“I know.”
He did not approach her, but remained exactly where he was, for which she was grateful, because if he held her in his arms, she’d likely lose her resolve. “I do not want what we have to change, Richard, and I am terrified that it will. But you deserve to know the truth about me, for the one simple reason that I do not want you to fall in love with a lie.” The words were out in a rush before she could think about what she was saying. A gasp followed, and then, “Forgive me. I did not mean to imply anything. I just—”
“You should not apologize. Not when you are right.” He watched her for a long time before setting down the case he’d brought with him and snapping it open. Wordlessly, he pulled out his violin, set it against his chin, and started to play.
In that moment, it was as if Mary’s world stopped spinning before gradually reversing its rotation. “You play beautifully,” she said as soon as the song drew to an end. “But I did not recognize it.”
“Perhaps because you have never heard it before?” When she didn’t reply, he quietly confessed, “I wrote it myself. A couple of years ago.”
“You are a composer?” She could scarcely believe it.
He chuckled slightly. “I would hardly call myself that.”
“Why on earth not?” She shook her head, dismissing the question and asking instead, “How many pieces have you written? Is this the only one?”
“No,” he admitted. “There are five in total.”
“Well.” She could not think of what to say, she was so surprised, except, “I should like to hear them all!”
“Some other time perhaps.” He started to play again, but this time Mary knew the melody instantly. It was by Rossini, written for one of his more recent operas,La Cenerentola. It wasn’t one that Mary had had the opportunity to sing many times, so the words came a little hesitantly at first, though with increasing strength and certainty as she gained confidence.
She realized something as she sang, listening to the sound of her voice flowing alongside the tune of the violin, like two souls engaging in an elaborate dance. The music was closing the space between them, creating unity and understanding on a level that she’d never thought possible. It was like magic, in a way.
“Perfect,” Richard whispered, mirroring her thoughts as the final notes drifted off into the darkness and the song came to a close. He sounded just as awestruck as she felt—as if they’d somehow been joined together on a higher plane of existence. Carefully, he returned his instrument to its proper resting place before walking slowly toward her, his arms extending until they found their way around her in a tight embrace.
They stood like that for what seemed like forever, but it was the most wonderful version of forever that Mary could possibly imagine. “I need you to know,” she began, her voice breaking the silence. He would understand. She was certain of that now. More certain than she’d ever been about anything else before. “I am not just Mary Bourneville. I am also Lucia Cavalani.”
Inhaling sharply, he leaned back so he could look down at her, his eyes narrowing as he did so. “The most famous opera singer in England? That cannot be.” But in spite of what he said, his words held an edge of doubt, as though he wanted to believe it, but couldn’t quite figure out how it might be possible.
“Why not?”
He shook his head, his arms still holding her as he seemed to puzzle this over. “How?”
Encouraged by the fact that he hadn’t let her go and that he wasn’t sounding horrified, but rather curious, she said, “I developed a fondness for opera, for the passion that it embodies, after my parents invited me to watchThe Marriage of Figarofor the first time. At first, I did not allow my voice full range because I didn’t want to be found out, but then one summer, while visiting our family home in Leicestershire, I discovered a private spot in the woods where I could practice properly.”
“That does not explain how you got onto the stage—an impressive feat, by the way, considering your station.”
She drew away from him then, requiring freedom of movement as she told him of her greatest secret—the one that could ruin not only her own reputation, but her entire family’s as well, by association. “When Mama and Papa left for India and I was sent to live with my aunt, Lady Foxworth, she made every effort to introduce me into polite Society. I was to make a splendid match, after all. But while her concern was in pairing me off with handsome dance partners, I took more interest in an older gentleman who happened to attend a dinner party hosted by the Duke and Duchess of Pinehurst, to which my aunt and I were also invited.”
“Let me guess. The gentleman in question was somehow associated with the King’s Theatre?”
She nodded. “His name is Mr.Taylor.”
“The manager himself? What a fortunate encounter that must have been for you.” He tilted his head slightly. “I assume that you requested an audition?”
“Not exactly. At first I just told him that I was interested in taking a tour of the theatre and asked if such a thing might be possible.” Richard said nothing in response to that but held silent instead, allowing her the time she needed to share everything with him. “A meeting was arranged and my maid, Amy, accompanied me there.”
“And while you were there you asked if he would be interested in acquiring a new talent?”
“At the time, I did not consider my voice to be very spectacular.” Mary shrugged one shoulder. “What I initially hoped, was that I might be able to receive some training.”
He nodded as if he understood. “And then what happened?”
Hesitating only briefly, Mary said, “Mr.Taylor was very reluctant at first and warned me of the risk to my reputation, but then he heard me sing and... It did not take long for him to find a solution to the problem by suggesting that I wear a disguise.”
“It must have been a very convincing one indeed since no one has ever suspected a thing.” His voice now conveyed a strange mixture of admiration and concern. “You...”
He stiffened while Mary sucked in a breath, alerted by the crunching of pebbles, a scraping sound, and then the thud of retreating footsteps. Spinning away from her, Richard snatched up his lantern and rushed toward the entrance of the cave. “Who goes there?” Mary heard him call out into the darkness.
