She was struggling with a sensation new to her. Rather like she’d swallowed a horse chestnut and it was pulsing spikily in her gut.
Somehow she’d failed to consider that taking a lover might entail jealousy. She was not attached; why should she be jealous?
So unnerved was she that she jumped when Miss Bevan-Clark pounced upon the keys with passionate vigor, swaying into the lilting ballad.
She played competently if not artistically.
Suddenly everyone was leaning forward just the littlest bit, on pins and needles waiting for Captain Hardy to open his mouth.
(In Dot’s case, perhaps quite literally on pins and needles, given that she was mending. She was feeling in vain beneath her bum for a dropped pin.)
And when the first note emerged—rich, confident, soaring, and absolutely lovely—everyone sighed.
Delilah’s heart literally squeezed like a little fist, a sort of sweet pain. She could not have said why.
And if he didn’t landpreciselyon every note—sometimes just a hair north or south—he sang with matter-of-fact ease and imbued the sentimental song with a certain martial resonance, and for some reason her throat began to knot.
And then he finally—finally—glanced her way. It was just a flash of silver.
Rueful, though, that flash.
Even, perhaps, a bit... mischievous.
She loved and hated the relief that swooped through her like the winds off the sea. She understood what he was about now.
And it told her more than she wished she knew about how she felt about Captain Hardy.
She knew what to do next.
She moved from the little table, past Mr. Delacorte, who was patting his great thigh and humming along, past Angelique, who was looking reluctantly transfixed, as if it had been too long since she had heard music and was absorbing it like a flower absorbs rain, across to where Mr. Farraday was sitting in silence, reluctantly enjoying the performance, arms crossed tightly, and jouncing a leg.
She sat down next to him.
“It’s remarkable,” she confided to Mr. Farraday as Captain Hardy and Miss Bevan-Clark rounded on the second verse. “It’s been such a challenge to bring Captain Hardy out of his shell, and Miss Bevan-Clark seems to have done it within minutes. She must be a truly singular girl. One of a kind.”
“Yes,” he said tersely, after a delay. He was watching the singular girl and Captain Hardy, and his face was a battleground of subtle conflicts.
At last the song came to an end.
Everyone applauded with great enthusiasm.
Captain Hardy even took a bow.
“Hardy, I suspected you had hidden talents, you old sea dog!” Mr. Delacorte boomed.
Captain Hardy manfully suppressed a wince. “Not hidden, Delacorte. Simply rationed.”
Miss Bevan-Clark was gazing up at Captain Hardy as if he was responsible for the moon hanging in the sky.
Andrew Farraday was gazing at Captain Hardy as though he’d robbed him at knifepoint.
But then Miss Bevan-Clark’s head pivoted to seek Andrew Farraday’s gaze. And what she saw there made her blush pink again.
And duck her head.
Oh, the days when one blushed at everything.
Then she peeked up between her lashes.
