Chapter Thirty-Four
P
Linus needed to make the better acquaintance of a few more of his neighbors.
The Nappers were pleasant enough company, but having them as guests yet again left much to be desired.
Mr. and Mrs. Napper clearly had hopes of both him and Charlie taking an interest in their daughters.
Charlie was too young for a serious attachment.
And Linus’s affections were fully focused elsewhere.
Perhaps he needed to make that a little clearer.
“What shall we do for entertainment this evening?” the dowager asked when they’d all gathered in the drawing room. “Loo or whist, perhaps?”
Linus had been working on a surprise for Arabella. Now was the perfect opportunity. “I had hoped we might have some music.”
“Excellent,” Mrs. Napper said.
“I would very much enjoy hearing your lyre again.” The eldest Miss Napper had spoken to him more about his music than any other topic. He hadn’t intended to pique her interest; he had something else in mind entirely.
“I had hoped,” he said, “that Miss Hampton would favor us.”
Her eyes pulled wide. He likely should have warned her.
“Miss Hampton plays the lyre?” Mrs. Napper asked.
Linus shook his head. “She plays the pianoforte, and I understand she is quite talented.”
He turned fully to Arabella. “Would you be willing?” He held his hand out to her.
She allowed him to help her to her feet. Under her breath, she said, “Your pianoforte is not playable. This will end in humiliation.”
He tucked her arm through his and walked her to the instrument. “I would never ask you to embarrass yourself,” he whispered.
She sat on the stool. Her fingers hesitated over the keys.
“Trust me,” he said.
Arabella squared her shoulders and set her hands in position. She did, indeed, trust him. The realization touched him deeply; he knew full well how difficult that was for her.
She began to play. After only a few notes, though, she stopped. With amazement in her voice, she said, “You’ve had the pianoforte tuned.”
“Today during your walk,” he said.
Rather than the excitement he’d expected, he saw concern in her expression. “But you don’t play.”
“I don’t.”
“And no one who lives here does.”
He smiled gently. “It will bring you pleasure. That makes the effort more than worth it.”
She absentmindedly touched her fingers to the beads on her necklace—his beads. “Thank you.”
He nodded. “Please play. I’ve wanted to hear you ever since the dowager told me of your talent the night she introduced us.”
“I do like to play.”
“Then I will not keep you.” He offered a small bow, then took a seat at the front of the group, where he could watch and hear.
She took up a tune. Her playing was every bit as pleasurable as the dowager had said it was. More wonderful even than that, she clearly enjoyed playing the music. They shared that. Perhaps they could learn a few duets for his lyre and her pianoforte. How easily he could imagine it.
Mr. Napper sat near enough to quietly comment to him. “She plays well.”
“More than merely ‘well,’” Linus said. “Lovely. Beautiful.”
“The music or the musician?” That was certainly pointed. Still, it was an opportunity for offering clarity.
“Both,” he said, holding Mr. Napper’s gaze.
His neighbor made a gesture of understanding. “I had begun to suspect the wind blew that way.”
“And I’ve begun to suspect some in your family believed it might blow another direction entirely.
” He hoped the frank observation did not give offense.
Rumors had caused him and Arabella trouble before.
He would not risk it happening again. “I trust any misconceptions there can be easily cleared up.”
Mr. Napper gave a single nod, one devoid of malice. It seemed he, at least, hadn’t pinned too many hopes on Linus.
Arabella continued to play. Linus could fully listen once more. Her music was lovely. And watching her was a joy.
He hoped his offering—an instrument she could play—brought her some happiness while she was here. More than that, he hoped her time in his home, in his life, brought her peace and joy and the assurance she was loved. There was no other word for what he felt. Love.
Her song ended. She rose and, with a bit of a blush on her cheeks, curtsied as her audience applauded. Linus moved to escort her to a seat, but Dr. Scorseby arrived at her side first.
“Yours is an impressive talent.” Dr. Scorseby placed himself directly between Linus and Arabella, something that likely wasn’t accidental.
There was no mistaking the message. Scorseby was well aware that Linus was courting Arabella, and he didn’t mean to abandon his own efforts.
“I feel quite privileged to have heard your performance,” the doctor said to her.
“I hope you mean to favor the neighborhood with a performance once we’ve returned to Nottinghamshire. ”
Scorseby might have held Arabella’s attention at the moment, but she was wearing Linus’s beads. She had stood in his embrace the previous afternoon. That was reason enough to believe his suit was not being rejected or brushed aside in favor of someone else’s.
“Dr. Scorseby,” the dowager spoke loud enough to prevent the physician from continuing his commentary. “Forgive me for depriving you of your partner, but I need Miss Hampton to fetch my shawl for me.”
The doctor graciously stepped aside. Arabella left quickly. Linus had not been granted even a moment of her time. Perhaps she would sit by him when she returned.
The second of the Nappers’ daughters took her place at the pianoforte. She played well, but Linus found his interested waning.
“Psst,” someone whispered behind him.
He looked back. Charlie motioned him over. Curious, he moved to the sofa where Charlie sat, his splinted legs stretched out in front of him.
“What are you waiting for?” Charlie whispered. “This is your chance.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Arabella.”
What was Charlie pushing at? “She went to fetch your mother’s shawl.”
“Mater has her shawl.”
Suddenly it all made sense. “The dowager created a ruse.”
“She created an opportunity.”
“Thank her for me.”
Linus slipped slowly from the room, not drawing attention to his departure. He took the stairs two at a time. Arabella stood a few feet from the top of the staircase. She watched him approach, brows pulled low. She looked uneasy.
“Is something the matter?” he asked.
“You tuned the pianoforte,” she said, “but you don’t play.”
“I don’t play, but you do.”
“You tuned it for me?” She stepped closer, narrowing the distance between them.
“Exclusively for you.” He moved closer as well.
“Because you like music?” She closed the gap between them, standing so near he could hear every breath she took.
“Because I like you.” He slipped an arm around her waist, his hand splayed against her back. “I like you very much, indeed.”
She set her open palms on his chest. Her eyes met his. “I like you very much as well.”
“Do you?” A smile tugged at his lips.
She raised herself up on her toes and pressed the briefest, lightest of kisses to his cheek. “I very much do.”
He pulled her more fully into his embrace, but she stepped back, slipping away.
“Arabella,” he called after her.
She paused halfway down the stairs and looked back up at him.
“May I join you on your walk tomorrow?”
She smiled. “Of course.”
“And the day after that?” He descended to the step she stood on.
“Of course.”
He moved one step lower, putting him nearly eye-to-eye with her. “And the day after that?”
“Of course.” She gently touched his cheek.
“You’ll find I’m a bit wind-bitten, my dear,” he said. “Years at sea take a toll.”
“Do you know what I thought the first time I saw you in the Lampton Park entryway?”
He pretended to ponder it. “You likely thought, ‘Who is that old man?’”
She tipped her head, her blue eyes bright with amusement. “I thought you were the most beautiful man I’d ever seen.”
“Beautiful?”
She laid her head on his shoulder. “I know it is not quite the right word, but it was the first one that came to mind. Certainly not wind-bitten.”
He wrapped his arms around her. “Do you know what I first thought?”
“‘Who is that mouse in the corner?’”
He breathed in the scent of her, cherishing the moment. “I thought of how much I wanted to meet you, how intrigued I was by you.”
“A woman hiding in the shadows?”
“You tugged at me in ways I could not begin to explain.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “I was embarrassingly nervous every time I spoke to you.”
“I am glad you spoke to me anyway.”
“So am I,” he said.
With a small sigh, she stepped back, out of his arms and down the stairs. She looked back at him once more before disappearing down the corridor below.
Linus slowly followed in her wake. He’d held her. She’d leaned into his embrace. He had every reason to hope that while she was in Shropshire, he would find a way to prove himself worthy of her affection.
He reached the corridor below. Arabella had already stepped inside the drawing room. Dr. Scorseby stood not far away, watching him.
Linus squared his shoulders. He’d faced down foes before. This one, however, didn’t look as though he meant to scuffle.
Scorseby eyed him for a drawn-out moment, then taking a breath, he nodded. He walked down the corridor, not into the drawing room but toward the entryway. He looked back at Linus. “Be good to her.”
“I have every intention of being far more than merely ‘good.’”
Scorseby held his gaze firmly. “See to it that you are.” He slipped from the house.
Linus made his way into the drawing room. His eyes found Arabella on the instant. She smiled at him from her place beside the dowager. His heart warmed at the sight of her.
Oh, yes. He meant to be far more than “good” to her; he intended to do everything in his power to be worthy of her love.