7. Sarah
Sarah
Saturday night found me decked in clinging pink silk in our unnaturally silent dining room. Our guests sat motionless with rapt attention—no clink of silver, no murmured side conversation. Twenty-two pairs of eyes were fixed on one man.
I popped a piece of bread into my mouth and chewed slowly, the only movement in the room.
Henry Higginbotham wet his lips and returned to his tale.
“The icy mud grabbed savagely at our feet. Shoes were lost, but still we soldiered on. Men went down right and left as we advanced in the pelting rain.” He paused, shaking his golden head.
He sat opposite me, though his gaze drifted somewhere above my head.
“All seemed lost until I broke free, hugging the ball.” Henry tucked his dinner roll against his chest and hunched forward.
“I made a brilliant rush, gained thirty yards, and secured our victory.”
Two male guests called out, “Jolly well done,” and “Played a bit myself.”
Henry continued, “The crowd hoisted us aloft and made an impromptu muddy parade through town.”
Across the table and three seats down, Viola pressed a fist to her mouth, as the other ladies tittered. I struggled to keep my expression smooth.
George’s voice cut cleanly through the ruckus. “Marvelous. I say. Nothing like a good parade. Reminds me. Did you know Sarah and Viola orchestrated a parade last year?”
Higgles—I mean Henry—turned a questioning look my way.
I flicked my eyes to George, who winked, the scoundrel.
“Yes,” I said, “we did indeed. But with decidedly less mud and melee. Ours was a parade of pets for the local children. Cats and dogs mainly, but there were birds, a turtle, and a fish in a bowl of water, of course. A gentler triumph, I daresay?—”
“Such a story, Mr. Higginbotham,” Mother called from her end of the table. “I was on the edge of my seat. Few pleasures rival the thrill of victory. Let us adjourn to the gallery for music. Would you be so kind as to walk Sarah through? She’ll be our first performer.”
Henry hit me full on with his blue-eyed sparkle. “It would be my greatest pleasure, ma’am.” Heat flared across my cheeks. Viola coughed. George frowned. Henry’s offered arm was solid as an oak branch.
The walls of the gallery vanished beneath framed art and family portraits. Two neat rows of chairs faced the bay window, with the piano angled off to the right. A faint scent of lemon hung in the air.
I sensed Henry’s gaze and dared a glance. My breathing turned awkward at the unmistakable downward drift of his eyes. My muscles flubbed the simple choreography. In and out.
“I’m not musical myself,” he said. “But I admire talent.” If only he’d admire something above my collarbone. But his regard lingered low. “I look forward to your display.”
“After I sing, Viola will play, and Tessa will recite a dramatic poem.”
“I’m fortunate to have the entire summer to enjoy this neighborhood. Do you by chance ride a bicycle?” At my nod, he said, “We must ride together in the park, which, in my opinion, is perfectly designed for exploration on two wheels.” He took a seat in the front row.
As the others found chairs, I moved to stand before the window. The last blush of sunset faded. I turned to face the chairs, and my stomach lurched. George sat in the front row near the piano. He usually milled around in the back during performances. I couldn’t escape him.
When all were seated, I rolled my shoulders back in a singing posture that would’ve made my voice instructor proud, and loosed Mozart’s Queen of the Night aria into the gallery. The music flowed, and I inhaled deeply before launching into the high Cs. Then I hit the top F cleanly.
When I closed my mouth and bowed my head demurely, Henry sprang to his feet, clapping, followed by the rest of the gathering. Henry said, “Bravo. Astonishing, such talent.” I passed Viola as she moved to the piano. She squeezed my arm and nodded her praise.
Henry’s lips curved in a saucy smile, as he gestured to the empty seat at his side. I had no choice but to sit beside him. He was the guest of honor. He was certainly… something.
I glided past George. His soft voice caught me midstep. “Flawless.” He gave a slight bob of his head.
I took my seat and found myself pressed close against the guest of honor. Who had placed the chairs so tightly together? The gap between us was half that of the others. I shifted to the outer edge of my seat and folded my hands.
Viola played with her usual talent, a lesser-known Minuet in a minor key. Henry’s breath warmed my ear. “Haunting, but I do not know the piece.”
“Handel, I believe.”
“I believe I like…” His head bent close to mine. “Handel.”
The heat of his breath prickled my neck. I couldn’t suppress a shiver. I wasn’t accustomed to Henry-level attention. Soon, we applauded for Viola.
Tessa Milton shuffled to the front. Her eyes swept over the group until they found mine.
I nodded my encouragement. Earlier, I had recommended finding a friendly face in the crowd to focus on.
In a smooth and pleasing voice, with depth and richness unusual for her age, she recited Shakespeare’s Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer’s Day?
She flushed at the applause that sounded as soon as she finished.
I stepped forward to clasp her arms. “Tessa, you have a mesmerizing voice. I could listen to you recite all day.”
George appeared with his charm aimed at Tessa. “The Bard has never sounded better.” He offered his arm. “May I walk you through?” Tessa’s lashes fluttered, and George gave me a mischievous grin over her head, then led her toward the parlor.
Somehow I needed to warn George about Viola’s plan to run away.
She refused to heed my warnings. If I could get through to him…
He would stop her if he knew what I knew.
My promise to her tightened around me like a noose.
My best chance was to speak to him alone, when he wasn’t distracted by a pretty girl.
Tessa was too young for him, anyway. He’d break her heart.
I stared after them, and someone lifted my hand. Henry tucked my hand around his arm. “Shall we?” His brows lifted. “Allow me to escort the loveliest, most talented lady into the parlor.”
“Thank you, but I’m hardly the loveliest or?—”
“Nonsense. Had I a drink in my hand, I would toast your impressive performance immediately.”
I settled on a small couch next to Viola and smoothed my pink silk while Henry fetched drinks. She jabbed my ribs. “Higgles used his foot to pull your chair close to his before you sat down.”
“Yes, he is subtle in his pursuit.” I frowned. “Why do you think he’s set his sights on me?”
“Sarah, you are a catch. You are probably too good for him.”
“Perhaps it’s the pink dress. And my breathing.”
“Mark my words. You have cast your spell on that golden boy.”
Mother bustled over with a predatory look. “Splendid, my dear. Things are going even better than I dared to hope.”
Viola and I traded a look. Mother never gushed.
George delivered Tessa to a nearby chair, then promptly returned with two glasses of champagne, handing one to her and one to Viola. He tilted his head toward the table and raised a brow, silently asking if I wanted him to fetch me a glass. I shook my head. Stop watching George.
Mother giggled as Henry approached. “Oh, Mr. Higginbotham, was that music not divine?”
His fingers brushed mine as he handed over a glass of champagne. “Yes, ma’am. She is an angel. A goddess. An enchantress. I am entirely under her spell.”
George pulled his face into an exaggerated grimace as he passed behind Henry. Of course, he would find Henry’s words ridiculous. My jaw tightened. I was never the center of attention unless I was singing, and no one had ever called me a goddess.
Viola murmured, “See?” She disguised her laugh as a cough.
“You exaggerate, sir,” I said. “I have a top-notch vocal teacher. And I have been diligent with my exercises.”
“Exercises, yes. Clearly.” He propped a hand on the back of the couch so that I had to turn and tilt my head back to see his face.
My neckline rose and fell as I tried to breathe like a normal person.
Not singing but still in the midst of a performance.
All attention on me, but no friendly face to steady my nerves.
Henry’s face filled my vision. I searched for something to say, but I was far better at awkward silence than small talk.
Mother widened her eyes over Henry’s shoulder.
She claimed chit-chat was easy—just talk about something the other person was interested in.
What does he like? I probably shouldn’t talk about my neckline.
I said, “Singing is a bit like sports. One needs practice to build skill.”
“Natural ability must be nurtured and honed… and appreciated.” He straightened. A light ping-ping cut through the murmur of voices as Henry tapped his glass. The room quieted, and everyone turned our way.
George caught my eye and arched a brow from where he stood, arms folded, leaning against the French doors. I’d rather have him ignore me than catch that unreadable flicker—disapproval, amusement, or something else.
Henry gestured grandly with one arm. “Ah, my excellent new friends. Allow me to propose a toast.”