“Good evening, Lady Brilliance. You look well.”
“I wasn’t sure you would speak to me,” she said.
“Yet you came anyway,” he pointed out.
“I hoped to see you regardless of whether we conversed.”
“Why?”
She sighed. “I am not a wilting violet, afraid to face someone who might not be thrilled with me. But we were ... friends. And ever since that moment when we were no longer ... friendly, I have missed you.”
He apparently approved of her honesty for he offered a tentative nod. After a brief hesitation, he said, “Then I am glad you came, if only to overcome the last impression I gave you. I was not myself.”
Inside, Brilliance could have wept with the relief that washed through her. Even if they could no longer enjoy the same level of closeness as they once had, she felt better knowing Vincent did not hate her. She wanted to apologize again but was reluctant to bring up the incident and ruin the truce. Thus, instead, she pretended as if they were simply acquaintances on a good footing.
And due to Lady Twitchard, they were dining partners, as well.
“Thank goodness my cousin didn’t mention certain other guests to my mother, such as Lady Georgiana,” Vincent said.
“I am certain you would have behaved as politely as you are with me,” Brilliance said. For he was treating her with extreme politeness, nothing beyond, no references to anything intimate having ever occurred between them.
As the courses rolled on, however, she started to feel melancholy. Maybe it was worse being near him after all, whenshe had thought it would make her happy. The loss of their friendship was now starkly evident.
“You have gone quiet,” he said after a few minutes of her silence.
Brilliance nearly blurted out Lord Redley’s courtship but stopped herself. Vincent might think she was trying to make him jealous, which she would be.And what could be worse than him not showing an ounce of jealousy?
She also bit back her words praising the concert she’d attended. If it had been any other musician, Vincent might have been interested. But she would seem to be taunting him if she mentioned Ambrose Castern, although she didn’t know the reason.
With her tongue tied, Brilliance maintained her silence except when Vincent asked her a question. And he was as likely not to as to do so, spending half his time speaking with the female on his other side, as a good guest should.
On her left was an older gentleman who was hard of hearing. After a few attempts at conversation, she simply smiled at him. Thus, despite being next to the man she loved at his parents’ dining room table, Brilliance was starting to wish she had not come.
That all changed when his stepfather commanded the table’s attention by raising his glass and tapping its stem with a spoon.
“I thank you all for coming to celebrate my wife’s birthday. Welcome to all our old friends,” he nodded to many, including the somewhat deaf guest beside Brilliance, “and to a few new ones.”
To Brilliance’s amazement, Lord Winthrop nodded ather. Then he toasted to Lady Winthrop’s health, and they all drank. After which, she spoke.
“Thank you, my love, and I, too, wish to thank you all for coming. Tonight, we have our yearly special treat. My son, Lord Hewitt, will give a short concert following the meal.”
Brilliance stifled a gasp, turning to stare at him. He glanced down at her and shrugged.
“I can hardly say no to my mother, can I?”
“Honestly,” she said, “I thought you could say no to anyone.”
He smiled wryly. After the pudding course, they all went into a large salon upstairs. The piano situated sideways was more modest than Lady Twitchard’s or Vincent’s own, but he sat upon the stool, looking quite at home.
Brilliance realized he had probably been playing on this piano his entire life. As she took a seat, she could easily imagine the young child climbing onto the stool and picking out notes for the first time. And then he began, and all her thoughts fell away.
“‘Essence of Brilliance,’” she murmured, recalling how he’d hoped he had captured something of her nature.
“What did you say?” asked the gentleman beside her. He had remained by her side on the short walk from the dining room to the salon and taken the next seat.
“Shh,”she said, feeling rude, but she didn’t want to miss a note. Vincent had said it was unfinished two months earlier, but she recognized the first part. It seemed he had continued to work on the piece. It had three movements, starting deliberate and unhurried with the section she remembered, then speeding up in the middle, before finishing slowly.
He had altered it, making it less light-hearted, more somber. She wished she understood how, but the notes in the middle section left her unsettled and a little sad, while the end was wistful.
