‘Are you enjoying the music? Or would you prefer to dance with me?’ he asked, his voice laced with mischief as he glanced at her tapping foot.
Sheimmediatelystopped tapping.
‘Would that not raise a few eyebrows?’ she quipped. ‘The other ladies would have a fit. They are all vying for your attention.’
He smiled. ‘Perhaps I am feeling reckless. Or perhaps it is your dress that has caused my lapse in good sense.’
A gasp escaped Grace at his unexpected flirtation. She blushed.
‘I must decline, Your Grace. I have no wish to provoke theevil eyefrom all these ladies.’
He sighed dramatically. ‘You are very wise.’
With a bow, he left—only to beimmediatelyengulfed by another group of eager young ladies.
Grace could not help but wonder—was hetrulyunaffected by his broken engagement? Or was he simply very,verygood at pretending?
As Miss Hurst finished her performance on the harp, Lord Edward approached Grace once more.
‘Do you play, Miss Skye?’
Caught off guard, Grace hesitated before she could respond. But before she could even open her mouth, Heather—without an ounce of tact—answered for her.
‘Yes! She has the most beautiful voice. We always used to ask her to sing back at the Manor.’
The words struck Grace like a slap. Without thinking, she reached over andpinchedher little sister—hard. Heather yelped, glaring at her in reproach before rubbing her arm and swiftly retreating towards the tea stand.
Grace exhaled sharply and tried to salvage the situation.
‘I am only here as a chaperone for my sister, my lord. I have no need to perform, as these young ladies do. And I play very little—especially in company.’
Lord Edward laughed, shaking his head.
‘Ah, being a chaperone is no excuse. And as for playingvery little, I do believe that is the standard response for any lady before she dazzles an audience. I suspect you would fare no worse than some of tonight’s performances.’ His gaze flickered with amusement. ‘And if nothing else, it would provide me with a perfectly reasonable excuse to admire you without raising any suspicion.’
Grace’s breath hitched.The audacity!
‘My lord,’ she said sharply, ‘you say the mostoutrageousthings. I must insist that you cease.’
He only winked. ‘I won’t take no for an answer, Miss Skye. If you play, I promise to behave for the rest of the evening. How about that?’
Before she could protest, he quite abruptly took her hand and led her to the pianoforte.
Grace looked around. The room was buzzing with quiet conversations, most of the guests too absorbed in their own affairs to take notice. She prayed her performance would go unnoticed.
Taking a steadying breath, she began to play.
At first, it was merely background music to the evening’s chatter. Her fingers glided over the keys, the notes coming more naturally with each passing moment. Her nerves settled. If Heather could do this,so could she.
Then, without realising it, she closed her eyes and began tosing.
It was an old favourite—one that transported her back to her childhood at the Manor, to evenings when life had beenwhole, when she had performed for her parents, their adoring faces watching her with pride.
Her voice was not exceptional, but it wassweet, much like Heather’s. However, where Heather’s voice was light and airy, Grace’s haddepth—a quiet, wistful quality that made her melodyfeel almosttangible. The song filled the room like a lingering fragrance.
And then, as always, a single tear escaped.
It was as though she were sayinggoodbyeto something—a beloved friend, a cherished dream.
