“Perhaps we can ride out for a picnic tomorrow,” he suggested as he, Mary, and the Spencers, enjoyed their afternoon tea together a few hours later. The terrace had seemed a little too crowded so they’d asked a couple of footmen to set up a table and chairs on the grass down by the lake.
Mary met his gaze, warm and inviting—so different from Richard’s, which was genuinely dark and so much more powerful. A small shiver traced her spine at the memory of it, and for a second she hesitated, wishing thathewould have asked her to go for a picnic instead. But he hadn’t. In fact, he’d made no promise that they would ever see each other again. So she smiled back at Belgrave and said, “That would be lovely, if the weather permits.”
He returned the smile and offered the use of his carriage. “I will ask Lady Duncaster to recommend a good location.”
“We actually happen to know of one,” Sarah said, looking at Spencer. “Remember that hill we visited a couple of weeks ago?”
“The one with the church ruin behind it where Lady Fiona lost her bonnet?” Spencer asked as he swatted away a bothersome fly.
Sarah nodded. “The very one.”
Belgrave looked intrigued and when he asked Mary if she thought the place would suit, she realized that she felt the same way. There was just something adventurous about the idea of picnicking on a hilltop close to a church ruin.
“It is settled then,” Belgrave announced as he emptied his teacup.
The fact that the Spencers shared a knowing look did not escape Mary. If they would only realize that they were completely wasting their time in the matchmaking department.
That evening at dinner, Mary glanced from one gentleman to the next. During the course of the day, she’d concluded that Richard was not an uncommon name. In fact, from what she’d discerned, there were no fewer than six gentlemen present at the dinner table who bore that exact same name. Two were too old, however, which left four, none of whom seemed to fit the man that she imagined to be hiding behind the mask. Their faces were far too perfect.
“I need a distraction,” she told Amy later when she returned to her bedchamber.
“It sounds to me as though you may have found it in the form of Lord Belgrave,” Amy said as she located Mary’s nightgown, laid it on the bed, and came toward Mary with the intention of helping her undress.
“No,” Mary said, stepping away from her. “Lord Belgrave is kind, but he does not affect me in any way.” Turning, she looked Amy straight in the eye. “I need to sing.”
“I heard you sing tonight in the music room after dinner. It sounded lovely, as I am sure all the guests will agree.”
“You know that is not what I mean,” Mary said. “That kind of song is supposed to showcase a lady’s finer qualities. It is more about me being put on display than it is about conveying any kind of emotion.”
“I know.” Amy sighed. “You enjoy the passion that the other kind of music provides.”
“It is more than that,” Mary said. It was never easy, describing the cravings of her soul, knowing that whatever she said, it would likely fall short. “When I really sing, Amy, it does not matter how many people surround me. They all fade away until it is just me and the music thrumming through me, clasping at my heart. One moment I am filled with joy, the next with great sorrow.” She paused before speaking the truth that clung to her heart. “It is in these instances that I feel most alive.”
Amy nodded. “You feel every nuance of emotion that the composer was trying to convey through words and music, and you impart that emotion to your audience with incredible skill.”
“It means a great deal to me that you understand.”
“How could I not when I have helped you practice before every concert? I know the lyrics to every song just as well as you do, which is why I know how important it is for you to continue doing what you are doing.”
“It comforts my soul in a way that nothing else ever will.”
“I think it also helps you clear your head,” Amy noted.
“Yes,” Mary agreed. She crossed to the wardrobe and pulled the door open, searching for her dark green velvet spencer. Finding it, she began slipping her arms through the sleeves while Amy helped hold it in place. “I need to sing,” she repeated.
“Allow me to accompany you, my lady.”
Mary shook her head. “We have been over this before. If my aunt comes looking for me, then you must be here to offer an excuse on my behalf.”
“I doubt that she would do such a thing, given the late hour.”
“It is not that late—only ten o’clock—and when I came upstairs, she had not yet retired.”
Amy blinked. “It seems her schedule has changed since coming here.” She helped Mary button up her spencer, then handed her a pair of kidskin gloves. “Nevertheless, I dislike the idea of you venturing out alone like this, in the dark, no less.”
“I have done so before without issue.” Since accidentally discovering a cave during her first few days at Thorncliff, Mary had practiced her singing there a couple of times already. Granted, that was before Rotridge had shown an interest in her. She’d deliberately avoided telling Amy about her encounter with him the previous evening.
Amy did not look convinced. “I tried to dissuade you then as well, and I shall continue to do so until you see reason. What if something were to happen to you? What do I tell your aunt then?”
