The simple honesty of it made her chest tight. "Even though I'm a disaster who climbed your wall in stolen boots?"
"Especially because of that."
"That doesn't make sense."
"Nothing about this makes sense."
"No," Clara agreed. "It doesn't."
They sat there on the piano bench, hands linked, watching the moon travel across the sky through the tall windows. The house creaked around them, settling into itself, and somewhere in the walls, mice or possibly rats went about their nocturnal business.
"I should go back to bed," Clara said eventually.
"Yes."
"This is inappropriate."
"Wildly."
"We're going to regret this in the morning."
“I believe so.”
But still, neither moved. It was as if the night had created a bubble around them, a space where rules didn't apply and they could just be Clara and Gabriel, not employer and employee, not duke and commoner, just two damaged people finding comfort in each other's company.
"One more song," Clara said. "Then I'll go."
"Something happy?"
"Something real."
Gabriel positioned his hands on the keys and began to play. This time, Clara recognised the melody, it was an old folk song, something their mothers might have sung to them as children. Simple, sweet, completely at odds with the dark drama of their situation.
Without thinking, Clara began to hum along. Then, quietly, to sing:
"In the garden where roses grow wild, where the summer sun makes lovers mild, there I'll meet you when stars appear, and whisper secrets none shall hear..."
Gabriel's playing faltered. "You can sing."
"Don't sound so surprised."
"Earlier, you sounded like a cat being murdered."
“That was contrived.”
"Indeed?"
"To make you play."
He shook his head, but he was almost smiling. "You're intolerable."
Clara continued, her voice soft in the darkness.
"In the garden where time stands still, where the moonlight bends to lovers' will, there I'll hold you till break of day, and promise things I shouldn't say..."
Gabriel joined her on the last verse, his baritone rough but true.
"In the garden where roses die, where winter comes and lovers cry, there I'll find you in spring once more, and tend the love we planted before."
