by Anna Small
Her mind was lulled into a tranquil sea of forgetfulness as she sensed his closeness. He took her in his arms as always, but the dream Frederick didn’t speak. He was dressed differently, as well. Gone was the flowing white shirt opened at the neck. Instead, the cold metal buttons of his coat pressed her skin.
His wool trousers rasped across the muslin sheet as he stretched beside her.
The scent of horses and saddle leather clung to him.
His mouth seemed the most realistic of all. She tasted his familiar kiss and knew the softness of his full, lower lip. She wanted to cry out his name and clutched tighter to her phantom husband so he wouldn’t vanish the moment she opened her eyes. She stroked his hair, twining the long waves through her fingers. His scalp was cold, as if he’d just been outdoors.
Her trancelike state faded rapidly. Ghostly arms and lips that usually vanished in a blur as she awoke did not disappear. The mattress sagged from his added weight, and the body pressing against hers was solid and real.
“My Jane.” Frederick’s warm breath whispered across her lips.
Her eyes flew open. Frederick smiled back at her.
Chapter Thirty- Nine
“Frederick?” Stifling a shriek, she yanked her arms from around his neck and jumped out of bed.
“Yes.” His heart hammered against his ribs. He’d expected a joyful reunion if Susanna’s assurances of Jane’s love were to be trusted. Instead, she was pale and trembling, one hand raised as if to keep him at bay.
She seemed to have trouble regaining her composure so he hastily rose and poured her a glass of water from a pitcher on a side table.
“How did you get in?”
“One of the servants showed me in.” It was incredible this was the only question she could ask, after not having seen each other in weeks. He handed her the water. She sank into a chair, taking the cup with trembling hands. After a little sip, she regarded him with wide hazel eyes as if he were an intruder. He sank to his knees beside her, wanting to hold her hand, but she kept both of hers firmly around the cup.
“Where is Alice?”
“In London.” Why she should mention Alice at a time like this…?
“Does she know you are here?” She’d voiced the question so softly he wasn’t sure he’d heard her.
“I haven’t spoken to her in a few days. I didn’t think she needed to know one way or the other where I am, especially after all she has done.” His brow creased while he waited for her to say something more. To start with, why she had not sent word she’d received the pianoforte. Perhaps she’d thrown it out.
The exhausting journey, which he hadn’t noticed in his haste to be at her side, now began to tell. He gripped his wrist. She noticed and quietly stood.
“Have you been travelling all night?” Her voice held the same strange, even tone as before.
“Yes.” Guiltily, he allowed her to think he was in more distress than he was, if it would make her sympathetic. “I have not stopped, except to change horses.”
“I’ll bring you some brandy.” She started for the door, but he caught her sleeve. She stared down at his hand and he dropped it.
“I had to see you, Jane. There is much unsaid between us.” And I could not bear your absence any longer…
Even as he spoke, he sensed the futility of his long journey from London. She was not happy to see him, regardless of how ardently she’d kissed him a few moments before.
Her throat moved as she gulped, and he wondered why her color was ashen in the rising light of dawn. “If you have come to discuss alimony, I do not require anything from you.” She blinked, and he was astounded to see tears slipping down her face.
He stepped toward her. She seemed to shrink from him, and he moved away a little so the hunted look would leave her eyes.
“That was not my purpose in coming.” He broke off, his voice choking in a surge of emotion. He was not getting through to her. She seemed so wary of him, so distrustful, huddled against the door like a scared rabbit trying to return to its safe warren. He tried to maintain his composure, but the long journey and his painful arm—not to mention his anguish at his reception—made him brusque. “My dear, it is very late. Almost dawn, I think. Please, may we go to bed and discuss this in the morning?”
Her face paled even more. Her eyes flashed.
“You may rest for a moment, but then I’ll have our man take you into Weston. I regret your long journey, but you cannot sleep here.”
He did not argue or cajole. “Perhaps I was mistaken in coming. I thought you’d be happy to see me.” He gathered his coat and hat, which he’d dropped on the floor in his relief at finding her in bed some moments before.
She caught her breath in a sob but recovered quickly. “After all that has happened, I’m supposed to be happy to see you?”
“I wanted to come in person and tell you myself.”
“My father has written your solicitor. You only need contact me through him.”
He clapped his hat on his head and swirled his coat around his shoulders, not bothering to put his arms in the sleeves. A tearing pain filled his chest, but he ignored it. How could he have been so wrong? Perhaps she truly had not loved him, and Susanna’s instincts were as poor as his obviously were.
“Apparently, I misjudged your feelings. I will bother you no more, Jane.” He tipped his hat out of a long-bred politeness and exited her chamber.
Jane stared at the closed door, her heart pounding with each footfall of his on the stairs. Within minutes, the main door opened and shut with an echo of finality. She strained to hear the sound of horse hooves or the rattling of a carriage, but all was silent.
A sob died in her throat. Strangely, she could no longer cry. Shivering in the frosty dawn, she grabbed a quilt and wrapped it around her. She ought to go back to bed, but she would never sleep now. She lit a lamp and left her chamber.
It was nearly five o’clock. Just enough time to make a pot of tea and return to her room before her parents awoke. Bile rose in her throat, and she steadied herself along the banister. Mamma had warned her of the changes the baby would cause, and early morning nausea was one of them. The feeling passed a few moments later, and she continued toward the kitchen.
She paused at the drawing room. The pianoforte sat in the corner, as untouched as the day it had arrived. The finely carved wood gleamed in the faint glow of the sunrise through the window.
New tears filled her eyes. How thoughtful of her sister to send such a gift. Mamma had removed their old pianoforte to make room for the new one, but she hadn’t so much as looked at it since its arrival. She’d looked forward to playing Frederick’s collection of music when they finally settled at Dornley Park, but that dream had died along with the rest of them.
Not even her anguish could completely stifle the age-old lure of music to her weary soul. Forgetting the tea, she walked to the instrument and laid her hand on the case. Her fingers skimmed over the intricate tracery of carvings and designs in the cabinet. Oval medallions had been set on each side, and she realized what she’d thought were fanciful scrolls were Frederick’s and her initials.
F.B. and J.B.
She sank onto the bench. Her hands lay useless in her lap as she stared at the monograms. Surely, Rosalind would not have ordered something so intricate. A design such as this would have been ordered months ago, before her family even knew of her acquaintance with Frederick.
Frederick must have sent it. She skimmed her finger over the entwined monograms. The pianoforte was hardly a gift from a man who would throw her away a mere few months after the wedding.
Heart pounding as realization slowly dawned, she rose from the bench and lifted the hinged lid. Pages of music filled the space. Most were copies in Frederick’s youthful hand, with his own comments and scribbles, arranging a phrase here, changing a measure there. Others looked like signed copies by the composers themselves. She stared at the inked signature of W.A. Mozart on one of them, squinting to read the notes on
the side scribbled in Italian. She replaced it reverently on the stack.
At the bottom was the piece she loved the most.
The Symphony of the Sea.
He’d written something across the top, and she blinked away her tears to read his words.
“I shall always love you. Wait for me.”
Tears splattered the pages, making dark rivulets where they mixed with the ink. She ran her finger over the smeared words, imagining she could touch the hand that had written them.
Why had he sent it? Was it a mere token commemorating the brief time they’d spent together? She couldn’t recall now when the instrument had arrived. Mamma thought Rosalind had sent it. No one had bothered to examine it, since she was the only one in the family who played. Had it come a few days before, or had weeks passed? She couldn’t remember.
She stretched her arms across the keyboard and rested her cheek in the middle. If she tried very hard, she could imagine she was lying on the green grass of Dornley Park. She could almost smell the black bottom mud of the secret pond. In her mind, Frederick was beside her, his arms strong and comforting, his voice soft in her ear.
“Wait for me.”
She didn’t know if she should laugh or cry. So she did both. Her baby—Frederick’s baby—kicked for the first time.
Chapter Forty
The enormous, ancient oak tree at the end of the drive spread its branches over the low wall where she used to sit and read once upon a time.
Frederick sat beneath the branches, his shoulders hunched.
She’d forgotten how to breathe. She wanted to call to him, to fly to him. Instead, she gripped the edges of the quilt around her and padded barefoot across the wet grass. He watched her in silence.
She walked woodenly toward him; trying not to break into tears of relief he had not listened to her and gone away. He appeared haggard, and his eyes had sunken into his once tawny skin, now as pale as she imagined hers was.
He stood when she stopped in front of him, his brown eyes fixed dully on her.
“I wanted to try one more time, Jane.” He rubbed his hand across his jaw, darkened with shadowy whiskers. “I have been over it a hundred times, but I cannot comprehend what it is you do to me. I am an utter fool—I admit it freely. I should never have let you go when we were at Lyonsgate, but you did seem quite desperate to be rid of me.”
“I didn’t want—”
He held up his hand, silencing her. “Please, let me say what I must, and then you will be rid of me for good.”
His sigh mingled with a tired kind of groan, and her heart trembled on its fragile cords. If only he would let her speak—apologize for the confusion that was hers alone.
“Before the war, I had no end of female companionship.” A flush crept up his neck and remained there. “When I returned home, however, that companionship disappeared with the loss of my hand. I feared I would never find someone to care for me, for what I am.” His left arm shook, and he shoved his stump in his pocket, leaning against the tree as if for support. “And then I met you, and I didn’t care about my missing hand. I fell in love with you, Jane. Your eyes, your way of speaking…” His eyes glimmered with tears. “The way you poured out your feelings about my music. I couldn’t believe I had caused such a reaction in you. It astounded me in a way nothing ever had before. I could not forget you, and when I saw you again at Everhill, I knew…”
He drew a shuddering breath.
“I loved you, heart and soul. And it had nothing to do with the fact you were the first woman to look upon me since my injury. I will always love you. I just…I just wanted you to know. I did not want to leave without telling you.”
She trembled beneath the warm quilt. Unable to speak for fear she would cry, she was content to simply absorb his words. He pushed away from the wall.
“I see I am too late…”
“No, wait!” She gripped his hand. He kept tight hold of it, his gaze penetrating hers. Drawing a deep breath, she plunged ahead. “I love you, too.” She pressed her fingertips to his lips when he appeared about to speak. “I’ve made some terrible mistakes and misjudged you, when you never gave me the slightest indication of mistrust. But I want you to know…”
She closed her eyes briefly, trying to rid herself of the grotesque image of Lord Winters. “I was always true to you, Frederick. I do not want anyone else. Ever.” She struggled to find the words of what she proposed. “Even if I’m not your wife anymore, I still want…”
His brows drew together. “What are you talking about?”
“I…I will live at your other house in town. We can be together, when you’re not…” She couldn’t continue, because his expression was such a mix of horror and amusement she didn’t know what to think.
“Are you proposing to become my mistress?”
She longed to hide her face in his coat but remained firm. Her fingers flexed within his grasp. “Yes.”
“I have not ever kept one and certainly do not plan to have one now, as tempting as you are, madam.”
“Then I will be whatever you want. A…a companion or friend.” She struggled at the onset of fresh tears.
“I have plenty of companions and friends.”
“I only want to be near you. I cannot bear being apart from you any longer.” She averted her gaze so she wouldn’t see his expression. Inexplicably, he was smiling.
“I do not wish you to be any of those things, and yet I want you to be all of them, which you already are. You are Jane Blakeney, my wife.”
Her eyes blinked open. “No, I’m not. You are married to Alice.”
“How could I have married her or anyone, when I am married to you?”
She released his hand and touched his chest. Could she still be trapped in a dream? “My brother-in-law wrote my father. He said you’d married her.” Her face burned with shame. “I assumed you’d divorced me.”
She expected him to complain about the way gossip and half-truths spread, or how not to believe something so ridiculous, but he said nothing. Instead, he threw back his head and roared with laughter. Jane waited for his amusement to subside, her stomach in knots. Perhaps he had lost his wits. Her own seemed far removed.
“Even if I wanted to leave you, Alice is the last woman on earth I would marry.” Suddenly, his face lit up. She could almost see the realization spreading through him. “I understand now,” he said slowly. “My cousin married Alice last month.”
She shook her head in frustration. “But…I saw the announcement. It said F. Blakeney…”
“…is Felix Blakeney.” He cupped her cheek in his palm. “Felix has my proxy in Parliament now, and I need never return to London, unless I wish to, and I don’t see that happening in the near future. As it turns out, Felix and Alice have loved each other for some time and married the moment they could.” He tipped her jaw shut, as she continued to gape at him. “Is that why you were so cold to me this morning? Because you thought I’d married Alice?”
“I believed it because it made sense.”
Her voice broke, and she buried her face in his coat, clinging to him, inhaling his scent, absorbing his warmth. He lifted her chin, and she tried to pull away, but his grip tightened, forcing her to look at him.
“What foolish nonsense is this?”
“I have no accomplishments like Alice and Susanna. I sing like a sick toad,” she said, her voice shaking. “I can’t embroider or net silly little purses. I cannot quote poetry like you. I trip over my own feet at a ball, and my handwriting looks like chicken scratches in the dirt.”
She took a deep breath and gulped back the sobs. He looked decidedly amused, but she had to make him see reason.
“You do not need a clinging bride. I want to be with you day and night, but Alice told me not to show you too much attention. My playing is atrocious,” she continued. “Well, passable at best. I cannot imagine what you thought when I was playing your symphony. I still wonder why you did not run from the room, your hands clapped over your e
ars.”
“Before I address your musical talent, Mrs. Blakeney, may we discuss what Alice said?”
“She and Lady Brewster warned me not to…” She chewed her lip, trying to think of a delicate phrase. “Well, not to show you too much affection.”
“I see.” But he did not look as if he understood at all. “Did I ever give the impression that I wanted less attention from you?”
“No. Of course not. They were giving me advice—bad, as I understand it now, of how a proper wife of…of an earl should be.” It sounded so ridiculous, inane even, to have listened to such nonsense. He gave her his handkerchief. She wiped her streaming eyes and nose. “But you must agree, Frederick, I am not the picture of an ideal countess.”
“Do you think intelligent men choose their wives based on handwriting and singing voices? Does Jeremy Parker love Susanna for her accomplishments?” He nodded at her startled look. “Oh yes, the truth is now known to all. They fell in love a few years ago and I stood in their way. I believed my interference was for her own good.” He snorted. “I should have known better. There have never been two bigger fools more in love than…well, than I.”
“Alice let me believe there was something between you and Susanna.”
Speaking the words aloud expressed the utter ridiculousness of it all. She should have trusted her heart. She should have trusted him.
“My brother betrayed Alice. She took out her dashed hopes and disappointments on you, because she knew we were in love.”
“I loved you from the first moment I saw you,” she said quietly. “I could not believe you would feel the same for me.”
“Do you know what I saw that night at Everhill?” The pad of his thumb stroked her lower lip. “My salvation, sitting at a pianoforte. I saw your brilliant eyes darting about the keyboard, oblivious to a watching stranger because she was lost in the music…my music. I wanted a partner, Jane—a woman who would share my hopes and dreams. That you were also beautiful was even better.”