7. Chapter 7 #2
I had written four invitations. One each for Sarah Danby, Martha Townsend, Ruth Harrington, and Alice Ackerman.
There were a few others I planned to invite, but these were the young women I was closest to.
I wasn’t sure what their summer plans were, but I wouldn’t let that stop me from inviting them.
I had considered inviting my mother and sisters, but now that I was married, they were on their way to Newport, Rhode Island for the summer.
A letter had arrived from Addie full of all sorts of news from my family.
As the wind died down, a strange sound replaced it. A sort of moaning noise, though it was hard to tell if it was coming from inside or outside the castle.
I pushed back my chair and stood from the desk, holding the shawl close to my body as I stepped over to the window.
The moon was bright as it cast a glow on the moors. Nothing moved on that vast expanse, yet the eerie sound continued.
I frowned as I pressed closer to the glass, trying to see where it came from.
Smoke spiraled up from a castle chimney visible to my right and a light glowed from the stables to my left.
A sliver of dread ran down my back like a cold finger. Was this the sound of the Wailing Duchess? It was a strange noise—almost otherworldly.
It stopped as suddenly as it had begun, and a moment later, another gust of wind blew across the moors and slammed into the back side of the castle.
I moved away from the window on instinct.
It was after midnight and I should get in bed, yet I was wide awake.
I needed to write another chapter in my story, but the rumors surrounding Pickering Castle returned to my mind and I could think of little else.
I wasn’t worried that Ames or his brothers were dangerous, yet what if there were forces working against the Welbys?
I didn’t believe in ghosts and knew the Wailing Duchess was a figment of people’s imaginations, but I’d written enough novels to know that not every villain came from within the inner circles.
Perhaps the Welby family had enemies outside the castle walls.
As the wind died down again, a new sound filled my room. This one was faint and melodic—the sound of a piano coming from somewhere within the castle. The music was haunting in nature, filled with sorrow and longing—and maybe even regret. It was muted, yet I could still make out the chords.
Who was playing piano at this time of night?
The sound was so beautiful, it made me ache. Whoever played was very talented.
My manuscript had been on my mind several times that day, and I needed to make progress on it, but curiosity would not let me work tonight. Instead, I lifted the candelabra and slowly opened my bedroom door.
The sound was a little louder in the hallway, yet still suggested the piano was on the main floor of the castle. It echoed up the stairwell and down the corridor to my room.
Lifting the hem of my nightgown, I carefully made my way down the circular stairs, trying to manage the fabric and the heavy candelabra without falling, glancing behind me to ensure no one was following me. Thoughts of Ames’s great-grandfather falling down these stairs made me leery.
I couldn’t let the rumors get to me.
As I entered the main floor, the music was louder still and I realized it was coming from a room at the end of the hall, beyond the library.
I should have known. On my tour with Aunt Eliza, she showed me the music room, and I noticed a beautiful grand piano in the corner, near the window.
There had been so much on my mind since then, I had nearly forgotten the room and the instrument existed.
Not wanting the pianist to notice me, I set the candelabra on the nearest table in the hall and walked toward the darkening shadows at the end of the corridor.
The door to the music room was cracked open, and a soft glow emanated from one corner. I gently pushed it open to see who was at the piano. Thankfully, the music drowned out the creaking of the hinge, and I was able to get a glimpse.
There, sitting at the grand piano, a candelabra set on top, was Ames.
The dripping candles cast a glow upon his face as he moved his hands across the keys in a mesmerizing dance.
He was lost in the music, his eyes closed, as his body moved with the rhythm.
His face, which was usually stern, had softened under the cadence of the song and his scar was not visible in the shadows.
He had changed into a clean set of clothing after supper, and though he had shaved and combed his hair, he was still dressed casually. His white shirt was unbuttoned at the top and his shirtsleeves were rolled up at the forearms.
My breath caught as warmth and awareness crept over me.
He was a stunningly handsome man—my husband.
My heart beat hard as longing filled me, and for the first time, I wondered what it would be like to be lost in Ames Welby’s embrace.
To feel his love and affection envelop me. To be cherished—and loved—by him.
An ache, so raw and tender, opened in my heart.
Would he ever see me as anything other than a bank or a business partner? Did I have the right to hope he would, knowing the terms of our marriage agreement?
Ames opened his eyes and his hands stilled on the keys.
Alarm filled me as I tried to pull back—but it was too late.
“Lily?” The piano stool scraped across the floor as he pushed away from the instrument, and I slowly entered the room, wrapping the shawl tighter around my shoulders.
I was conscious of everything all at once.
The fact that I had never stood before a man in my nightgown, my hair in a simple braid, running over my shoulder.
Ames dressed so casually, looking alarmingly attractive.
The fact that we were a married couple, with nothing and no one hindering our relationship, except unspoken pain from our past, and uncertainty about our future.
And the wind, relentlessly beating against the castle.
The candlelight flickered in Ames’s eyes as he took in the length of me, his gaze starting at my slippers, surveying my nightgown, my braid, and then my face. I was dressed more modestly than I had been in my evening gown, but this felt different. Vulnerable.
“Did I wake you?” he asked, his voice low.
“No. But even if you had, that was beautiful and it would have been worth it.”
He looked down at the piano, a wistful expression on his face. When he lifted his gaze to mine again, his old guard was in place. “Do you need something?”
Did I ask him about that strange sound I’d heard? Perhaps it had been my imagination. Or simply a trick of the wind.
“I didn’t know you played piano.”
“There are a great many things we don’t know about each other.” He continued to watch me. “Do you play?”
“Yes.”
“Would you play something for me?”
The wind continued to blow against the castle and a draft from the doorway made the candlelight flicker.
My body trembled, though I wasn’t sure if it was from the breath of air—or the look in his eyes.
I wasn’t an accomplished pianist—not like him—but something compelled me across the room. Perhaps it was the sheer desire to be closer to him.
As I drew near, he watched my every movement. It was strange to have a man observe me so openly. In social situations, they often tried to hide their interest. But here, with Ames, there were no rules.
His dominating presence was intimidating in the best of circumstances, but in the shadowy music room, past midnight, it was all-consuming.
I stopped near the piano, leaning against it for support, as I waited for him to move aside.
His chest rose and fell, and for the first time, I wondered what my presence did to him. Was he just as aware of me as I was of him?
I waited, my pulse pounding hard. Would he reach for me?
Slowly, he moved aside.
Relief and disappointment waged a war inside me as I took a seat at the piano. I was so shaken from the near encounter, I wasn’t certain I could make my hands move.
But as soon as I laid them on the cool keys, I began to play Chopin’s Barcarolle , and the music came alive.
The wind died down, and as it did, I thought I heard the moaning noise return. I halted the song to listen—but Ames stepped close to me and said, “Don’t stop.”
His eyes were filled with something—was that desire I saw there?
My pulse picked up tempo again, and I resumed the song, knowing I would do almost anything, if he’d only ask.
I was conscious of him as he took a seat on a nearby sofa, his gaze never leaving my face. It made me want to play better than I’d ever played before.
When I finally came to the last note, I let my fingers hover over the keys for a heartbeat before lifting my gaze to his.
Neither of us spoke for a moment, and then he slowly stood and walked across the room, offering me his hand.
I couldn’t breathe as I laid mine inside his and rose to my feet.
“That was beautiful,” he said.
“Thank you.”
He tightened his grasp on my hand and looked like he wanted to say more, but another gust of wind pushed against the castle, and he glanced toward the window. When our gazes met again, he said, “You should go to bed, Lily.”
He let go of my hand and moved away from me, turning just enough to let me know I was dismissed.
There were so many questions I wanted to ask him, yet I couldn’t find the courage to voice even one.
As I started to walk away, he resumed his seat at the piano and began to play a piece from Beethoven.
I stopped at the door and glanced back to see if he was watching me, but he was focused on the piano once again and did not look my way.
With a heavy heart, I slipped out of the music room and made my way back to my bedchamber.