‘Edward! You cannot ask a lady her age,’ Emily cut in.
‘I am six and twenty.’
Edward swallowed. ‘Older than me,’ he murmured, although he was not sure either woman heard him over Emily’s admonishments not to encourage him. Somehow, knowing this intimate fact about her was unsettling.
‘You are still young,’ he said, louder this time to make himself heard. ‘But you do not need to learn if you do not want to. It is something I could teach you, however, if you would like.’
She watched him, considering for a moment. Lots of emotions were playing out across her face and he wished he could read them. If she hated the idea, she may not tell him for fear of being impolite or worry her position in their household meant shecould not refuse him. He was about to tell her to forget the idea when she spoke.
‘It would be a good skill to have. Families do like a governess who can play an instrument. We never had one in the vicarage while I was growing up.’
Edward did not like to think of her needing to go back to work when all this was over. Whateverthisencompassed. Surely the duke had some cottage she could live in for the rest of her life. Or maybe Edward could buy somewhere… although, no, that would give a message he really did not want to send. Either way, she deserved better than to be at someone’s beck and call, but what better entailed, he couldn’t say. That someone certainly should not be Alexander Wright, for reasons he had yet to determine.
‘If you come and sit here—’ he gestured for her to take a seat at the pianoforte stool ‘—I can show you some of the basics.’
Dimly, he heard Emily move away and the quiet rustle of her skirts as she took a seat somewhere else in the room. But he was barely aware of it happening. All his focus was on Kate as she moved past him, her fingers accidentally brushing his sleeve. His breath hitched at the fleeting touch and he vaguely registered that he was dangerously close to plummeting over the edge of something scary, something from which he wouldn’t recover easily. He pushed the thought to one side; exhaustion was making him dramatic.
She settled on the stool, completely oblivious to his minor crisis.
‘Why are there two different colours?’ she asked, skimming her fingers over the surface of the keys. ‘I have always wondered.’
Pausing, he stared blankly at the instrument he had loved for as long as he remembered. He had never really thought about itbefore; they were all notes to him. ‘They make different sounds,’ he answered idiotically.
She smiled up at him and his heart turned over. ‘Ah, I am glad you’ve explained that. I thought they might all be the same.’
‘I am not a proper tutor. I have not taught anyone before and why there are different colours has never occurred to me prior to this moment.’
The light in her eyes dimmed slightly and he wished he had smiled back or at least sounded less abrupt, but the moment had passed. Turning away from him, she gave her attention back to the keys.
‘When did you learn?’ she asked.
‘When I was younger. I do not remember exactly when.’ In some of the darkest days of his childhood, music had been his salvation, but he couldn’t remember how that had started.
‘How did it come about? In your circles, I thought playing the pianoforte was considered a feminine pursuit.’
‘Maybe, but nevertheless, I can play.’ He was speaking like an automaton and he wasn’t sure why. He’d been around pretty women before and never had any problem formulating friendly sentences in the past.
He placed a sheet of music in front of her. He’d learned to read music after Miss Dunn had gone from their lives, the ability allowing him to write down his compositions, although he’d never shown them to anyone, not yet ready for the personal work to be open to criticism. Before that, he had played notes that sounded right to him. No one had taught him, but he liked to think he was good enough. It wasn’t as if anyone would ever see him perform; playing was for himself. Once the music washed over him, all his thoughts fell away. He was no longer Edward Dashworth, the spare brother who would never inherit a title, orachieve anything of note outside his family. Hewasthe music. ‘This piece is easy. See here, that is a c note.’
She pressed a key to the left of where he pointed.
‘That is a b.’
‘But, you said…’
‘No. I pointed to that one.’
She pressed another wrong note.
‘No, that one.’
Predictably, she did not press the one he was very clearly pointing to.
‘May I?’ He indicated the space on the pianoforte stool next to her.
She shifted slightly to the left, making room for him. ‘Of course.’
‘This one,’ he said again, pressing the key himself.
