“I too have been suffering from some blockage that restricts my ability at the pianoforte. I want to play, to enjoy playing, but I can’t seem to manage it. Unfortunately, this has plagued me for weeks. Ever since Lady Henshell’s masked ball.”
“Oh, you attended that event? So did I.” For some reason this knowledge caused Henry to examine Miss Richards more closely. He suddenly felt as if he should have seen her there. It was the same night, after all, that Solomon had met Miss Juliet.
Henry swore that he saw a hint of pink color his companion’s cheeks just before she threaded her arm through his and started up their walking again. This time her hand rested heavier on his forearm, her fingers almost gripping his coat sleeve.
“Yes, I was. Just as a guest. I spent most of the night dancing until my feet nearly gave out. So did Juliet, as you know.” Something about the way she answered seemed rushed, as if she did not like discussing it, and her eyes stared pointedly at the back of her sister’s head, who was now several yards ahead of them beside Solomon.
“I do indeed.” Henry’s response was gruffer than he’d intended.
His chest tightened as she spoke so casually about her popularity on the dance floor. He shouldn’t be surprised as he had seen for himself how her lively energy attracted others to her. What concerned him more was the unfamiliar sting that had pricked his heart at her words. But it evaporated just as quickly as it had come.
“I’m sorry to hear that your hobby seems to grow dull. I know it is an unpleasant sensation,” he added quickly.
“Yes, it troubled me greatly for quite some time. In fact, I’ve often feared that I might never see the end of it.... That my ability has been permanently stunted, and my joy with it. I felt I must be the only person in the world who can’t seem to get myself in order. Yet, somehow, knowing that I do not suffer alone has given me hope.” A small smile graced her lips once more, and her eyes were soft when they met Henry’s.
The look arrested his breath, and he coughed liberally before responding, careful to mask his real meaning. “I understand your predicament very well. I confess this time for me is quite unusual. I can normally read for hours upon hours, even if I find the subject matter at a hand a trifle tedious, and I pride myself on finishing every book I pick up. Yet for some reason I cannot explain, I struggle to turn the pages of this book. It certainly does not lack for interesting material. But hold on. You played quite admirably at Lord Overton’s dinner just a few days ago.”
The thought struck Henry suddenly. If Miss Richards considered that performance to be a struggle, he could only assume that her usual talent must be remarkable. His thoughts flitted back to the masked ball again for a fraction of a second.
“Oh goodness...” Miss Richards shook her head, an embarrassed smile matching the slight blush on her cheekbones. “That was quite the incident wasn’t it.”
“M-my apologies,” Henry quickly stammered. “I did not mean to bring up a painful memory for you. We need not discuss this, or anything, further.”
He was certain that his cheeks must be red, too. How insensitive of him to bring up an embarrassing event for her, especially after the tense moment that had passed between them in the garden. If she’d warmed up to him at all in these past few minutes, surely she had just found another reason to dislike him.
Surprising him yet again, Miss Richards laughed, perhaps a touch louder than was proper for a young lady. A few other people walking nearby glanced their way, including Solomon and Miss Richards’s younger sister. But Henry did not mind their looks.
Despite having been born into this world, Henry would never understand the many strange rules of the ton, from needing to attend as many events as possible to seem polite and well-respected to how loudly a lady could laugh. Why should such a lovely, musical laugh need to be stifled just for the sake of seeming modest and refined?
“Don’t worry yourself over it, my lord.” Her words still carried traces of humor in them and her eyes sparkled. “I have since found the whole ordeal to be quite amusing. What good does it do to dwell on and groan over life’s little dramas?
“In truth, I know I should be very pleased with my performance. Most of it, anyway.” Her eyebrows twitched up as she remembered her fumbles. “And I should be doubly proud, considering how poorly I’d been playing on my instrument at home for quite some time before that. It just seemed as though every time I sat down my fingers would refuse to obey me, and my eyes no longer recognized the notes on the sheet music.
“I’ve never encountered such a problem, and the more I agonized over it the worse it seemed to become. Needless to say, I was very nervous when my mother told me that Lord Overton had asked me to play. I know I’ve played at other dinners where he had also been a guest, but I had no idea I’d left such an impression that he would personally ask for me to play at his own event.
“That performance was the best I’d played since this obstruction began. I finally felt as if I could enjoy my dear hobby again. I do wish I had been able to finish the piece successfully...”
Henry could hear the pain in her voice, and a heavy wave of guilt swept over him. If he had not distracted her at the last moment, she would have performed the piece flawlessly.
“I feel I must apologize for that, Miss Richards. I know I must have broken your concentration by coming too close. If it is any consolation, I still think you carried the performance off very well.” Henry kept his eyes to the ground shamefully, unable to look at his walking partner.
“Of course that is not the case,” Miss Richards rebutted quickly. “The only person responsible for the performance is the one who sits on the bench.”
Henry didn’t entirely trust her words. While they were technically true, he knew he had been the cause, and something in Miss Richards’s voice told him that she knew this as well. That look of shock in her large blue eyes when they’d met his on the other side of the pianoforte had replayed in his mind an untold number of times since that night, often while his pen scribbled across the page.
But he didn’t press the matter further, returning to their previous subject. “Have you had any luck in overcoming your obstacle?” Henry feared he knew the answer to this question already, and he knew it was his fault.
“Unfortunately, I do believe my performance at the earl’s dinner was something of a fluke. My pianoforte skills remain much reduced.” She gave a slight shrug of her shoulders as if the matter were of little consequence. But from the corner of his eye Henry could see a look of resignation pass over her face under her bonnet.
“I am truly very sorry to hear that. I do hope you will find joy in it again. That is the most important aspect, after all.”
Henry’s heart sank to a depth he didn’t know possible as he realized that he could very well have ruined her chance at breaking whatever troublesome spell had been cast over her.
“There’s no need to apologize.” An unexpected cheer emanated from Miss Richards’s voice and she smiled encouragingly at Henry.
Somehow the golden hair under her bonnet glowed under the evening sun, and the leaves rustled in their tall trees, and birds cooed their greetings to each other, and the air swam with the sound of lighthearted conversation between friends and couples. Henry’s spirits lifted slightly as he took in the moment, allowing each different sensation to strike a chord within him, creating a harmonious melody.
“I know you are right,” she continued. “I shouldn’t be so worried about impressing anyone. I love the instrument, and I love music. That should be enough. I think—no, I know—that we will both find joy in our hobbies again, even if we must go more slowly than we once did before.”
The words bolstered Henry, a new determination igniting within him. He had no idea how inspiring it could be to have someone else who understood the artistic process, both the triumphs and the disappointments, to share his thoughts and struggles with—though of course Miss Richards had no idea how deeply her words could be applied. He felt sure that
when he returned home tonight, the words would flow easily over his paper again just as they had before.
“Very well put, Miss Richards. Are you sure you are not a writer?”
“Oh Heavens, no. My skills can at least be confined to drawing rooms and balls. I don’t think I could stand the thought of hundreds of people all over London—all over England, even—reading into my imagination. I still need to be able to dance and read and embroider and make calls, live a life away from my pianoforte.” She giggled at her own casual statement.
But in an instant that radiant warmth and courage that had flooded Henry just moments before turned to ash.
Of course, Miss Richards need not worry about impressing anyone as she’d said before. At least not anyone too far removed from her family, close friends, and Society acquaintances.
Henry, on the other hand, had far more people to impress than he’d realized. He could always write for pleasure, but he must continually improve his abilities if he wished to continue sharing his created world with others.
He had thought for a few glorious minutes that he just may have found a kindred soul with whom he could share his experiences as a creative. And while Miss Richards may appreciate some aspects of it, Henry quickly realized with a sinking feeling that he could never share his identity with her, that she could never truly understand his situation—his need for dedicated time away from the world to work and unravel himself, partially driven by his own desire to do so and partially driven by the pressure he faced from the public’s expectations.
In this, Henry knew he was entirely alone.
Chapter 9
“Unfortunately it seems we differ there,” Lord Neil mumbled, his lips suddenly drawn tight.
Had Cecilia said something wrong? Surely they were finally connecting over their shared interest in art. Based on the reasoning he’d given for agreeing to these outings in Lord Overton’s garden a few nights ago, Cecilia had all but given up any expectation that she would feel like anything other than some awkward and unwanted tagalong to her sister’s meetings with the earl. Lord Neil seemed to see her company as an obligation and nothing more.
But here she had a glimmer of hope that they had something in common which could make their time together at least a bit more bearable. Perhaps even friendly.
Hearing that he too struggled at times with enjoying his hobby to the fullest had sympathized her to the baron. No one else she knew had such a fascination for the arts, whether it be music or painting or fine works of writing. Juliet could draw a decent likeness, but it was only a hobby to be enjoyed when she couldn’t find something else to occupy her time or if the weather was too cold or dreary to allow her outside. Rosamund had quite a lovely voice, and Cecilia had provided accompaniment for her on a few occasions. But again, Cecilia knew that her friend primarily took pleasure in the praises that came after the song.
As such, Cecilia had had no indication that her current predicament was shared by anyone else in the world. For most, if a hobby no longer pleased them they would simply drop it from their life and pick up a new one. But for Cecilia, music was her passion. She had felt like an oddity in these past several weeks, unable to will herself back to her usual state.
It was a lonely feeling. She hadn’t realized just how lonely until Lord Neil had confessed his own similar situation. If Lord Neil had a passion, Cecilia knew it must be collecting and reading books.
“How so?” She prodded. Something in the air about Lord Neil had changed.
“My interest is nearly all consuming. It may seem peculiar to others, but I have almost no need of the outside world when I have access to so many ideas and perspectives and histories in my library.” His brow furrowed and his eyes stared ahead, not really seeing his surroundings.
Heat flared in Cecilia’s chest. She had thought a few moments ago that they might be able to form a friendship over their passions. Yet every time she seemed to see a way through to him, he closed it off.
“Well then, I must thank you for tearing yourself away from your library to parade around the park with me.”
Her good mood had quickly turned sour. Not just because of Lord Neil’s words and her new conclusion about his world view. She found that, against her own wishes, her heart suddenly felt hollow at this development. She had hoped, more than she’d admitted to herself, that she could turn Lord Neil’s favor to her.
“On the contrary, Miss Richards. I must thank you for accompanying me on this walk. I believe it has done me some good. Perhaps after some time away from my books I will return to them with a new appreciation.”
His smile looked closer to a grimace, and while Cecilia sensed some sincerity in his words she also felt that he was simply trying to salvage the situation. Another nicety.
Cecilia should have taken the baron’s words at face value and been happy with that. Yet her mind pushed back with an unexpected hunger.
Even if he did gain something positive from their walk today, the tug in Cecilia’s heart told her that she wanted to be more than the baron’s reminder of how taxing the outside world could be, driving him gratefully back into the solitude of his library.
The thought startled her, flipping her stomach upside down. An image of the masked gentleman floated into her mind’s eye for just a moment. He was a man who truly understood love for the arts, including discussions of art. Yet still he evaded her.
Perhaps in the very deepest corner of her mind, Cecilia realized, this conversation had sparked the tiniest hope that Lord Neil could have been such a man.
But she saw now that he was not. He secluded himself to his library, just as much for pleasure as to keep himself protected from the world.
A strong breeze rattled through the park, the tree branches overhead clicking against each other.
“Oh!” Cecilia gasped as she felt her handkerchief take flight out of her slippery gloved fingers. She tried to catch it with as much ladylike grace as she could manage, but the breeze carried it off down the walking path.
Almost as surprising, Cecilia felt the warmth of Lord Neil’s body disappear from her side. She had to clench her jaw to keep her mouth from falling open as she watched the baron trot forward and catch the mischievous handkerchief just before it touched the ground. The dainty square of fabric seemed tiny in Lord Neil’s large hand.
“Saved it just in time.” Lord Neil smiled shyly, a lock of hair knocked loose across his forehead during his dash to rescue the rogue handkerchief.
Dumbfounded, Cecilia retrieved her lost item from the baron and hid it away in her reticule, her eyes never leaving his.
“Miss Richards?” Lord Neil peered down at her, the dark brown lock falling further into his face. For one wild moment Cecilia desperately wished she could tuck it back into place, could feel her gloves slide against his forehead.
She forced a breath into her lungs. “Thank you, Lord Neil. Though I must confess, I never expected to see you running about the park.” The last part slipped out with a slight chuckle, though she hoped her sincerity hadn’t been lost in the jest.
Lord Neil offered his arm once more and Cecilia took it. “I wouldn’t quite call that a run, but I do know how, yes. I only employ that skill on special occasions.”
Cecilia smiled at the touch of humor in his voice and she glanced up at him from under her bonnet. Though the baron looked ahead at the path before them, she didn’t miss the slight upward curve of his mouth.
Cecilia’s head felt as though it was loose on her shoulders. Her estimation of Lord Neil seemed to change by the minute, but her own conflicting feelings were suddenly of far, far greater concern.
She needed to swim out of this whirlpool before it sucked her in any deeper.
The next several weeks contained more of the same. A letter, wax sealed with Lord Overton’s family crest, arrived once a week to ask for both Juliet’s and Cecilia’s company. And both girls dutifully attended whatever carriage ride or walk or picnic the earl had planned.
Mr. a
nd Mrs. Richards were of course thrilled by this development. By their estimation, both their daughters could very well be married off by the end of the Season—to a baron and an earl, no less.
Cecilia should have been grateful. Their mother was in a far better mood than she’d ever seen, praising both her daughters endlessly and fussing over their every need. And their father, always the gentler of the two, suddenly seemed less interested in going to his club or playing cards when they attended dances, instead choosing to linger by his daughters' sides and introduce himself as a great friend of Lord Overton and Lord Neil.
Unfortunately, Cecilia also knew the truth. At least as far as her own prospects were concerned.
Every outing in which she had to cling to Lord Neil’s arm only stoked her irritation. But she found that the source of her irritation wasn’t really the baron himself. At least, not entirely.
After their clash of opinions on art during their first walk about Hyde Park, trailing after the real lovebirds, Cecilia had vowed to stop pressing the baron for conversation, to stop attempting to forge a friendship out of their provisional situation. They clearly would not see eye to eye on this most important matter, despite how desperately she’d wanted to.
Yet somehow, Cecilia could not stop herself from admiring his strong side profile, or the curl of his dark hair over his ears, or the gentle way in which his fingers gripped hers as he helped her down from the carriage.
And she certainly couldn’t forget the way he gallantly chased her handkerchief without a second thought. Though it was such a simple act, Cecilia couldn’t help being reminded of those chivalrous heroes she read about.
These thoughts, vexing though they might be, did not worry her as much as certain other, far more galling thoughts. It was the latter that caused her so much annoyance when out and about with her sister and their companions, or when the next letter was received, or even when the baron seemed to barge into her mind at any inconvenient moment.
Behind The Baron's Mask: A Regency Romance (Resolved In Love Book 1) Page 10