I swallowed, nodding. My eyes filled with unexpected tears. It was one of my favorites. “Quasi una fantasia,” I said in a hushed voice. “Beethoven.”
I dared to look at him, even though I knew he would see my tears.
His smile was soft as he swept his gaze over my face. “You are quite fond of it?”
“Yes.” My voice came out weak and quiet. This was the piece I had played the most after my first Season—my first great failure. It had healed something within me then, and I yearned for the same healing now.
James lifted a finger and traced a line down the middle of the keyboard. “You are responsible for every note to the left of C. And I will cover what remains.”
Scanning the music, I focused on all the notes my left hand would need to play. It was mostly chords, all of which I remembered perfectly. Hope slipped out of its hiding place and grew inside me. “But how will we keep the rhythm?”
“You play how you wish, and I will keep with you. Today, I am simply your other hand.” He was smiling again, I could feel it. I kept my eyes glued on the music, and pretended I couldn’t feel the way his breath rustled against my cheek. Why must he sit so close? I supposed itwasnecessary in this case. I breathed deeply as I focused on the music again.
“This is absurd.” I laughed, but positioned my hand over the keys anyway. James followed, and his left arm pressed against me as he played the first note with his right hand. I added my chords to the song, clunky and slow at the beginning, an uneven mess. I focused hard, willing myself to forget the notes that belonged to James, and remember only the notes that my left hand could play. The melody was soft, slow, and hauntingly minor. It built slowly, a progression that was subtle but powerful.
After several minutes, the music shifted, growing more complicated and lively, and my focus intensified. James left spaces open that I filled, and soon the music was one piece, a flowing melody that an outside ear could never guess belonged to more than one person’s hands or heart. The familiar buzz of bottled emotion came pouring through my body. Anger, despair, disappointment, fear. But something was different. I did not find contentment in emptiness. Instead, I drank from the song—joy, relief, belonging, until I was entirely filled.
My hand moved to the rhythm of my heartbeat, and my heart pounded in time with the song. I had nearly forgotten James, sitting beside me, playing the same way, keeping nothing in reserve. My heart ached with the silence of fading echoes, shattered in the beauty of each note, and came back togetherthrough the length of each fermata. The execution was flawed yet somehow perfect.
When my focus broke and the last measure faded, I sat there, melting into the proceeding quiet. I realized I had leaned even closer to James as we had played, and I subtly pulled away.
Thick silence thrummed in the air between us. I turned my head up to look at him—the movement slow and careful. My heart skipped when I saw his face. There was a sort of quiet awe in his eyes, a depth of admiration I couldn’t describe. His hand was still on the keys of the pianoforte, but slowly he lifted it, brushing his fingertips across the edge of my cheek. “I told you.” His eyes searched mine, and a hot, tingling blush erupted where he touched my face. “I knew you would play again.”
I didn’t have the words to describe what I felt—what I had felt as we played, and even what I felt now, with him looking at me in such a way. My heart hammered in my chest. “Yes, but I still can’t do it without you.” A breathless laugh escaped me, and I looked away from his face. I did not like the idea of relying on him—or anyone. The moment I convinced myself that I needed him, or even wanted him…I had something to lose.
And I had already lost so very much.
“You don’t have to do it without me.” His hand lowered slowly from my face, but his eyes still burned across my skin. “I have a pianoforte, and so do the Abbots. We may play music anytime you’d like. Say the word, and I will be there.”
I wanted to believe his promise, but surely it would not last forever. I had already been abandoned before. By Papa. Mama. I wanted desperately to lean away, but found I lacked the strength.
“Really?” I whispered.
“Really,” he murmured with a soft smile. I noticed a trail of freckles across his nose, and I liked them—all of them.
And I had never liked freckles.
My gaze dropped to his lips, then back to his eyes. My stomach fluttered, as if a flock of birds had taken flight inside me. I had never felt such a sensation before, but it reminded me of what Clara described from her novels. I wanted to call it ridiculous, but it wasn’t.
It was quite lovely, actually.
James breathed in, shifting closer as he did. I didn’t move, heart pounding, waiting.
All at once, something shifted in the air, in his eyes, and he pulled back, putting several inches where there had just been only one breath. The warmth I had felt moments before vanished. I stood, unable to sit so close to him for another second.
He stood too.
I turned, facing the window, trying to focus my attention on counting snowflakes. What had just happened? Had he nearly kissed me? I shook my head, excusing the thought. But then a more unsettling thought followed—had I wanted him to?
With a deep breath, I turned to face him again, to say something to lighten the tension. “Since you have proven me wrong twice now, I suppose it is my turn,” I said. “I failed once, but my next attempt will be easy.”
He scowled. He stood just a few feet away beside the pianoforte. “Don’t do anything dangerous.”
I shook my head. “It’s not dangerous. Perhaps only to my pride.” I gave a faint smile, looking down at my hem. “I was quite cruel in threatening to send your private letter to Lucy. I want to prove that I no longer intend to use it against you. The next time I see you, I shall return it.” I waited for his reaction, studying his features.
His mouth was a firm line, and his eyes reflected deep thought. “Keep it.”
I threw him an inquisitive look.
