Until, around midnight, she had to admit her feet were giving out, and he confessed his bow tie was choking him. Leaving the dance floor, they found Trip Morgan and thanked him for his hospitality.
“One of the kids got sick,” he told them, finishing off the last of what looked like a glass of bourbon on the rocks. “Kayli went home to take care of him. The story of my life.” He poked a finger into Griff’s chest. “Beware, my friend. The good days only last for a little while.”
“That was either very profound,” Griff said, once they were in the car, “or totally absurd.”
“I vote for absurd.” Arden wound his tie between her fingers. “Your days are what you make them, good or bad.”
An echo of Dr. Campbell’s question came back to her. What do you do with your life? Why do you get up in the morning?
The man had a point. What had she accomplished in the last year? What would she accomplish in the years ahead?
Parking on the gravel drive in front of the cottage, Griff said, “Stay right there. Don’t move.”
Then he came around the back of the Jaguar, opened Arden’s door and bent down. “Put your arms around my neck.”
“You don’t have to carry me in,” she protested, laughing. “I can slip my shoes back on.”
“Just wrap your arms around me.” He scooped her up and lifted her out of the car. To save them both a fall, Arden did as he asked.
She also turned the doorknob so he could push through into the house. He shut the door behind them with one foot, but didn’t set her down.
“I’m heavy,” she murmured as he stood there. “You can’t hold me forever.”
“I think I could,” he said quietly. “I want to.” He kissed the top of her head, her temple, her cheekbone. Then Arden turned her face up so their lips could touch.
His arms tightened around her as he walked steadily down the hallway. She clung to his shoulders and gave herself up to the mouth plundering hers.
In the bedroom, he eased her bare feet to the floor. His hands moved over her body and her dress disappeared. Jacket, shirt, shoes, socks and pants followed, every layer between them stripped away.
“You are so much more than I imagined when we met,” Griff said, stretching her arms above her head as she lay beneath him. “I never dreamed this would happen to me.”
“Ah, Griff.” She wanted to say the words, to share the feelings that seemed likely to tear her apart.
But the wildness took over then, and she could only gasp. Fireworks couldn’t begin to describe the magic shooting through her. Exploding suns came closer to the mark.
When she could finally think again, when her body had relaxed and her brain reassembled, she turned her head to tell Griff what she felt.
Eyes closed, mouth open, he snored into her face.
But, thinking of champagne in the ladies’ room, Arden simply smiled.
Chapter Eleven
As ordered, Arden visited Dr. Loft on Tuesday. She’d never thought about the need for vitamins before she got pregnant. Like most women, she wanted to do the best for her baby.
Whether that included keeping the child a secret from its father and other family members was a question she had begun to ask herself more often than was comfortable.
Dr. Loft’s receptionist required her to fill out information forms, including past medical issues and current health. Arden found some of the questions painful to answer, but she told the truth. Doctors couldn’t be lied to.
The exam was as careful and complete as Arden had expected. After giving her time to dress, Dr. Loft returned to the room and sat down on the rolling stool, then thumbed through the papers in her hand.
“You seem to be in good shape,” she said. “No more dizziness or nausea?”
“Not at all.”
“Good.” Again, she referred to one of the forms Arden had filled out. “According to your history, you had a miscarriage a little over a year ago.”
“Yes.”
“That’s too bad.” The doctor followed up with other clinical questions. “And now you’re trying to get pregnant again?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then, I’d like to make a recommendation. Not a requirement, you understand. A precaution, at most. I’d like to refer you for an ultrasound exam of your abdomen.”
“Why?”
“Since you’ve had one miscarriage, I’d like to be sure there are no problems with your reproductive system as you try to conceive again.”
After scheduling the appointment for Friday, Arden left the office, but then sat in the car for a long time, trying to think.
Dr. Loft had been reassuring as she explained her reasoning. The fact remained that she believed there might be something wrong.
And the possibilities for Arden’s future—dreams she’d just begun to believe in—had suddenly been called into doubt.
SATURDAY’S BRUNCH for the bride and groom took place at the Sheridan Fine Art Museum.
“Remarkable,” Griff commented as they arrived, “for its total lack of any fine artwork.”
Arden gave him a reproving glance. “Kathy brought me here earlier in the week. I thought there were some nice paintings and a couple of good sculptures.”
“Exactly. ‘Very nice’ and ‘good.’ But not ‘fine.’”
“This isn’t New York, after all.”
“You would know.” He opened the door for her. “I’m still wondering about your mysterious past, by the way. Don’t think I’ve forgotten.”
“I wouldn’t be so naive.” Arden smiled at him, but he thought he saw shadows in her eyes. She’d been a little tense this week, distracted. He wondered what she could be thinking about. And he felt a little hurt that she still wouldn’t confide in him. What did he have to do to prove she could trust him?
Standing in yet another receiving line, Griff congratulated himself on the plan to bring Arden to Sheridan as his fiancée. Once word got around, thanks to Zelda, and once his family had appeared to accept her, he hadn’t had to deal with questions or sympathy. The plan they’d concocted together, on that beach four weeks ago, was working perfectly.
After waiting ten minutes, they finally stood near their hostess, Mrs. Hilary Crumpler.
“Zelda’s great-aunt,” Griff whispered. “Sheridan’s social arbiter.”
Arden frowned at him. “Thanks for the advance warning.”
“I am simply devastated,” Mrs. Crumpler was saying to the older lady in a pink dress in front of Arden. “Thirty minutes before my guests are due to arrive, the pianist calls to say he cannot perform—he has smashed his fingers in the car door. Can you imagine?”
“Oh, my dear.” The woman pressed Mrs. Crumpler’s hand with both her own. “Such a tragedy. What will you do?”
“My husband is trying to set up some sort of recorded music, but…” She gave a disdainful shrug. “Not at all what I wanted.” Then she turned toward Arden. “And how are you— Oh, my stars!”
Her gasp echoed off the marble floors of the museum entry hall. “I can’t believe this.” Somehow, she had grabbed Arden’s hand and now held it tightly. “Arden Burke? The Arden Burke?”
“Yes.” Arden stood as if paralyzed.
Griff stepped closer. “This is my fiancée—”
Their hostess brushed him away with a wave of her fingers. “I know who she is. I just never imagined, when I issued you an invitation—much against my inclinations, I must tell you, because I don’t believe an ex-fiancé has any place at a bride’s celebration of her wedding—as I say, I never could have imagined that your guest would be such a renowned young lady. I am so honored to meet you, my dear. I’ve attended many of your concerts, in New York and Washington and San Francisco.”
Griff’s stomach dropped into the soles of his feet. Concerts? San Francisco?
Mrs. Crumpler made a show of releasing Arden’s hand. “I shouldn’t hold your fingers so tightly, should I? We wouldn’t want to damage these priceless instruments.”
“Oh, my dear, thank you for coming.” A flirtatious look came over Mrs. Crumpler’s face. “Can we dare ask you to play for us? What a delight, what an honor that would be, to hear an Arden Burke performance right here in Sheridan.”
Arden shook her head. “I’m afraid I can’t.”
“Oh, please, Miss Burke, it would be the highlight of my entire year.” The old bat actually had tears in her eyes.
“I’m sorry. I don’t have my—my violin with me, Mrs. Crumpler.”
Griff’s memory flashed on the violin case he’d seen in the corner of the beach cottage. Then he heard an echo of Arden’s denial that she was a musician.
Mrs. Crumpler sighed deeply. “Ah, such a tragedy. However, I have also heard you play the piano, and we do have one of those. Would you favor us with a few pieces?”
A resigned smile settled on Arden’s face. “Of course.”
The next hour tested Griff’s patience and his temper. He called upon every ounce of good manners he possessed to refrain from biting people’s heads off. He did not want to talk or eat or drink champagne punch. He certainly did not want to answer questions, accept compliments or, God forbid, make explanations.
He wanted to listen.
Seated at the piano, Arden paused for a few moments with her hands resting on her thighs, staring at the keys. When she lifted her head, she met Griff’s gaze with an expression he couldn’t read.
Then the music began. He didn’t recognize the flood of notes pouring from the piano, but he knew a master composer when he heard one. Knew, as well, that Arden’s performance was close to flawless. She didn’t have a piano at the beach, in the Miami condo or here in Sheridan, so she couldn’t have practiced for weeks. The woman had to be a musical genius.
He could only imagine what kind of artistry she would demonstrate with a violin.
Each time she came to the end of a selection, the audience applauded wildly. Cries of “More, please,” came from every direction. Arden consented—first with a slow, dreamy piece followed by something fiery and brilliant—but then turned around and held up her hand.
“I’ll play awhile longer,” she announced, in a voice that carried throughout the museum, “but this is not a concert. Please feel free to enjoy the lovely brunch Mrs. Crumpler has provided and your chance to chat with the guests of honor, Zelda Talbot and Al McPherson, the bride and groom-to-be.”
No one moved or spoke for a couple of seconds. Arden stared at them, frowning, and finally made a shooing motion. “Go talk among yourselves,” she ordered.
With a general laugh, the guests broke into groups and conversation resumed, with a piano accompaniment. Now Griff recognized the tunes as popular ballads and show pieces—“easy listening music” played by a virtuoso.
“I can’t believe it.” Lauren came up on one side of him.
On the other side, Dana pinched his arm. “You never said a word.”
Griff didn’t look at either of them.
“Oh, my gosh,” Dana whispered.
Lauren gripped his arm. “You didn’t know?”
He didn’t confirm or deny, and eventually they abandoned him to talk to the rest of his family.
But that left him prey to everyone else, and he couldn’t refuse to talk, though he said as little as possible.
“Yes, she’s terrifically talented.”
“I’m very proud of her, of course.”
“She, uh, wanted to remain incognito, since this is really the time we should be thinking about Zelda and Al. Have you talked to them today? They make a good couple. No, no hard feelings at all. Things work out for the best, don’t they?”
When Al and Zelda came over, the conversation got stickier.
“She’s quite a star,” Zelda said, her eyes a little bright, her voice a little harsh. “Aunt Hilary’s been filling me in.”
Griff stayed silent, to avoid fueling the fire.
Al put his arm around his fiancée. “It’s not that big a deal, Zel.”
“Yes, it is.” She clasped her hands together. “International concerts when she was nine years old. Julliard. Multiple recordings in the stores. Quite a phenomenon, Griff. You should have said something.”
Hearing details he’d never known felt like getting slapped across the face. “I—”
But Zelda had more to say. “I was happy for you, knowing you’d found somebody to love after I canceled the wedding. You could have made me truly jealous, though, with this kind of news. Why wouldn’t you want a…a superstar like Arden Burke? You must be so relieved I didn’t hold you to our wedding.”
This time it was Zelda leaving the room, brushing through the crowd without a word as she escaped.
Griff looked at Al. “Sorry.”
“Yeah, sure.” The groom took off after his runaway bride.
Arden stopped playing soon after that, and was immediately surrounded by the nosy and the purely complimentary. Griff retreated to the food table, consoling himself with smoked salmon sandwiches and lemon bar cookies.
“This is quite a surprise,” his mother said, joining him. “Why do you suppose Arden didn’t tell you any of this?”
“That,” Griff said between gritted teeth, “is what I intend to find out.”
GRIFF SEEMED HIS USUAL smiling self as they said goodbye to Mrs. Crumpler and suffered through her fulsome gratitude for the music.
As soon as the museum door shut behind them, however, his clasp on Arden’s elbow turned to stone. A glance at his face showed her a steely glint in his eyes. She defined the way he closed her car door as a slam.
Well, she’d known for the last two hours this wouldn’t be easy. “Griff—”
He held up a hand. “I’d rather not talk while I’m driving.”
“Too bad,” she told him. “I’m not a child who will be seen and not heard.”
“That’s pretty obvious.”
“Why don’t you just say what you’re thinking?”
“Because I don’t like to use that kind of language in front of females.”
“Don’t hesitate on my account.”
“I’m not. I like to think of myself as a gentleman, that’s all.”
Arden decided then that she didn’t want to talk to him, anyway.
But when she faced him on the cottage porch, planning to suggest they talk later, he shook his head.
“We’re not putting this off any longer. It’s time for the truth.”
They confronted each other again across the living room, both standing behind a chair, both holding onto the back.
“So you’re a violinist,” Griff started. “A major talent, doing concerts all over the world when you were a child. Recording artist. Famous. You’ve eaten dinner and performed at the White House.”
“Once. Ten years ago.” She smiled, but he didn’t.
“Why the big secret? Did you think I was too stupid to appreciate the facts?”
“No!” She pressed her fingers against her lips for a moment. “All of that is in the past, Griff. I retired at Christmas, a year ago. I don’t perform, record or even practice anymore.”
“Why?”
“Can we sit down?”
After a long moment, he dropped into the chair in front of him.
With a sigh, Arden eased into the armchair. Her back muscles had stiffened as she played. By now the stiffness had given birth to cramps. “About two years ago, reviewers of my performances started saying I was off pitch in the upper register. I wasn’t hitting the highest notes exactly in tune.”
He didn’t comment, so she took a deep breath and continued. “I practiced more, tried different violins, took lessons, without results…until the day my teacher said, ‘Hear that? It’s terribly flat.’ I realized I didn’t hear the note at all. Except in my imagination.
“To make a long story short, I went to a specialist who determined I was…am…�
�� She still hated the word. “I’m going deaf.”
Leaning forward, Griff propped his elbows on his knees. “There’s no solution?”
“Not in terms of the music. Hearing aids or cochlear implants can’t restore the kind of acuity I need.” Arden braided her fingers together. “The broken engagement occurred at the same time. I found myself a place to hide—Chaos Key—and I’ve been there ever since.”
She couldn’t tell him the rest. Not until she’d seen the doctor on Monday. She might have miscarried because she was defective. If babies were never going to be possible for her, that was something Griff should know.
“How long will you be able to hear?”
“I’ve lost most bird sounds in this last year, like that traffic chirp you noticed. I can’t hear it at all. Crowds confuse me more than I remembered.” She shrugged. “I probably have a few years of hearing left, perhaps not that long. Or perhaps I’ll only lose a percentage, then stabilize. The doctors don’t know and can’t predict.”
He fell back into the chair. “But why hide who you are? I don’t understand that part.”
She opened her hands in a helpless gesture. “I really didn’t think it mattered. I’m not that person anymore—I don’t perform or record or have anything to do with music. So why bring it up? Besides…” She owed him this much, at least. “Talking about the music would require explaining why I don’t play. I didn’t want to reveal that part.”
“Why would it make a difference? Especially after you found out about Kathy, I would think you’d see it’s not a problem.”
“Kathy’s hearing loss had a cause. Mine could be…genetic. They don’t really know.”
“But what…” Griff frowned at her for a minute. Then his puzzlement cleared. “A baby. You thought…” He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. “You thought I wouldn’t want you to have my child if I knew you were…were going deaf.”
Arden couldn’t look at him any longer. She nodded, staring at her hands twisting in her lap.
A Convenient Proposal Page 15