Page 36 of The Beautiful Ones

Commander Vale had listened when I played. He had once turned pages for me through an entire Mozart sonata and apologized when he moved too early. I had admired him for that gentleness. I had believed marriage to him would be calm, respectful, and safe.

But I had never wondered where Nathaniel stood when I entered a room.

I had never felt his presence before I saw him.

I had never played a wrong note because he looked at me.

My hand slipped upon the keys.

Adrian's mouth curved slightly.

Heat rose into my face. I returned my attention to the music, but the mistake had awakened something I could no longer pretend not to feel. It was not love. I knew too little of love to give the sensation so grand a name. It was a sharpened awareness, a restless wish to be noticed by one particular person and the alarming pleasure of discovering that I already was.

Across the room, Octavia reclined upon the striped settee with Augusta Dewey and Lavinia George arranged near her like petitioners before a queen. My mother occupied the chair closest to her, laughing too brightly at something Octavia had said.

Octavia caught my eye and smiled.

There was power in the smile, but no warmth I could trust. I remembered how effortlessly she had unsettled the women at dinner, opening their jealousies with compliments too graceful to challenge. For one foolish instant I had wanted to become like her. Now I wondered whether Octavia's beauty was another sort of language—one she used as deliberately as Nicholas used laughter.

Near the sideboard, my father stood with Judge Dewey and Reuben George. They had gathered into a tight, defensive knot, drinking port and speaking without looking at one another. The confidence they had worn before dinner was gone. They looked older beneath the candlelight, their faces damp and their shoulders bowed.

A ship arriving after midnight. Cargo omitted from its manifest. Records altered after they had received the proper signatures.

What did you do? I thought as Father's trembling hand lifted his glass. What did all of you do to Nathaniel?

I wished Elin were behind me. I wanted the steady comfort of her presence and the small warning pressure of her hand upon my shoulder. But Dinah had sent her upstairs with hot water for Adrian's room.

The thought made me pause.

Adrian stood before me.

I had not seen him cross the room.

“Why did you stop?” he asked.

The question held no impatience. He might have been willing to wait through the night for my reply.

I glanced toward my mother. She was occupied with Octavia, but habit tightened my throat all the same.

Adrian drew the silver pencil from his waistcoat and laid it beside the card.

The gesture loosened something in me.

I wrote, Elin has gone to your room.

“Has she?”

His eyes moved briefly toward the ceiling.

The answer unsettled me. Surely he had requested the water. Surely he knew a servant would be sent.

Before I could write another question, the mantel clock began to chime ten.

Each note sounded clean and ordinary. Around the room, no one appeared to remember the false strokes that had disturbed dinner. Only my father looked toward the clock, his face whitening as he counted.

Adrian touched one finger to the ivory card.

“Some questions are more easily answered in music.”