Chapter Twenty-Nine #2
Their eyes met for only a fraction of a moment, yet the impact was undeniable.
Her heart hammered. One ought to feel something far deeper.
Did he feel something deeper . . . for her?
He’d been affectionate during the house party, before the rumors had driven a distance between them.
She’d felt that connection again as she’d sat with her hand in his. Had he?
Mater caught Arabella’s eye. “Would you be willing to play for us? I would so enjoy a bit of music.”
“Of course.” Though she was not treated as a servant, Arabella was still keenly aware of the fact that her role in Mater’s life was that of a helper, an easer of burdens. That she truly adored the dear lady made her efforts as a companion a joy rather than an obligation.
In that moment, Mater’s request was also a relief.
Linus’s words and expression had set her a little aflutter.
Taking her place at the pianoforte would be a welcome escape.
And she felt certain that playing would show her a little to advantage.
She was a fine pianist; she had often been told so. Linus, she hoped, would be impressed.
She had a number of pieces memorized and chose one to begin her impromptu recital. Not a dozen notes into a rondo by Pleyel, she stopped, horrified at the sound she’d produced.
Had she remembered the piece wrong?
She shook off the confusion and started again only to produce the same result. A third try proved no better. She looked back at the others, humiliated. They all watched her, wide-eyed and wincing.
“I don’t know what is the matter,” she said. One more attempt ended just as badly. What was happening? She kept her gaze on the keys, unable to look at the gathered guests again. How very certain she’d been of impressing them—impressing him.
Footsteps approached. Even without looking, she knew Linus had come to the instrument; she recognized the spicy cinnamon scent that always clung to him. She closed her eyes in horrified embarrassment. He must have thought her absolutely pathetic.
“I usually play much better,” she said quietly. “I don’t know what happened.”
“I do.”
How easily she heard her aunt’s voice in her mind. They will send you back in disgrace.
Linus leaned against the edge of the instrument. “I have not had the pianoforte tuned since returning home. And as my sister Daphne, who was mistress of the house before my return, does not play the pianoforte, I suspect she did not have the instrument tuned either.”
Whether or not his guess was accurate, she latched on to it. “My poor performance is your sister’s fault, then?”
“Entirely.”
She met his eye. The laughter she saw there washed away the last remnants of her humiliation.
His companionship did that for her. He relieved her worries, her insecurities, her uncertainties with hardly any effort.
There was never any disapproval in his eyes when he looked at her.
He never seemed to find her burdensome or beneath his notice.
She’d known very few people who consistently treated her that way; her dear earl had been the first. Mater was proving to be another.
The Jonquil brothers were equally kind and considerate.
And now Linus’s name was etching itself onto that list.
“I don’t know what I did to earn the look you’re giving me,” he said, “but I’m enjoying it.”
She never had been good at hiding her thoughts and feelings. Her aunt and uncle had always known when their words had hurt her or embarrassed her or when she was angry with them. That transparency had made punishing her painfully easy.
As quickly as he had lightened her mood, her memories had dampened it.
She rose from the stool at the pianoforte and faced the rest of the room. “I am sorry there will be no music.”
Mater waved that off. “It isn’t your fault Mr. Lancaster has an irresponsible sister.”
The duchess laughed. “Poor Daphne, to have her reputation so sullied.”
Mater grinned unrepentantly. “If she would have tuned the pianoforte, we would not be having this discussion. We would be having music instead.”
“Ask Linus to play his lyre,” Artemis said.
“I know it’s here; he doesn’t go anywhere without it.
He’s quite talented.” Artemis turned a glare on Charlie that the duke would have been hard-pressed to match in ferocity.
“And if you are even thinking about making a comment expressing shock that I would say something kind about someone else—”
Charlie held up his unbroken arm in a show of innocence. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”
“You were thinking it.”
“No, I wasn’t.”
“Enough,” the duke grumbled.
Arabella met Linus’s eyes. “Those two are going to kill each other,” she said quietly.
He nodded. “I know.”
“Do play for us, Linus,” the duchess said. “You haven’t in ages.”
“I am to be the court minstrel?” he asked with more than a hint of laughter.
“Yes.” Mater spoke quite somberly. “And I intend to mistreat you terribly if I am disappointed in your performance.”
Linus shook his head, his mouth downturned. “We Linuses simply cannot win. I am to be punished if I do not live up to expectations, while Linus of old was strangled with his lyre for playing too well.”
“It seems you have a very fine line to walk,” Arabella said.
He smiled at her, broadly, fully. She’d never known a man with green eyes and, thus, had not realized before meeting him what a preference she had for them, especially when lit by genuine amusement.
“Never let it be said a man of the navy shied away from a challenge.” He winked at her, setting off a wave of warmth inside. “I will return shortly with the instrument of either my triumph or my untimely demise.” He left, a bounce in his step.