“My Lady?” Lucy appeared through the nearest doorway, a silver bowl in her hand that she had been polishing. “Is all well?”
“Where is my husband?” Frederica asked in a panic. She had to see him; she had to know that Lord Wetherington hadn’t hurt him because of her. “Is he here?”
“Yes, My Lady.” Lucy nodded. “I believe he just had a visitor. Something of a surprise.” She smiled, giddily. “They went into the music room.”
“Thank you.” Frederica took off at a run again. She stuffed the letter into her sleeve, not wanting to share exactly why she was so concerned, for how could she share this with Allan? How could she admit that his life could be in danger all because ofher?It was too awful to bear!
She dived into the music room, only to find it was empty. She turned on the spot, panic threatening to drown her, when her eyes saw something in the corner of the room.
It was not a person, but an instrument.
The most beautiful harp she had ever seen in her life stood there with a note pinned to one of the strings. The note, written in Allan’s handwriting, read:For you.
With her hand still quivering, Frederica ran her fingers across the top of the harp, the golden carvings beautiful, shining in the sunlight that gleamed through the windows. She pulled gently on one of the tight strings. It chimed in the air, a perfectly tuned sound.
Such happiness rolled over her that the feeling collided with her fear. She felt quite sick, nauseous from these rushing emotions. With so many emotions warring to win inside of her, a new one came to the forefront and beat the rest.
Anger.
She stumbled away from the harp and ran out of the room. She could no longer remember where she had even hid Lord Wetherington’s letter as she searched for Allan. She flung open doors but couldn’t find him in any of them.
The only thing she managed was to make poor Lucy and another maid in the dining room jump out of their skins as they were polishing the silverware. Frederica hastily apologized and ran on again, eventually ending up out in the rose garden where she at last found Allan.
He was sitting on his usual bench, surrounded by roses, his nose buried in a book.
“What are you doing with that thing?” The words erupted from Frederica. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew it was mad to act like this, but she couldn’t help it.
“What?” Allan looked up from his place, putting down the book. “Frederica, what’s wrong?”
“Why on earth have you bought me that harp?” she asked, running and stopping in front of him.
“You ask me that?” His expression changed to a look of ferocity she had not known him capable of.
He looks like a different man.
* * *
Allan slowly stood to his feet, taking in Frederica’s frantic demeanor. She couldn’t stand still as she rounded on him.
“Why have you bought me that harp?” she asked again. “Why would you give me such a gift?”
“Have you not just answered your own question? It’s called a gift,” he reminded her. “I bought it to try and make you happy. Clearly, an endeavor that was worth the effort,” he said with thick irony.
She grunted in frustration, turning on the spot.
Allan was beginning to realize the helplessness of his situation. He could offer to defend her, and that wasn’t enough. Now he could buy her gifts and sit patiently to show her that he would be there for her, but that was clearly the wrong thing as well.
What does she want from me?
“I thought you liked the harp.”
“Of course, I like the harp. I love it.”
“Then what is the problem? I gave you something you wanted.” He waved back at the house. “What’s so wrong with making this place somewhere you want to be?”
“Because you are confusing me!” She threw the words at him.
“Confusing you? Ironically, that is going to need more explanation.” He motioned a hand toward her.
