The Heart of War

Chapter 22 #2

Edmond stood as if the couch was on fire. He glanced around the room, his eyes landing on the instrument at its center.

“Is that your mother’s pianoforte?” he asked, his voice breathless.

My heart gave a wild, traitorous thrum, and I pressed a hand against my bodice to steady it. “What?”

He walked over to the instrument and laid his hand on the lid. “You told me this was your favorite pastime. I’d love to hear you play.”

I stared at him, wondering if I had imagined the moment we had just shared. Sure enough, I met Mrs. Sweete’s eye, and the weight of her glare was enough to flatten a mountain. Heat flared in my cheeks, and I cleared my throat.

“I must have heard you wrong,” I said. “For a moment, I thought you said you wanted to hear me play.”

“Yes.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I have never been more serious about anything in my life.”

“Edmond, I assure you, whatever you imagine my playing sounds like, the reality is infinitely worse.”

“One song,” he said, grinning. “That’s all.”

I had never played for anyone outside of my household. Father would never allow it. If I played even one song, Edmond would surely run from me, screaming. But it did present an opportunity that I couldn’t pass up.

“If I play you a song, will you tell me what you wanted to say that night?” I asked.

His eyes met mine. “It’s not the right time.”

“When will it be the right time?”

That same fierceness flickered in his eyes once more. “Are you going to the masquerade ball tomorrow night?”

“Yes.”

He drew in a breath. “Tomorrow. I will tell you tomorrow. I swear it.” My lips parted in surprise, but he continued. “I can offer another form of payment, however. If you play a song for me, then I’ll give you a present.”

“Besides the marzipan?”

He patted the pocket over his heart. “I have it right here.”

I eyed the fabric concealing Edmond’s gift, my mind whirring through possibilities of what sort of gift could fit inside his chest pocket. A note? A pressed flower from his garden?

A ring?

“I won’t force you to play if you don’t want to,” he said.

“Fine!” I threw up my hands in defeat. “Since you give me no choice…”

“But I just said that—”

“Any requests?” I sat on the bench and flung open the fallboard.

He smiled and moved to the other side of the pianoforte so he could watch me head on. “Your favorite song.”

My favorite song. There was only one song it could possibly be: the lullaby my mother had composed for me. I did not need her sheet music in front of me. I knew it by heart. At least, my ears did. My fingers—not so much.

I closed my eyes, drew in a breath, then pressed down on the first chord.

It was wrong, of course, and I winced as I readjusted my fingers over the keys.

The second attempt was not much better than the first. I peeked one eye open, finding the right placement, then tried a third time. Much too loudly.

But the song was already playing out in my head, and I soldiered on, despite butchering the melody and slaughtering the rhythm.

The more I played, the more my body relaxed into the music, and I enjoyed it.

The last person besides Mrs. Sweete who had willingly listened to me play was my mother.

Even when I played abysmally, she had always cheered me on.

It was the reason why I loved playing the pianoforte; it reminded me of her smile, her kind words.

And to my surprise, it felt good to play for someone again.

As I reached the final chord, I kept my foot on the pedal, letting the painfully discordant notes groan through the air.

When the grating sound thinned sufficiently, I let my hands fall into my lap. “Well?” I demanded. “Go on then. Say what you must.”

I half expected to see Edmond unconscious or at least suffering from bleeding ears. But he was leaning on the pianoforte with his chin cupped in his hands and his eyes sparkling. He straightened, then slowly lifted his arms…

And applauded.

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t mock me, Edmond.”

“I’m not mocking you! I’m being sincere when I say that was my favorite musical performance I’ve ever had the honor to witness.”

I flushed. “Are you done teasing?”

“It’s refreshing to see that you’re human after all.”

“Did you think I was some sort of devil?”

“Or goddess—sent to torment us imperfect mortals.”

I scoffed. “There is plenty I’m not good at. I just… don’t let anyone see it.”

“We have that in common then.” Edmond smiled. “You said your mother taught you to play?”

The simple question made my heart lurch, but I nodded. “As you just witnessed, I didn’t learn much from her.”

“Were you a terribly stubborn student?”

“No, it’s because…” The words caught in my throat, but I took a breath and forced them into the light. “It was because she died.”

The playfulness on Edmond’s face melted away, and I turned my gaze back onto the ivory keys.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly.

“It was a long time ago.”

Edmond stepped closer. “How did she die?”

I tensed as images of the hedge maze and red-stained cotton flashed across my mind. Edmond didn’t take his eyes off me. I felt like one of Lord Cranford’s specimens beneath a magnifying glass.

“Helena? Are you all right?”

I couldn’t form the words. Father had ordered me to never tell anyone the truth of that day. He warned that if I did, I’d be looked down upon, that I’d become dirtied by their judgment. He had even ordered Mrs. Sweete to never speak a word of it to me, or else she’d be dismissed immediately.

Some stains could never be scrubbed out.

If I told Edmond the truth, he’d likely see me as less than whole. But was there a chance he’d hold my secret the same way I held his? I couldn’t deny that something deep within my heart desperately wanted to find out.

My gaze snapped to Edmond’s. “It’s my fault she died.”

“What?”

The words that had been building up inside of me finally barreled out. “I ran away. She called out for me. I refused to come. Then… she fell. She was injured while looking for me, and she got a fever shortly afterward. And she died. Edmond, she died because of me.”

Edmond stared at me, his eyes wide. My stomach churned at the sight. Even Mrs. Sweete had gone completely still in the corner. I had broken my promise to hold this secret close, and now Edmond would discard me, just as Father had always warned.

I laced my trembling hands in my lap and prepared for the worst.

“No,” he said.

I looked up.

Edmond stepped around the pianoforte, stopping directly in front of me. “No, Helena. Your mother’s death is not your fault.”

This time, it was my turn to stare.

“It was clearly an accident.” He blew out a disbelieving breath. “You were a child! What devil told you it was your fault?”

I gaped at him. “But if I had obeyed—”

“Then she still could have fallen.” He pressed his hand to his heart. “I promise you, Helena, you are not responsible. Whoever made you believe otherwise has much to answer for.” He paused, his gaze softening. “Have you carried that guilt all this time?”

I sank on the bench, my muscles feeling unusually weak. “Yes.”

His nostrils flared, and his fingers flexed at his sides. For a moment, I worried I had angered him. But he released a breath and motioned for me to make room for him on the bench. I did, and he sat next to me.

“Are you ready for your surprise?” he asked gently.

I nodded, unable to form a single word. I had revealed my greatest flaw to Edmond, and he had… accepted it. Not only that, he had stood up against the hateful inner voice that had been haunting me these last ten years. I wasn’t sure what to make of it.

Edmond reached inside his jacket and pulled out a small silk bundle. “I noticed your bracelet—and the diamond charm.”

The heaviness of the last few minutes fled from my heart in an instant.

Is it another piece of jewelry to accompany the bracelet? I bit the inside of my cheek hard enough to keep me from snatching it out of his hands.

“This… isn’t so grand.” He turned it over in his hand. “But it means a great deal to me.”

“For heaven’s sake, just hand it over,” I said, my hand already extended.

He placed it in my open palm, and it was a great credit to my discipline that I unfolded it slowly instead of ripping it free from its wrappings with my teeth. I removed the last corner to reveal a—

Bead. A single glass bead. It was a simple thing, made from dark green glass with a delicate white flower painted on one side. A silver eyelet topped the bead, so I could attach it to my bracelet.

“It’s a jasmine flower,” Edmond said. “In India, jasmine is called Queen of the Night, because its scent is strongest after sunset. But, to me, its beauty lies not in its fragrance, but in the persistent way its vine climbs ever closer to the sun. It’s my favorite thing in my garden.”

I forced a smile. “How lovely.”

It really was a nice gift. In fact, there was something oddly comforting and familiar about the plain, little flower. I should be ashamed to feel anything but gratitude. And yet my throat had tightened as I tried to hold back the tears that threatened to fall.

“You don’t like it,” Edmond said quietly.

“No, I do. I really do.” I forced my features into excitement. “But why give this to me?”

“Because you earned it with your performance.”

I shook my head. “You said it meant a great deal to you. So what exactly does it mean?”

He hesitated. “I suppose it’s a reminder of my garden—”

“No!” I spun around, and, in a fit of anger, I slammed the fallboard shut, sending a deafening wave of finality over the music room. “What do I mean to you?”

The silence hung in the air between us. I was painfully aware of Mrs. Sweete seated in the corner, her hand stilled over her needlework. But she didn’t so much as breathe. None of us did. All I could do was force myself not to look away from Edmond’s green eyes, round with surprise.

“What do I mean to you, Edmond?” I pleaded, this time softer but just as insistent.

Edmond didn’t speak. Didn’t even move. His jaw tightened, but neither of us looked away. I had never dared to be so direct. In fact, I was breaching every code of my personal conduct by asking him such a question. But I needed his answer, and I wasn’t going to back down.

Edmond released a tight breath and stepped closer to me. He was much taller than me, and with every step he took, I craned my neck more and more to keep eye contact.

“Are you sure you want to know?” he asked, his voice low.

All I could do was nod.

He swallowed, his hand clenching and unclenching at his side. My heart beat faster as his lips parted, and he drew in breath—

The door to the music room flung open.

“I thought I told you not to play that cursed instrument anymore!” a raging voice shouted.

Edmond and I startled. I curled into him on instinct, his arm wrapping around me. But as soon as I saw who was standing in the doorway, I stepped away, and Edmond’s hand fell to his side.

“Father,” I said quickly. “What are you doing here? I thought you were at the club.”

“I left early.” Father narrowed his eyes on Edmond “Why are you here? And why were you touching my daughter?”

“Lord Highcliffe,” Edmond gave a hasty bow. “I assure you, nothing untoward happened between me and your daughter.”

“I’ve been here the whole time,” Mrs. Sweete assured him.

“Enough!” Father turned to me. “You. You promised you wouldn’t play the pianoforte in front of another soul. You embarrass me and yourself. Apologize to Hawke at once.”

I looked down at the floor, the air suddenly too thick to draw a full breath.

“Apologize?” Edmond said, aghast. “For what? I’m the one who asked her to play.”

Father ignored him. “Now, Helena. Before you humiliate me further.”

“No.” Edmond stepped in front of me. “She has done nothing wrong. But you, sir, have much to answer for, starting with the treatment of your own daughter.”

I froze. No one had ever spoken to Father like that. No one would dare.

“Out,” Father demanded. When Edmond didn’t move, Father raised his voice louder. “I said out! Or I will have you thrown out!”

Edmond stayed put, protecting me. But I wasn’t the one who needed protecting. I stepped around him to stand beside my father. Edmond stared at me, his green eyes flaming.

“It’s all right, Mr. Hawke,” I said. “You should go.”

“But—”

“Please. Go.”

We stared at each other for a few heartbeats, and I threw all of my pleading into my gaze, hoping it would be enough to convince him.

Mrs. Sweete walked over and placed a steady hand on Edmond’s shoulder. He deflated. Pain rimmed his eyes as he looked at me one last time before leaving the room, his fists curled at his sides.

As soon as Edmond was gone, Father spun on me. “What were you thinking? Dallying with him of all people when you are engaged to the baron?”

“I’m not engaged to the baron yet,” I said.

“And why not? I ordered you to finish things at the opera.”

“I told you, Father. There was never a moment the baron and I were alone.”

“That shouldn’t have been hard for you to manage, considering you’ve been lifting your skirts for every fop that prances through the door.”

“Lord Highcliffe!” Mrs. Sweete said. “Miss Weston has never—”

“Leave us.” Father glared at Mrs. Sweete until she yielded. She squeezed my arm, then left the room. I was glad she did. If Father dismissed her from service, I would truly fall apart.

“I don’t want you to talk to that Hawke fellow anymore,” he said.

“But you were the one who told me to pursue him in the first place!”

“That was before the baron’s proposal. We already have everything worked out, Helena. Stop sabotaging our efforts!”

“And if I refuse to stop?” I swallowed the fear bubbling in my throat. “What if I want to be with Mr. Hawke instead?”

Father looked down at me, his lips curling into a sneer. “You really think he wants you? That man is courting Sybella Pratt.”

It was like I’d been struck. “That’s not true.”

“Of course it’s true. He’s at Rosemont all the time. Besides, Miss Pratt is better suited for Mr. Hawke than you are.”

I pulled back. “Why would you say that?”

“Because she has a dowry, and you don’t. Tell me, Helena. Does Mr. Hawke know that you come at such a steep cost? The baron does, and he’s willing to pay that price because he feels indebted to your mother’s family. But Mr. Hawke has no such reason.”

That made me pause. Edmond knew about our financial woes, but there was no way he could possibly know that my dowry was entirely gone. No, I thought. Edmond wasn’t like my father. Money wasn’t the only thing he cared about, was it?

Father pointed a finger at me. “If my deal with Cranford falls through, then you’re gone. I’ll send you off to Lichtenstein. You’ll be on a ship to Austria the next day, and you’ll never step foot on English soil again. Do you hear me?”

I lowered my gaze, my fingers grazing the diamond on my wrist. As always, I was a coward with my father, and I hated myself for it.

“Yes, Father. I hear you.”