“I beg your pardon,” he said quickly. “I did not mean to interrupt you.”
“No, it is quite all right,” she replied, though her demeanor had changed, the warmth replaced by reserve. “Perhaps we should end our tour now. I am quite tired.”
“No, Arabella,” he insisted, reaching out as if to take her hand, but then he stopped himself, remembering how poorly his earlier attempts at physical contact had been received. “I did not mean to cut you off. It’s just… talking about my parents’ deaths is difficult for me. And playing the harp, well… my mother used to play it, and it brings back memories.”
He hesitated, before he added, “Please, let’s not end the tour just yet.”
He wasn’t entirely sure why the thought of ending the tour bothered him so much. He had agreed to it out of a sense of obligation, but now he found that he had quite enjoyed her company.
Fortunately, his earnestness seemed to have an effect on her, and she paused, then nodded. “Very well. Would you mind showing me the garden now? I have seen the rose garden, but I have heard there is a sculpture garden as well.”
“Indeed,” he said, relieved. “It is a lovely night for seeing the garden.”
“It is, I agree.” She nodded.
He offered her his arm again, and she accepted it. Together they made their way out of the music room, and Harry couldn’t deny the sense of relief he felt that she had given him another chance.
CHAPTER 14
Arabella followed him down a long hall, doubling back over some of the ground they had already covered until they came upon the ballroom.
She stopped and glanced inside.
“Arabella,” he murmured, stepping behind her. His breath fanned her neck, making her shiver.
“Can we look into the ballroom?” she asked, her curiosity piqued.
His eyes shimmered in the candlelight as he replied, “If you wish, but I do not keep the ballroom lit. It isn’t one of the spaces that I use. But here…”
He removed a candleholder from the wall and led her into the ballroom. Their footsteps echoed against the hardwood floor, the only illumination coming from his candle. Harry walked tothe walls so she could see the white wallpaper decorated with red and golden accents.
“Over yonder, there’s a platform for the orchestra,” he said, gesturing toward a raised area. “I recall that the sound is rather magnificent. It echoes beautifully.”
Arabella nodded, almost able to imagine herself dancing in this grand space. “Did you host many balls here?” she asked.
He shook his head. “When my parents were alive, they did. I’ve heard stories from my aunt about the balls they held here and how magnificent they were. My mother would sometimes play the harp to a room of 200 people, and all of them would stand silent, awed by the sound.”
She looked up at him, feeling the nostalgia in his words, the longing for his parents. She thought of her own mother and wondered if she had ever played in that ballroom. Her father hardly ever talked about her, and with Alexander so far away, there was no one to tell stories.
“My mother played the violin,” she said suddenly.
She had tried to tell Harry this earlier in the music room, but he had interrupted her, and she had feared the conversation would take a turn similar to those with her father. But to her relief, it hadn’t. He had apologized, and now seemed the perfect time to share her mother’s love for music.
He looked at her with a smile. “The violin? Indeed? Then your mother and mine were both keen musicians. I imagine they would’ve had much to talk about, seeing that they both enjoyed music so much.”
“Yes, I wonder what they would’ve talked about if they were both alive. I don’t know much about my mother,” she admitted, her voice softening. “My father doesn’t speak of her, and with my brother gone…” She shrugged.
“How about your aunt and uncle? You mentioned them earlier.”
“They speak of her, but only of their childhood. Once she married, she and my father did not see them very often because my aunt and uncle lived far away. My father spoke about her, but ever since she died, he only speaks of her in terms of how disappointed she would be in all of us. How dismayed she would be that her daughters aren’t married yet and that the heir to the estate lives in another country.”
Arabella hated the dismay that crept into her voice, but Harry did not seem to be bothered by it. Rather, he appeared to listen carefully and with genuine interest.
“It’s dreadful. I’m sorry that your father is the way he is. Grief does strange things to people.”
She wondered if his grief for his parents had turned him into the secretive and sometimes cold man he seemed to be. But she didn’t ask. They didn’t know each other well enough for that, and she still felt the sting of his harsh words from earlier. Thoughhe hadn’t meant them and had apologized, being in her father’s presence all these years had scarred her and made her cautious of people.
“Your parents… do you remember much about them?”
