Then he raised his head and looked directly at his wife. “Yes, I do. It is your fault.”
Mrs. Castern glanced sideways at Vincent and Brilliance, a nervous expression on her pretty face. Then she straightened her shoulders and addressed her husband.
“That’s not fair. You wanted the recognition and distinction that comes from being a famous pianistandcomposer as much as I did.”
Brilliance was surprised. “But the fame is not yours,” she pointed out.
Mrs. Castern wheeled around. “We women have little we can do to make our mark upon the world except cling to a man’s coat and hope for a few crumbs of recognition.”
Again, Brilliance felt no kinship with this woman’s opinion. “What have you received recognition for exactly beyond sitting in the theater?”
Her expression darkened. “I inspire him to —”
“Tonotcompose music, apparently,” Vincent interjected.
“Are you going to blame me, as well?” she asked. “Is there no one sympathetic to my plight?”
Brilliance could not help the burst of disgusted exasperation that came out as a bark of laughter.
“Your plight! If I understand correctly, you broke faith with Lord Hewitt and ended your engagement — for which I am eternally grateful! — to make a life with Mr. Castern solely for the purpose of thisrecognitionyou treasure so much. Whatabout your husband’s heart? Surely, you love him and would continue to do so even if he broke all ten of his fingers and could never play again. Wouldn’t you?”
Mr. Castern gave a startled look at his hands before clutching them together in his lap as if protecting them. Then he, too, watched his wife, awaiting her answer.
Mrs. Castern hesitated, which broke Brilliance’s heart on Mr. Castern’s behalf. Yet after a moment, the woman’s expression softened. She took a seat beside her husband and put her hand over his.
“I would,” she said firmly. “Of course I would.”
Brilliance felt tears prick her eyes as she looked toward Vincent. His gaze found hers, and she thought they must be thinking similar thoughts of love and devotion. He gave her a small smile.
“What happens now?” Mr. Castern asked into the silence.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Before Vincent could form an answer, his betrothed spoke up. “We want you to go to Scotland Yard and drop all charges against Lord Hewitt.”
He was touched that uppermost in Brilliance’s mind was his well-being.
Astonishingly, Ambrose nodded.
“If you try to sue us for the money made from my husband’s concerts,” Lydia said, “you will be sorely disappointed.”
“Going through the profits like flame through dry tinder, are you?” Vincent asked. She’d given him the barest hint during their brief association that she would be a profligate.
“Lydia has been a good wife,” Ambrose said, rising finally to his feet. “I wouldn’t be where I am today, as one of the most popular pianists in England, if not for her.”
Privately, Vincent thought it had been a high price to pay, losing their friendship along with the man’s integrity.
“You also wouldn’t be where you are today if not for my music,” Vincent reminded him. “And without it, I wonder where you shall be tomorrow.”
“We are ruined,” Lydia cried, tossing herself against the sofa back and covering her face with her hands.
Vincent rolled his eyes. And when he glanced at Brilliance, embarrassment drenched him at her knowing he had engaged himself to such a vain and vapid creature. Now that he loved Brilliance, he could not imagine why he thought he had been in love before. What a tepid life he would have lived had he married Lydia.
“I have a proposal,” he said. The timbre of his voice captured their full attention. Even Lydia stopped her caterwauling and lowered her hands.
He looked at Ambrose. “I will allow you to continue playing my music as long as you give credit to me as the sole composer both in the evening’s program notes and before you begin each and every concert.”
The man swallowed, looking a little ill at the notion. Lydia, however, had a question. “May he still thank his wife and point me out in the audience?”
