Chapter Eighteen
B rilliance spent the next day wool-gathering at Bexley Hall. She even wrote to Martine in Surrey, telling her little of the personal details while conveying her great affection for Vincent. The following day, he came to his cousin’s home for dinner, and they were allowed time alone in the conservatory.
Again, he played a private concert for her, and she considered him the most gifted pianist who had ever lived. And obviously, he must also be the best kisser, for she could not imagine better.
The day after, she received a letter from her mother, saying they’d heard only good things about Lord Hewitt’s reputation as a Parliamentarian. Naturally, they said nothing about his musical abilities since they could have no idea about that aspect of his life. How could they when he hid it? More than anything, she wanted the world to know of his immense talent.
Lord and Lady Diamond expressed their relief at leaving the city in two days. Since Brilliance could not travel all the way to Derby by herself, her mother had accepted Colonel and Lady Twitchard’s gracious offer to bring her, partly in their coach and partly by train.
Brilliance set down the thick sheet of stationery covered in her mother’s exuberant handwriting onto the sofa beside her. Her emotions were mixed. She loved her family’s country estate and always welcomed the chance to stay there. Moreover, she looked forward to seeing her parents. But she would be sad at the conclusion of this exciting interlude.
On the other hand, while this time had been idyllic for her, she knew it had been prompted by misery at home, and she fervently hoped the cholera would disappear as quickly as it had arrived.
When she left Bexley, she would have to wait until she and Vincent were both in the city again to see him, unless he made the trek north to Derby. Brilliance swallowed her sadness, reminding herself she was a grown woman. She had waited a lifetime to find him, and she could easily wait another month or two before they could resume their courtship.
If only the sheet music would return from London in time for her to give it to him, she would be content to leave. When a package arrived the following day from Boosey & Co. on Old Bond Street, she asked Lady Twitchard’s permission to make one last visit to see Vincent.
Hurrying Belinda into the carriage, she descended before anyone could even open the door to Mirabel Manor. As Mr. Jordan opened the grand front door, Vincent came out of the conservatory, still tugging on his coat.
“I have been composing!” he announced.
“Aren’t you always composing?” she asked when he took her arm and led her back into the room, closing the door behind them.
So improper, but she was now too familiar with his staff to bother about first or fourth impressions. She hadn’t even had to tell Belinda to go to the kitchen. Her maid had disappeared down the passageway as soon as they’d entered the house.
“I am not always composing. I am always playing and going over my old music. But when I awoke at two o’clock this morning, I heard the notes of a new piece. Clear as a flawlessly cast bell.”
Brilliance winced. “And now I have interrupted you! I ought to have sent word of my intent, and you could have told me to stay away.”
“I would never have said that.” Vincent still had hold of her arm, and he brought her to the infamous divan, which she could hardly look at without blushing — despite how well they had behaved since then.
“After all,” he added as she seated herself and he relinquished his hold, “I’m only writing music again because of you.”
“Because of me ?” Brilliance looked up at him. “Am I your muse?”
“Indeed, you are,” he replied as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “The sonata I’m writing was inspired entirely by you. I am trying to capture your essence in music.”
Her essence? A little shiver ran up and down her spine. “May I hear it?”
Vincent looked as if he were fit to burst. He was even hopping excitedly from one foot to the other. “It is not finished, you understand, barely even started, but I was hoping you would ask.” His face was alight with eagerness.
Brilliance thought him greatly changed in a fortnight. “You appear so very different from when first I laid eyes upon you.”
“Do I? How so?” He sat upon the piano bench.
“Younger maybe?” she said. “No, that’s not it, or at least, not only that. You look at ease. And, dare I say, happy?”
“I am happy. You make me so.”
“I am glad. Play for me.”
And she sat silently, having to remind herself to breathe, while he played. A few times he paused, once to say something incomprehensible to her about the first movement not yet having a conclusion, and again, he halted to scold himself over a mistake she could not detect before he stopped and lifted his fingers from the keys.
“That is all I have so far.”
“Clapping seems inadequate,” she said. “I cannot believe this didn’t exist until ... until this morning. It sounds perfect and complete.”
“It is hardly that!” But he was beaming. “Did I capture a little of Brilliance Diamond?”
“That is not for me to say. It sounded joyful and light.”
“That is you! The woman I have come to ... to admire beyond all others. Then I will title it ‘Essence of Brilliance.’”
She found it nearly unbelievable — that they two should suit one another so perfectly — and wished they had more time before they separated.
“I received a letter from my mother yesterday. Your cousin and the Colonel are taking me up to Oak Grove Hall in two days.”
His expression sobered. “Derby is one hundred and fifty miles away. I consulted a surveyor’s map.”
Her heart sputtered. “That was quite premeditated of you. Are you planning to visit me?”
“I was thinking about doing precisely that.” Vincent left the piano and drew her to standing. “After all, I should ... that is, I want to speak to your father.”
He sounded as if he dreaded the prospect despite saying he wanted to.
“Lord Diamond is not the least bit frightening. And when I tell him of your magnificent gift — composing music that represents my essence — he will be most impressed.” How fortunate that today she had a present for Vincent in return.
When he wrapped her in his arms, she wished that day could end with a proposal. Truthfully, she thought it a little old-fashioned to insist upon speaking to her father before he asked her properly to marry him. Regardless, she was more interested in hearing his declaration of love because she desperately wanted to say it back to him.
The gift she was about to present would probably make clear how dearly she loved him and how he already held her heart.
“You look thoughtful,” he said. “And beautiful.”
“Thank you,” she replied. “As usual, you are very handsome. Since you have put your arms around me, will you draw me closer, please, and kiss me? After that, I have a present for you.”
“More oranges or cherries?” he teased. Then he patted her backside. “Are you hiding fruit in your skirts?”
She laughed. “I am not. Kiss me first, and then I’ll show you what I have brought.”
He leaned down and did as she asked, taking his time to kiss her slowly and thoroughly until her heart was beating so loudly she could hear it, certain that he could, too. His skillful hands palmed her rear end through her layers of shift, petticoat, and summer gown, tilting her against him.
She would swear her body was pulsing everywhere!
When he drew back, he said, “You don’t need to ask me to kiss you. It isn’t a chore, but a privilege. One I am happy to have the honor to do. One I can imagine doing every day.”
Was he going to propose right then?
She waited, but he did no such thing, and so she broke free. On the other end of the divan, under her reticule was a large envelope. Picking it up, she clasped it to her chest for a moment, beyond excited, and then handed it to him.
“What’s this?” he asked, already reaching in and sliding out the contents.
“Your music!” she exclaimed. “Printed at a London music publisher.”
Vincent stared at the top page of printed sheet music. His eyes grew wider, and then his cheeks took on a ruddy hue. He drew spectacles from his pocket and put them on slowly with one hand.
“My music,” he repeated at last, his voice a harsh whisper, sending a trickle of alarm through her. “How?” he demanded. “Did you steal it from me?”
“Steal it?” Brilliance was puzzled. “Well, I guess I did, but not to keep. The original music is safely in the envelope.” Since he was frozen, staring at the printed page, she gingerly took the envelope from him, reached in, and withdrew the pages.
“I am sorry. They are creased, as I folded them.”
“To sneak them out of my house.”
“Yes,” she agreed. It sounded nefarious when he put it like that. “I wanted you to see your work in print. Now anyone can buy it and play it.”
He closed his eyes for a long moment. When he opened them he asked, “The title? Where did it come from?” His tone was unwaveringly flat, while his finger ran over the words “The Starling.”
“I ... I made it up because yours had no title. But I have no idea what this sounds like, so I don’t know if it is more of a falcon or a sparrow.”
“I see. And yet you didn’t put my name on it. Why did you have it published anonymously?”
“I wasn’t entirely sure you would approve of your identity being known as the piece’s composer. Perhaps you think a minister of Parliament should not also dabble in musical composition.”
“Dabble?” he repeated. “You would steal my music and have it printed for the world to see, but you have integrity when it comes to protecting my identity. How curious.”
Brilliance was beginning to realize that he wasn’t at all pleased by her gift from Boosey & Co.
“Are you angry? They are a reputable music publisher, I assure you. Should I have instructed them to put your name on the music?”
“You shouldn’t have taken it and had it published at all. Angry doesn’t begin to cover how I’m feeling.” He tossed the pages onto the divan beside them before striding to the piano, keeping his back to her. “What if the piece was unfinished? What if I hated it and had no intention of ever letting anyone hear it?”
“Do you hate the piece?” she asked.
“That isn’t the point. It was not yours to send to London. And now that you have published it anonymously, what if someone else claims to be the composer?”
“Why would someone do that?” she asked, going closer and putting her hand on his arm. Vincent flinched.
“You are like a child!” After uttering those hurtful words, he stormed from one side of the room to the other, pacing. “A willful, careless child! Except far worse because you can do the damage of an adult. An immature, foolhardy, reckless adult,” he fumed. “I cannot even call you spiteful because you would have had to think this through with malevolent intent, and I know you to be too much of a dunderhead for such calculated malice!”
Brilliance’s eyes pricked with tears. When a single one escaped and rolled down her cheek, she dashed it away with the back of her hand.
“Oh no you don’t!” he said. “That’s an old trick. You can appear as pathetic as you like, but I shall not take any notice. I clearly told you my performing was against the pluck and that I had an abhorrence to transcribing my music, let alone having it printed. Didn’t you believe me? Or did you rush ahead with utter disregard for my wishes?”
Brilliance had no defense. There was nothing she could say to bring back the friendly, loving Vincent of moments earlier. Thus, she stayed silent, unable to think of any excuse for her actions, which had seemed so appropriate until he’d pointed out that they were not.
Still, she ought to offer an apology, even though she didn’t understand why he was so upset.
“I am sorry to have —”
“I suggest you return to my cousin’s home without delay.” He went to the window. When he turned, she could hardly see his face for the summer sun at his back. But she knew his expression was twisted with anger. “And I must request that you do not return. If you come knocking at my door, I promise you shall not be admitted.”
Snatching up the printed pages, he strode from the room without a backward glance.
“I love you,” she whispered over the sound of his footsteps as he crossed the front hall. She could still smell his cologne, rich and peppery, the one that always made her tingle.
Looking around, she had nothing to retrieve except her reticule, which she slid over her wrist. Then she inspected her hat, making sure it was still on and relatively straight. Even though he was being beastly, she could see now that she deserved it. She had overstepped. Again! And this time, unlike when she’d put his name on the list of the evening’s entertainers, it seemed there were no more chances, no further forgiveness.
If she’d been a different sort of female, she would sink to the carpet in a puddle of hysterical waterworks. In truth, she felt like sobbing, but she would wait until she was back in her room at Lady Twitchard’s.
Although she might allow herself a little cry in the carriage on the short ride back. Sure enough, as soon as she and Belinda were in her host’s borrowed conveyance, Brilliance turned her face to the window and let her tears spill over and course unchecked down her cheeks.
Two days later, without any further communication between them, she departed Bexley for Oak Grove Hall in Derby.