Arabella looked at him and nodded. “Yes, there is. But I have since come to understand that my brother lives his own life, and he no longer needs us. His sisters do not matter to him. He was never willing to defend us against our father or fight for us, or…” She clenched her hands into fists and turned her head away.
“Perhaps he has his reasons. Perhaps there are things you do not know. I am certain he still loves you. Maybe he just doesn’t know how to express it.”
“You don’t know him,” she argued, her tone icy.
“You are right. I apologize for presuming to know your brother’s character,” Harry replied, slightly offended.
He hadn’t meant to make her angry, but he’d found himself wondering if her brother harbored secrets that kept him from being the man he was meant to be, the man he wanted to be—as Harry’s secrets kept him from being who he really wanted to be.
“Thank you. I know you were only trying to help. I appreciate that.”
They continued walking around the library in silence. As they made their way down the long hallway leading from the library to the music room, he wondered if he should try to cheer her up again, but she seemed lost in thought.
As they stepped into the music room, they were greeted by the flickering lights of the chandelier. A grand piano stood in the corner by the window, covered by a white sheet. Nearby, a harp stood uncovered, its polished frame glinting softly in the dim light.
“Do you play?” Arabella asked, pointing at the harp. “It isn’t covered like the pianoforte, so I assumed.”
“You assume correctly,” Harry confirmed. “I do play at times.”
She turned and smiled. “Would you play something for me?”
Harry hesitated, taking a step back. He never played in front of others—well, only in front of one person.
“I am not accustomed to it,” he admitted.
“Are you dreadful?” Arabella asked with a sheepish smile.
“No, I am actually rather good,” he said, a hint of pride lacing his voice.
“Really? And how am I supposed to judge that if you will not play for me?”
The sudden challenging tone in her voice surprised him, but he found that he rather liked it. Arabella had thus far been quiet and timid, and he was intrigued by this more spirited side of her.
“Very well,” he conceded. “I will play for you, but only a little bit.”
He sat behind the harp and gently pulled on the strings, eliciting a soft, melodic sound. As the music began to fill the room, he closed his eyes, allowing the familiar notes to flow through him.
His uncle had always made fun of him for liking to play the harp, dismissing it as a woman’s instrument, but Harry had wanted to learn because his mother had been an accomplished harpist. His aunt had secretly taken him to lessons, defying his uncle’s wishes. When she passed away, Harry had to abandon his passion until he moved into this house and resumed his lessons.
He heard Arabella’s footsteps mingling with the music as she moved around the room, but her presence didn’t disturb him. Usually, when he played, he would close the doors and instruct the servants to stay away, seeking solitude. Yet, Arabella’s presence was oddly comforting. The young woman who had so often grated on his nerves was now a rapt audience, and he found himself enjoying her attention.
When the final note died down, he opened his eyes, a smile playing on his lips—until he noticed her standing in front of a glass case on the opposite wall.
She turned when he finished and clapped her hands softly. “That was lovely. I enjoyed it very much. Perhaps I could persuade you to play for me again?”
Harry rose from the harp, but as he approached her, her smile faded when she noticed the serious expression on his face.
“What are you doing?” he asked, a touch of concern in his voice.
Arabella blinked, confusion clouding her features. “I was just looking around the music room while you played. I wanted to ask you about these.” She pointed to the two items inside the display case—a weathered and tattered top hat and a yellow parasol. “Why are these kept behind glass?”
Harry’s gaze softened as he looked at the cherished items. “The parasol belonged to my mother, and the top hat was my father’s. They had them in their possession when they died. They drowned, and not much was recovered from the wreckage. Thehat washed ashore days after the shipwreck, and the parasol was found among the debris. These were the only items in good enough shape to keep.”
“That is terrible,” Arabella said quietly. “I can see why you would want to keep these precious items in a safe place. I also have an item?—”
“I do not wish to talk about it anymore,” he interrupted, more harshly than he had intended.
It was only after the words left his mouth that he realized she had been trying to share something with him.
