Chapter Seventeen
The last note lingered in the air like breath held against glass. For a suspended heartbeat, no one moved. Lila lifted her hands from the keys. Light caught the faint tremor in her fingers, which she hid by folding them neatly in her lap. She drew a quiet breath, gathering herself.
A soft murmur traveled through the salon. Appreciation. Surprise. The small, murmuring hunger of people who had recognized more than they expected.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon tapped her cane once. “Well done.”
Lila inclined her head. “Thank you.”
She did not meet Marcus’s eyes. Not yet. She was still adjusting to being seen.
Henry clapped once, a bright, unfiltered burst of pride. He caught himself too late, cheeks coloring. The sound softened the moment with an innocence no adult could echo. Several of the ladies smiled at him.
Fenwick did not.
Marcus shifted a fraction closer to Henry.
Bessie’s gaze moved between the three of them, a faint smile touching her mouth, as if she were watching pieces slide into place on a board she understood.
Lila rose from the bench.
“I can play another—”
“No,” Bessie said. “Let them wait for the next.”
Lila nodded.
Mrs. Newton drifted forward, tapping her fan against her glove. “Miss Edgewood, that was lovely. You play with such… expression.”
Miss Lyle chimed in. “Mrs. Horner must hear you. She gives the most divine soirées—”
“You are kind,” Lila said.
Marcus saw the tension in her shoulders. The careful distance in her gaze. The way she kept her hands clasped to prevent any gesture that might be mistaken for an invitation.
The ladies circled. For all her composure, Lila stood unmoored at the center of it. Before they could press closer, Henry slipped to her side and touched her sleeve, his shy pride unmistakable.
“You played my song,” he whispered.
Her composure softened, just slightly. “Yes,” she murmured. “I did.”
Lady Harbrook approached next. “Is this the boy?” she asked, examining Henry as though he were an object for private appraisal. “The one you teach?”
Henry edged nearer to Marcus.
“Yes,” Lila said.
“And both hands already?” Lady Harbrook asked. “At his age?”
Lila paused, not out of uncertainty but because Henry was listening. “He has a strong instinct for music,” she said gently. “One has only to let him keep it.”
Marcus’s throat tightened. Those words had been meant for a smaller room. For his son.
Henry beamed.
“Remarkable,” Lady Harbrook said. She turned to Marcus. “You must be proud, Lord Wolfton.”
“I am,” Marcus replied, though his eyes remained on Lila.
Fenwick moved next, gliding through the cluster like a shadow across lamplight.
“A fine performance, Miss Edgewood,” he said. “Truly fine.”
Lila inclined her head. She did not retreat, though Marcus caught the impulse.
“You command a room as effortlessly as any duchess,” Fenwick continued. “One might say you command it.”
“That is enough,” Bessie said.
Fenwick ignored her. He shifted to block Lila’s path away from the pianoforte, placing himself between her and Marcus with the easy assurance of a man accustomed to occupying space.
“Miss Edgewood,” he said softly, “I will be holding a private gathering in a fortnight. Intimate. Appreciative. Music would be—”
“She is not available.”
The room stilled.
Lady Harbrook blinked. Miss Lyle’s whisper died mid-syllable.
Fenwick raised his brows. “My lord, I do not recall addressing you.”
“But you were speaking of her time,” Marcus replied. “And her time is already spoken for.”
Lila went utterly still.
“Miss Edgewood has not answered,” Fenwick said.
“She does not need to,” Marcus said.
Fenwick turned to Lila, eyes calculating. “Is that so?”
Her gaze flicked to Marcus. Not for permission. Not for rescue. For measure. She drew a steadying breath.
“As I said,” she replied, “Mrs. Dove-Lyon engages my time.”
Fenwick’s eyes cooled.
Marcus saw it.
So did Bessie.
Lady Harbrook laughed lightly. “There you have it, Mr. Fenwick. It seems the Den runs tighter than your gaming rooms.”
Fenwick bowed, his smile a practiced thing. “Miss Edgewood, my offer remains.”
“I decline.”
The refusal was quiet. Absolute.
Fenwick’s mouth tightened before he smoothed it away. He turned sharply and left the salon.
The room breathed again.
Bessie tapped her cane. “Miss Edgewood, the guests have had their amusements. The remainder of the evening requires no more of you.”
“Of course,” Lila said. She turned to Henry. “You did well. I played for all of them, but it was your tune that held.”
Henry stood a little taller.
Marcus watched her with a clarity he could no longer deny. She understood his son—not as a tutor, not as a caretaker, but as someone who saw the small fractures and knew how to place light there.
She lifted her portfolio.
Bessie stopped her with a touch of the cane. “No leaving alone. Not tonight. Fenwick is prowling.”
“I can take a hackney—”
“You will not,” Bessie said. She turned to Marcus. “Wolfton. You will see Miss Edgewood home.”
Marcus inclined his head.
“Of course.”