Chapter 8 #2
“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Annabelle’s voice trailed away as Mr. Vanderbilt shuffled his feet uncomfortably and Alec lifted his chin.
The four of us stood awkwardly as I tried, in vain, to think of something to say. Alec had come to my rescue several times—couldn’t I rescue him, too?
“Miss Wellington tells me she’s going to Europe, as well,” I said to Alec and Mr. Vanderbilt. “It will be nice to have a familiar friend there.”
Mr. Vanderbilt smiled—but Alec’s face remained a mask of indifference.
“Have you been before?” Mr. Vanderbilt asked me.
I shook my head, so he proceeded to tell me all about the pleasures of France and England.
The moment had been rescued, but Alec didn’t relax as I had hoped he would.
Aunt Maude rose to announce it was time for the evening’s entertainment, and I sighed in relief.
“Annabelle?” Aunt Maude asked, her voice level and even. “Would you sing for us?”
Everyone nodded their agreement and Annabelle’s cheeks blushed prettily.
“Only if Mr. Paxton-Hill will accompany me,” she said.
“Oh, do, Alec,” one of the matrons said. “You and Annabelle make such beautiful music together. I remember when you sang in Newport last summer.”
Alec did not look eager to play for Annabelle, but he was a gentleman and agreed.
While he played the piano, Annabelle sang “Silent Night” and then “It Came Upon the Midnight Clear.” Her voice was melodic and mesmerizing, and she sang with such purity, it was hard to take my eyes off her beautiful face.
When everyone begged her for a third, she shook her head in humility and then turned to me.
“Let’s have Miss Hill take a turn. I don’t want to monopolize the entire evening. She’s so lovely, I’m sure her voice will match.”
I shook my head emphatically as panic engulfed me. Aunt Maude had said she would not ask me to sing tonight. It was too soon.
“Come, Miss Hill,” said a lady with a commanding voice. “We’d all love to hear you.”
“I couldn’t,” I said, looking to Aunt Maude for help.
She looked stern and nodded once, as if I should sing. It was the proper thing to do when several people had asked me.
I swallowed hard and then stood on shaking legs as everyone turned their gazes to me.
Terror filled my heart. I had never sung for a crowd before and the last thing I wanted was to be the center of attention.
“Would you like me to accompany you?” Alec asked, empathy in his gaze.
I shook my head. I couldn’t ask him to ruin himself along with me.
“Are you certain?”
“Yes.” I nodded, my voice quavering with nerves.
He nodded back and then took a seat on a sofa near Annabelle.
They were a splendid couple, both exceptionally good-looking and born into this lifestyle. It made me feel even more out of place.
I couldn’t think of a single song I knew by heart, though I was certain I had known plenty before this moment. There had to be at least one Christmas carol I could recall. Perhaps “O Little Town of Bethlehem” would please the room?
I opened my mouth to begin singing, but the words stuck. Sweat gathered along my back and across my forehead.
I met Alec’s steady gaze, and he nodded with encouragement.
Taking a deep breath, I started to sing, but it wasn’t “O Little Town of Bethlehem.” Instead, an old Irish ballad Uncle Charlie had sung slipped out of my mouth.
I was so nervous, I hadn’t realized it. I just wanted to be done, to get it over with, so I could sit down and let someone else stand in this terrifying place.
“O father dear, I oft-times hear you talk of Erin's Isle, Her lofty scenes and valleys green, her mountains rude and wild. They say it is a pretty place wherein a prince might dwell. And why did you abandon it, the reason to me tell.”
There were curious glances all around, but no one seemed alarmed that I had chosen an Irish ballad. Maybe they were happy it wasn’t another Christmas carol, which they’d been listening to all day.
I couldn’t remember the lyrics until they were coming out of my mouth, but I let my memory work for me as I continued.
“My son, I loved our native land with energy and pride, Until a blight came on my land, my sheep and cattle died. The rent and taxes were to pay, I could not them redeem, And that's the cruel reason why I left old Skibbereen.”
A few of the matrons frowned, but I lifted my gaze so I wouldn’t have to look at them and pressed on to complete my task.
“Oh, it’s well I do remember that bleak December day, The landlord and the sheriff came to drive us all away. They set my roof on fire with their demon yellow spleen, And that's another reason why I left old Skibbereen.”
As the words came out of my mouth, I slowly began to realize that perhaps they weren’t appropriate for this parlor—or these people—and the more nervous I became, the more pronounced my accent became, too. But it was too late to stop now, so I started the next verse.
“Your mother, too, (God rest her soul) lay on the snowy ground. She fainted o’er in anguish with the desolation round. She never rose, but passed away from life to immortal dream, And found a quiet grave, my boy, in dear old Skibbereen.”
Aunt Maude’s mouth fell open—terror on her face now, too.
There were several more verses, but they didn’t get much better, so I simply let my voice trail away.
Silence filled the room as everyone stared at me.
The heat from the candles made the sweat drip down my corseted back and the cloying scent of pine made my stomach turn.
All I could think about was racing out of that room and running back to Five Points, where I knew my place—even if it wasn’t a pleasant one.
But then Alec began to laugh—a hearty sound that filled the space with so much mirth, others began to chuckle.
“How clever, Clara,” Alec said. “What a unique and entertaining song. Sometimes I feel as if I’ve heard them all—but this was a new one for me. Well done.”
There were several heads nodding in agreement, and I knew I had a choice to make. I could either run from the room weeping, as I wanted—or I could pretend it had all been a gag. Something to make people laugh.
I had no choice but to do the latter—so I started to laugh with them, though I knew Aunt Maude would not be laughing with us.
The house was quiet as I stood in the front parlor hours later, watching the snow falling on the side lawn.
Behind me, the wall sconces were dim, and the candles were still burning on the tree.
Aunt Maude had excused the footman after all the guests had departed, though I knew he was only a bell pull away.
No one was ever truly out of Aunt Maude’s beck and call.
“I’m sorry,” I said, unable to turn around and look at Aunt Maude or Alec, knowing I had disappointed them. “I don’t know what came over me. I panicked.”
“I detest excuses,” Aunt Maude said, her voice cool. “If Alec had not lightened the mood, everyone would be talking about it tomorrow. Rumors would swirl about your origins and people would begin looking deeper. Your enemies would have ammunition, and your reputation would be ruined.”
I had enemies?
“It was a simple mistake,” Alec said. “She was nervous. She should not have been asked to sing tonight.”
“I did not ask Miss Wellington to call on Clara. If I could have stopped it, I would.”
“You could have stopped it,” he said.
“Perhaps you should speak to Miss Wellington about improper behavior. She and you seem to be experts on the issue.”
Silence followed her words, and I peeked over my shoulder to see Alec’s response.
He was standing next to the hearth, his arm on the mantel, as he stared down into the flames.
What had Aunt Maude meant? Had Alec and Annabelle been part of a scandal? Together?
“As for you,” Aunt Maude said as she stood and addressed me, “you came dangerously close to ruining everything tonight. I expect better from you. We’ll resume lessons in the morning and will work night and day until you are ready.”
I nodded, dreading the work, but unable to deny her demands.
“I’m exhausted,” she said as she walked toward the door. “Good night.”
“Good night,” I said quietly.
After she left, neither Alec nor I spoke for several moments, but there was a question that had been burning inside me all evening.
“Who is Annabelle?”
He continued to stare into the flames and was quiet for so long, I was afraid he wouldn’t answer.
Finally, he said, “She is—was—” He paused. “I was in love with her once upon a time.”
Was he still in love with her?
“What happened?”
He turned to me, and I saw the pain in his gaze. “I wasn’t good enough for her.”
“How could that possibly be true?”
The look he gave me was a cross between tenderness and frustration at my naiveté.
“Annabelle’s mother, just like Aunt Maude, has her sights set higher.
She will take Annabelle to Europe in the spring to look for their entrance into the English aristocracy, just like so many others.
Despite my uncle’s close relationship with Annabelle’s father, and their years of devoted friendship, I do not have a title, so I was turned away when I asked for Annabelle’s hand in marriage. ”
A strange stab of jealousy tore at my heart. He had loved Annabelle enough to marry her?
I walked over to the hearth to face him, the train of my gown brushing against the thick carpet. “I’m sorry, Alec.”
The depth of his sadness sliced through me as the firelight flickered over the planes of his handsome face. As his gaze caressed mine, he said, “It seems my lot in life is to fall in love with women who are out of my reach.”
My pulse thudded as my heart begged to believe he meant me. Yet—I knew better than to hold on to false hope.
I couldn’t look into his eyes, realizing I was ignorant and na?ve about this, too.
“Do you still love Annabelle?” I asked, needing to shift the conversation back to solid ground.
“No.” He was quiet for a moment before he whispered, “Someone else has captured my heart.”
I could hardly breathe as I looked down at my hands, forcing myself to accept that he meant someone else. “She is a lucky young lady.”
I felt his gaze upon me. “I hope she would think so, though I’m not certain she’s aware of my feelings.”
Swallowing, I asked, “Have you not told her?”
He didn’t respond immediately, so I finally looked up. His expression was so intense, so full of longing and heartbreak, it was hard to hold his gaze—but I did.
“I am not at liberty to tell her how I feel—and I’m afraid she’s not at liberty to return my affections.”
I swallowed the nerves racing up my throat. The look in his eyes told me it was me that he spoke of, yet nothing in my experience had taught me that such a thing could be true. Even still, I whispered, “We are never without hope, Alec.”
He studied me, as if trying to answer a question. “I fear she will never know the depths of my love for her, because even if I told her, she would not have the freedom to accept it." He let out a breath. "It would be torture for both of us.”
I couldn’t stand under the weight of his heartache—a heartache that matched my own. I had to get away, to be alone and grapple with the emotions that tossed me about.
“Good night, Alec.” I left the hearth and started to walk toward the door.
“Keira.”
I stopped in the doorway and took my time turning toward him.
He approached me, his eyes filled with so many emotions, I couldn’t identify any of them.
When he stopped, he, too, was in the doorway. He looked up and my gaze followed his.
A bouquet of mistletoe hung from the trim and was tied with a red ribbon.
My heart beat hard as I realized why he had stopped me.
I lowered my gaze as he lowered his, and we were staring at each other.
He gave me time to walk away—but I didn’t. I couldn’t.
His gaze fell on my lips and made them tingle with anticipation. An internal struggle waged behind his eyes and when he finally lifted them again, I held my breath.
Slowly, tenderly, he placed a gentle kiss on my lips.
My pulse beat with affection as a tendril of pleasure slid through my chest and tightened into a coil of longing in my stomach. I wanted to wrap my arms around him and hold him close, but I couldn’t.
Because I was planning to marry a duke.
I wanted to cry.
After a moment, he pulled back. Something sweet filled his face—and just for a moment, he seemed to forget.
But then his shoulders dropped and he took a step away, lowering his gaze from mine. “Merry Christmas.”
Then he was gone.
I stood in the doorway as I watched him take the stairs two at a time and disappear.