Lucien glanced at her. “And now? Will you sit for another?”
Chapter Fourteen
The question carriedimplications that made her pulse quicken. This was the time to talk about his feelings. “That would depend on whether there’s a reason for me to be included in the family gallery again,” she replied carefully.
His gaze was steady, searching. “I think there might be,” he said, his voice low. “Like you, suddenly I’m hopeful.”
“I know money is a necessity in your marriage, but I’m not the only woman with a decent sized dowry.”
“That is very true. If I simply wanted money from a marriage, I would not be courting you. There are less complicated options. I want more from a marriage that will span the rest of my life and involve Ava-Marie.”
Joy blossomed in her chest, tempered with caution. “We still have much to learn about each other,” she reminded him. Mostly she wanted to learn what was in his heart, but she was too scared to push. Besides, they had promised each other two weeks.
“Yes,” he agreed, “we do.”
A comfortable silence fell between them, broken only by the patter of rain against the windows. Courtney was acutely aware of him beside her—his height, his presence, the subtle scent of sandalwood and leather that seemed to cling to him.
“I should check on Ava-Marie,” he said finally. “Thank you for the tour. It’s given me much to think about.”
“You’re welcome,” she replied, watching as he moved toward the door. He paused on the threshold, turning back to her.
“Courtney,” he said, his voice serious. “I know I can’t give you certainty yet—about us, about what I feel. But I want you to know that I’m trying to open my heart again, to trust. It’s not easy for me.”
The simple honesty of his statement moved her deeply. “I know,” she said softly. “Most things worth having rarely come easily.”
He nodded, his expression thoughtful, then left her alone with the portraits of his ancestors—and her younger self, whose painted eyes seemed to hold secrets and hopes that her present self was only beginning to rediscover.
The rain continued into the evening, drumming steadily against the windows as they gathered in the small family dining room for dinner. The space was intimate compared to the grand formal dining room, with a table that seated just ten comfortably. Candles flickered in silver holders, casting a warm glow over the assembled party.
Conversation flowed easily through the meal. Julian spoke enthusiastically about the condition of the estate’s northern fields, while Serena described the book she was currently reading to Ava-Marie—a tale of knights and dragons that had captivated the child’s imagination. Caitria, usually reserved, shared amusing anecdotes about Ava-Marie’s attempts at hiding from her in the big house.
Courtney found herself watching Lucien throughout the meal. He seemed more relaxed than she’d seen him since his return to England, laughing at Julian’s hunting stories and asking thoughtful questions about the estate’s potential. The role of country lord suited him, she realized—perhaps better than that of London gentleman had ever done. He fitted here but he seemed to find fitting into London life much harder. Sherealized if they married, he’d want to spend most of his time here. Would she be happy with that kind of life?
As the final course was cleared away, Ava-Marie tugged at her father’s sleeve. “Papa, may I play the pianoforte for everyone? Aunt Lauren has been teaching me, and I hope to practice while I am here so I can show her how much I have improved when we go home.”
Silence greeted Ava-Marie’s mention of home being in London. Courtney knew Lucien thought of this country estate as home. He smiled down at his daughter. “If you think you’re ready.” Ava-Marie clapped her hands in glee.
They adjourned to the music room, where Ava-Marie, with Serena’s assistance, played a simple tune with remarkable concentration. Her small fingers were still clumsy on the keys, but her determination was evident in her furrowed brow and the tip of her tongue caught between her teeth in concentration.
When she finished, they all applauded enthusiastically, making the child beam with pride.
“My sister plays beautifully too,” Julian said, giving Courtney a warm glance. “Perhaps she might favor us with a piece?”
“Oh yes, please!” Ava-Marie exclaimed, sliding from the bench to make room. “Papa says all young ladies need to learn how to play so I know you must be able to because you are a proper lady.”
Proper lady? She’d have to talk with Ava-Marie about her comment. Had someone made her feel inadequate? Courtney took her place at the instrument, her fingers finding the keys with practiced ease. “Any requests?” she asked, looking up at Lucien.
“Whatever moves you,” he replied, his eyes holding hers for a moment longer than necessary.
She began with a Mozart sonata, one she knew well enough to play without complete concentration, allowing her to observethe room as she performed. Julian and Serena sat close together on a small settee; their hands entwined. Caitria had taken Ava-Marie onto her lap in a comfortable armchair near the fire. And Lucien—Lucien stood by the pianoforte, watching her with an intensity that made her fingers nearly falter on the keys.
As she played, she recalled evenings just like this on her first and last trip to his home as his fiancée before he’d left for Ireland. How he would stand in that exact spot, turning the pages of her music, occasionally reaching out to brush his fingers against hers when the others weren’t watching. Those stolen touches had been thrilling then—the promise of more intimate caresses to come when they were finally wed.
When she finished the piece, Lucien was the first to applaud, his expression appreciative. “Beautiful,” he said simply. “Would you play something else?”
She nodded, transitioning into a church song by Bach, the melancholy notes filling the room with sweet sorrow. This had been their piece—the one she’d played on the night before he left for Ireland, the night they had finally given in to the passion that had been building between them for months. The semi-innocent foreplay and kissing at the cottage was no longer enough. Not if he was leaving.
Glancing up, she saw he was moved by her playing. He moved closer, his hand coming to rest on the pianoforte, inches from her shoulder.
