“If you say so, your lordship.”
His lip curled. “You’re doing it again, being bothered by my compliment.”
“Doesn’t seem to bother you to do the complimenting. I do appreciate it. It’s better than being insulted.”
“I can’t believe you hear insults.”
“Not all the time.” Moving to the nearby portrait, I stared at the new collection the duke had installed. These faces looked like politicians or prime ministers. “I try to avoid the noise. But walk the wrong street. Go to a market unfamiliar with my family. Read a newspaper or gossip pages when something political happens in the colonies or in Parliament around abolition, and you see slights. It’s hard sometimes to miss them.”
“I’m sorry.”
“When you say I’m pretty out loud with no caveats or regrets, your words are easy to hear. I hear all of what you say.”
We shared a glance again. Then he looked away and began searching through his papers. He seemed to have an infinite supply of pages with notes. His handwriting was very good.
“Found it. Georgina, let’s work on your progress.” He played the Pleyel hymn.
“While Thee I seek, protecting Pow’r,
Be my vain wishes stilled,
And may this consecrated hour
With better hopes be filled.”
When I started the second stanza, he stopped.
“What, my lord? Did I get the words wrong?”
“That’s not it. You do well for a line or two. When it’s time to raise your pitch and hit the high notes, you lose your confidence. Then you gasp.”
“My lungs failed me again. I’m trying my best.”
His fingers moved across the keys seamlessly as he looked toward the window. When he looked my way, the notes changed, not smooth, not even. It felt a little chaotic.
Then I was trapped in chaos, waiting for something familiar to touch me, to grab me and settle me in place.
“Pretend it’s a question. Deep breath to draw it to you, then push. Push it away. Let’s try again.” The music ramped up but I couldn’t get past the first line. “Miss Wilcox?”
“My voice falters. Exhibiting is difficult when people look at me.”
“I’m looking at you, Georgina.”
“You are and it doesn’t feel as if I’ve done something wrong.”
He breathed in and out, the same rhythm he played. “It’s you and I in here. There’s no shopkeeper. Neither Mr. Steele nor any of Torrance’s staff have interrupted.”
“Steele is a nice fellow.”
“Am I a nice fellow?”
He was. My height, and a little stocky but with muscles, which I was sure powered his arms as he played, I thought him quite fine and enjoyed the way his deep dark eyes became a little bluer when he made magic with the keys. “Maybe too nice, my lord.”
His lips curled. “I’ve never known my nature to be a problem to anyone other than you, Georgina.”
“But you say you’ve never met anyone like me.”
His chuckles sounded merry, but then he stopped. A serious expression consumed his face. “What happened to the bold woman who kissed a stranger in the garden?”
