
He nodded in silence, then nervously corrected a cuff. The quiet pooled around us like a tide of intimacy.
We were at a stairway with a north view. The stillness broke when he pointed. “The town of Lambton is over those hills.”
“And another Darcy school,” I sighed. “Harriet chatters about it.”
Mr. Knightley tugged harder at his cuff, spoiling the crease. “The Lambton school is seeking an instructor. I have written a recommendation for her.”
“A recommendation?” Then I understood. “ForHarriet?”
“It is a good match,” he said, squaring his shoulders. “Harriet Smith has first-rate qualities.”
“Precisely! That is why she will marry a gentleman. I did not go to all that trouble to have her listed inDebrett’sso she may teach!”
Mr. Knightley’s eyes narrowed. “Harriet Smith is listed inDebrett’s?”
“In the… next edition.” Harriet and I had not yet announced our sisterhood. To fend off troublesome questions, I hurriedly added, “That is thanks to my clever use of Mr. Tinsdale. Whichyousaid would not succeed.”
That unsettled Mr. Knightley. He caught my gloved right hand in his bare fingers and spoke. I hardly heard. He had lifted my hand to his heart, and for a moment I thought—I almost thought—he would carry it to his lips. My temples thudded, and a blush heated the nape of my neck.
“He is a dangerous man,” Mr. Knightley repeated.
I stammered, “I know he is dangerous. I am not a fool.”
