Our audience—dozens of dirty fishermen—laughed as they observed the interaction. I hid my mortification, but Clara wore hers boldly on her face.
Mr. Wortham swallowed his bite of the apple, wiping a droplet of juice from his lower lip with his sleeve. He held my gaze through the motion, a challenge gleaming behind his eyes. “How did you come by such an abundance of food, then? Flirt outrageously with the costermonger?”
My nostrils flared with vexation. “That is another secret I don’t intend to share.”
“I suppose you won’t be needing work anytime soon.” He took another bite of the apple, and I was tempted to knock it out of his grip and watch it roll down the sand.
I gritted my teeth, understanding full well how unattractive such an expression was. “We don’t require your assistance. And we certainly won’t buy it from you.”
He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Very well.”
I waited for more, but he was silent. “Very well?”
He nodded and then turned toward the group of men still throwing whistles and jeering laughter in our direction. “Enough ogling and return to the boats!”
The noises fell into slow grumblings. My mouth dropped open in shock and embarrassment.
“Now, if you change your mind, you know where to find me.” Mr. Wortham tipped his head and turned on his heel. Then he sauntered away with his apple, leaving Clara and me standing in the misty, salt-ridden air of the beach alone.
I stomped up the trail, stifling a cry of outrage. I didn’t care whether Clara followed me. I didn’t care that I had all this fresh food and that I didn’t have to eat fish tonight. I only cared that James Wortham had bested me once again. And I did not like that fact. Not in the slightest.
Chapter Six
“The earth has music for those who listen.”
The butler welcomed us to Clearfield house at precisely two. With a pang of melancholy, it reminded me of our home in Hampshire.
I lifted my chin, willing myself to forget my sorrows and melt into this refinement I was allowed to reclaim for an hour. Clara stood beside me, her blue eyes flickering between all the portraits, trimmings, and furnishings of the house. Her mouth hung slightly open. She missed these things as much as I did. I was tempted to push her jaw closed with my hand and remind her that a proper lady nevergapes.
Mrs. Abbot, Rachel, and Lucy were awaiting us in the sitting room. I entered first, bringing my eyes to a thoughtful gaze and my mouth to a gentle curve. I had managed to tame my hair into something presentable, which I was quite proud of. The most important task I had coming here to Clearfield House was to develop a friendship with the Abbots and use it to my advantage. I had to gain their respect and admiration if I wished to benefitfrom their connections. The look of screened envy Rachel threw in my direction was a promising start.
Mrs. Abbot welcomed us and beckoned us to our seats on the settee. My heart lifted inside me when I saw a pianoforte sitting in the corner of the room by the window. I stared at it for too long.
“What is it, Miss Lyons?” Mrs. Abbot recalled my eyes.
I hid my reaction the best I could. “I was admiring your pianoforte.”
She swatted her hand through the air. “Oh, that old thing? It’s ancient, but of course, that makes the sound all the richer.” She paused. “Would you like to favor us with a song? We would be so honored by your performance, wouldn’t we, girls?” She raised her brows at Rachel and Lucy who nodded.
If they had any doubt that I was accomplished, they would soon be proven wrong. “Very well,” I agreed with a modest smile. “But please forgive me…I am a bit out of practice.” I thought I saw Clara roll her eyes.
I stepped up to the bench, fluently swept my skirts under me, and sat down. The keys were chipped and ugly in some places, but I ignored their flaws. They could still make beautiful music whether they were pretty or not. I chose a piece I knew well, a sonata by Bach in A minor. I had played it so often that I remembered every note. It was a stately, aching, and nostalgic song, a sharp contrast to the allegro pieces by Pleyel and the Scotch and Irish airs I had played most frequently as I’d grown.
Every bottled emotion streamed through my arms and fingers as I pressed the first key. It was the same experience that I’d had in the music room the night I had learned of Papa’s disgrace. I forgot the time and place. As I swayed to the song, I forgot the eyes trained on me and the unfamiliarity of my surroundings. My fingers moved deftly over the keys, feeling every ridge in their imperfections—a contradiction totheir hauntingly beautiful sound. The sense of release was intoxicating, and when the song was over, my hands trembled, and it was all I could do not to cry.
The room was still. Before I could turn around, the silence was split by a most improper applause.
I turned my head in surprise. Clara’s face was tight with emotion, but she smiled when she saw that mine was too. Rachel’s and Lucy’s expressions were battling between amazement and what looked like fresh envy. For the first time I wasn’t pleased to see the envy.
Mrs. Abbot rushed to my side with her hand pressed to her chest. “Miss Lyons! You have broken my heart. You are a musician! That was truly exquisite.”
I would have never thought it possible, but I felt bashful under her praise. I had never played a song publicly for the purpose of anything but attention. My purpose just then had been to release my emotions, and whatever I had just set free now belonged to every person in the room. I felt raw and vulnerable from it.
Shortly after I reclaimed my seat, we were presented with a tray of sandwiches and cakes, along with a kettle of tea and a cream pitcher. Clara and I exchanged a glance. I wanted to eat it all. My stomach grumbled as I filled a plate as modestly as I could manage.
Mrs. Abbot sipped from her teacup slowly and then raised her gaze to Clara and me. “Do tell us…how long have you been here in Craster? It cannot have been long considering that we just met today.”
Truth and lies battled inside me. She was very kind, but without a doubt one of the most reliable sources of gossip in the area. If any eligible men heard of my situation, I could have no chance of making an acceptable match. Kindness could not come without a price. I had learned that lesson. Certainly Mrs. Abbotand her daughters were only trying to coax the truth out of me to feed their acquaintances enough of a scandal to keep them entertained.
