The music ended.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the host called from the far end of the ballroom, his voice carrying easily over the fading chatter, “Miss Alton has kindly consented to play for us this evening.”
A ripple of appreciative murmurs moved through the room as guests began to settle. Dominic and Annabelle moved away from the dance floor.
“Do be quiet now,” someone whispered with a soft laugh. “We are to have music.”
The footmen eased back; conversation dwindled.
“Your Grace?” Annabelle gently whispered just as Dominic began to weave through the crowd?—
The piano began.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood up.
It was gentle and unhurried, in a major key, a melody designed to carry a room pleasantly. Well-played, well-chosen, asking nothing of its audience.
It asked something of Dominic.
He did not know the piece. That was the first thing his mind produced, as though it mattered. Then, two bars in, the phrase turned, a particular interval, a pause, a resolution?—
It was not the same as anything she had played.
It was only the shape. The way the melody moved through the room, the space it left between the notes, the cadence at the end of each phrase, with the quiet inevitability of something deeply known.
He had heard her play every day he could remember. He had heard it in the music room at the end of the east corridor, mornings, before the house woke. He had sat beside her on the bench, and she had shown him where to put his hands.
The piano. The blood on the keys. His father’s breathing. The awful sound, and then the silence.
Dominic’s heart was going wrong. He breathed in through his nose, controlled, one breath. The room was warm and full, and the music was continuing.
None of this was going to be visible if he moved now.
So he walked toward the far doors, not caring if anyone called after him.
Chapter Ten
Annabelle watched him leave.
Now, she stood at the edge of the room, waiting…
For what, she did not know.
Lady Rosenhall was engaged in conversation with Mrs. Preston. Helena was talking to someone in a shepherd’s costume near the supper room doors.
Annabelle waited long enough that her absence would not draw immediate notice, and then walked toward the far corridor and went through the doors he had used.
The passage beyond was empty and dim, the sounds of the ballroom muffled behind her. She followed it to the end and found a door that opened onto a narrow balcony running along the side of the house, away from the lit gardens at the front. Theair was brisk and carried the smell of freshly cut grass, and the sky above the rooftops was filled with stars.
Annabelle found Dominic at the rail. Both hands on the iron, his back to her, his shoulders moving with the effort of controlled breathing.
“Are you all right?” she said.
She saw him stiffen before he turned at last. “Yes,” he said. “Perfectly.” He moved slightly, an inclination of direction toward the door. “You ought to go back in.”
“In a moment.” She said, still watching him.
It was clear he did not know what to do with the brand of attention she was showing him. “The next set will be starting.”
