Chapter 17
Cecily tried to focus as she walked toward the music room, but her thoughts refused to be still.
Her sleep had been restless, her dreams full of half-formed images of the earl at the piano, the warmth of his hands, and the way he had looked at her just before everything had become confused.
By the time she reached the door, her heart was pounding.
She paused with her hand on the latch, trying to gather herself before stepping inside.
The children deserved her full attention, and she did not want them to sense her unrest. She took a deep breath, reminding herself that the morning lesson was familiar ground.
Whatever confusion lingered from the night before would have to wait.
She opened the door and saw Julian and Amabel waiting for her, the sheet music for the recital piece spread across the piano. Both children looked up at once when she entered.
“Good morning, Miss Marwood,” Julian said, his voice bright despite the early hour.
“Good morning, Miss Marwood,” Amabel added, giving a small smile.
“Good morning,” she replied, returning the smile as she joined them. “Shall we begin? But first, Amabel, how are you feeling today? You look stronger than yesterday.”
Amabel nodded, her smile growing. “I feel much better, Miss Marwood.”
Julian straightened a little. “She took a nap yesterday,” he said, clearly proud of this contribution. “And after she woke up, we practiced even more.”
Cecily’s expression softened. “I am glad to hear it. Both of you look ready for the morning. Let’s get started.”
She arranged the pages carefully, grateful for the structure the music provided. The children watched her closely, waiting for direction.
It was a difficult composition, far beyond what most children their age would attempt, and today, it showed. Julian stumbled over the same passage again and again, his frustration growing with each mistake.
He struck the keys too hard on the next attempt. “Why can I not get it right?” he muttered, his shoulders tightening.
“You are closer than you think,” Cecily said, guiding his hand back to the starting position. “Try it slowly. Only the right hand for now.”
Amabel’s fingers moved hesitantly beside him, her confidence slipping with every missed note.
“I keep forgetting the harmony,” she whispered. “I knew it yesterday.”
“You still know it,” Cecily said, gently. “Your hands are only tired. Let us take it one measure at a time.”
She guided Amabel’s hand with gentle precision, noting the faint tremor that had not yet left the girl. Cecily wished she could ease the child’s frustration more quickly, but she knew progress required patience. She kept her tone calm, hoping it would help Amabel regain her confidence.
“Let us try the left hand alone,” she said softly.
Amabel nodded, but she did not look up. After a few measures, she faltered again and sighed as she brought her hands down and placed them in her lap.
“Miss Marwood,” she murmured, “Lady Viola says piano is not so important for a young lady. That it is only a pastime.”
Cecily’s brows lifted slightly. “When did she say that, Amabel?”
Amabel hesitated. “Yesterday. We were practicing, and Miss Marwood came in while we were playing. She said it then.”
Cecily nodded slowly. “I understand.”
Amabel looked down at her hands. “I did not like it. I want to play well.”
Julian straightened beside her. “She does. She practiced again after that.”
Cecily felt her stomach tighten, and she clenched her fists but forced her tone to remain neutral. “Pay her no mind, Amabel. Music is important if it matters to you.”
Amabel looked down at the keys. “But she said it is not something a lady needs to learn well.”
Cecily closed her eyes for a brief moment before answering.
“I have played the piano my entire life,” she said gently.
“It was never a pastime to me. My father was a piano maker. I grew up in his workshop, listening to every instrument he built. Music was part of our home and part of everything we did. I put a lot of time into learning how to play well, and I do not regret a single minute.”
She felt a quiet ache at the memory of her father’s workshop, the scent of wood shavings and varnish, and the sound of his careful work.
Those hours had shaped her more than any formal lesson.
She hoped the children might find their own sense of purpose through music, even if their path differed from hers.
Julian glanced up, surprised. “Your father made pianos?”
“Yes,” Cecily said, her voice softening. “And he taught me to play on the first one he ever finished. “I practiced beside him while he worked. He said music mattered because it shaped the heart, not because it pleased society.”
Amabel smiled. “Then it can matter for me too!”
“It already does,” Cecily said, brushing a loose curl from the child’s forehead.
Julian paused over the keys, glancing sideways at them. He tapped one note, then another, hesitated, and finally spoke.
“Lady Viola is funny,” he said.
Cecily glanced toward him. “Funny in what way, Julian?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know in what way. She just says funny things a lot,” he answered, offering nothing more.
Amabel looked at him, then at Cecily. Julian met her eyes for a brief second before both children exchanged a small, uncertain glance. A moment later, they each gave a quick shrug, as if trying to dismiss whatever they were thinking and return their attention to the music.
What is she telling them? What is she planting in their minds?
Cecily felt her eyes begin to sting. She lowered her gaze for a moment, unwilling to let the children see her reaction.
She had worked hard to create a space where they felt safe, and she did not want Lady Viola’s influence to reach them here.
She reminded herself that her role was to guide, not to dwell on what she could not control.
She tried to smile and tried to keep her voice light. “Everyone has their opinions. But here, in this room, we work hard. And you are both capable of far more than you think.”
They nodded, reassured for the moment, and she guided them back to the music. She tried to match their focus, but the notes blurred as her thoughts slipped away from the page. The room around her seemed to shift, pulling her back to the night before.
Back to this same room, but in the dark.
Back to the warmth of the earl’s breath near her cheek.
Back to the kiss that had left her shaken and breathless.
And back to the way he had looked at her and the way that she could see his inner struggle.
Her fingers hovered over the keys, and she realized she had stopped playing entirely.
“Miss Marwood,” Julian said gently, “are you well?”
She blinked, startled back into the present. “Yes. I am only thinking.”
But she knew her thoughts were not on the lesson, nor on the recital, nor even on Lady Viola’s quiet, creeping influence.
They were on him, and the way everything had changed in a single moment that could not be undone.
Julian looked at her earnestly. “What should we play now, Miss Marwood?”
Amabel nodded. “Yes. We want to work hard. We can do the piece again, if you like.”
“You have worked hard today,” Cecily said, smiling. “We can put the piece aside for the day. How about we finish the session with a few scales?”
They obeyed without complaint, working through the patterns until their hands grew steadier. When they finished, she smiled again.
“That will do for today. Well done, both of you.
Amabel hesitated. “Are you sure you don’t want us to do more, Miss Marwood?”
“We can practice other scales, if you want,” Julian added.
Cecily felt a surge of affection. They were taking her words to heart and trying so hard to please her. “You’ve done enough for today. We’ll return to it tomorrow.”
Julian nodded. “All right.”
“Thank you, Miss Marwood,” Amabel said, her voice warm.
Julian thanked her, and the children ran off together, their steps light as they disappeared down the corridor.
Cecily gathered the sheet music one page at a time, moving around the room to collect the pencils, the metronome, and the loose sheets the children had left behind. When she reached the piano, she paused, her eyes settling on the bench where Julian and Amabel had sat only minutes before.
But she was not thinking of the children.
As she once again turned her attention to the room, she sensed a presence in the doorway and looked up.
The earl stood there, silent and composed, his figure filling the threshold. He looked as though he had been standing there long enough to decide whether to speak.
Her breath caught as she saw him, though she kept her expression composed. She had not expected him to seek her out, especially after the night before. She was unsure whether his presence meant reassurance or distance.
“Walk with me,” he said.
She hesitated only a moment, then nodded. She carefully put her supplies away, stacking the pages and returning each item to its place. When she finished, she smoothed down her dress and followed the earl into the corridor.
They had barely gone a few steps when Silas Creed appeared at the far end of the hallway. Cecily’s chest tightened when she saw him. Lady Viola’s manservant had always left her uneasy. She could name nothing specific, but she never felt comfortable when he was nearby.
He walked toward them silently, and the earl slowed as if he meant to speak to Creed. His mouth opened slightly, but then he closed it again. He clearly pushed aside whatever question had been on his mind.
He returned his attention to Cecily as Creed passed them without a word.
A few moments later, Mrs. Bracknell emerged from a side passage, her gaze sweeping over Cecily with a slow, deliberate assessment before settling into clear disdain. Cecily felt heat rush to her cheeks, but she said nothing. She clenched her fists, kept her head up, and kept walking forward.
She reminded herself that she had earned her place in the house through her work, not through anyone’s approval.
Mrs. Bracknell’s expression carried its usual judgment, but Cecily refused to let it unsettle her.
She focused on the earl’s steps ahead of her, using the movement to keep her thoughts from spiraling.
As they stepped outside, the cool air met her at once, helping to ease the tightness in her shoulders and settle her thoughts.
She took in a slow, deep breath, the simple gesture calming her.
The grounds stretched before them, washed clean from the night’s storm.
The gravel paths were darker, and the leaves along the hedges still held faint droplets that caught the afternoon light.
Cecily glanced around as they walked. The garden beds looked freshly turned, the grass was brushed smooth by the rain, and the sky was a pale blue sheet spreading out above the estate.
The earl led her toward the small grove beyond the garden. His posture was rigid, and he was taking swift, steady steps. She followed him in silence, unsure what would happen next. She could not read him, and he did not look at her once.
When they finally reached the shelter of the trees, he stopped and turned towards her. For a moment, he said nothing before taking a deep, shaky breath. He slowly exhaled and then let his eyes meet hers, traces of pain visible beneath his composure.
“Miss Marwood,” he began, his voice distant, “I owe you an apology.”
Her heart sank. “An apology? For what?”
“For last night.” He lifted his gaze and fixed it somewhere beyond her shoulder. “It was a terrible mistake. I was out of line.”
She quickly blinked away the tears that sprang to her eyes as her throat tightened and she felt her breath catch.
“A mistake,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
“You were only showing me how to play the piano,” he went on, each word steady and unflinching. “You guided my hands, and I should never have kissed you.”
The silence between them tightened, neither of them looking away.
“It will never happen again. You have my word.”
She stared at him, unable to speak. She kept her face composed, unwilling to reveal the disappointment that pressed against her. She reminded herself that she had known the risks from the beginning. Whatever she felt, she would carry it privately, without expecting anything in return.
The kiss was real, she thought. It was something neither of us planned, yet both of us clearly wanted. Yes, I went to sleep with my heart in turmoil, but never, not once, did I imagine you would call it a mistake.
Not trusting herself to speak, she simply looked at him and waited.
He continued, “Your position here is not at risk. I will ensure that. And from now on, I will stay far away from you.”
Her chest ached, but she lifted her chin, refusing to let him see how deeply he had wounded her. “You need not worry about me, My Lord. I will not bring it up again. And I will stay away from you as well.”
At that moment, something shifted in his face. There was a small tightening around his eyes, and a faint pull at the edges of his mouth. It was as if something had hurt him.
Why do you look like that? she thought, furrowing her brows. You are the one who ended it. You are the one who said it meant nothing, said it was a mistake. I am standing here trying to steady myself while you look as though you feel something you just claimed was never there at all.
Before either of them could speak again, a voice drifted through the trees.
“My, my. What a touching scene.”
Lady Viola stepped into view, her smile sharp as a blade, as the moment shattered.