Echoes of the Moon

by Jennifer Taylor

  Fortunately, Mistress Reynolds rolled the tea cart laden with tea sandwiches, baked chicken, fresh oysters. The table grew quiet as all enjoyed a most delicious meal.

  Clearly Henry’s hard work at teaching George manners had paid off, with a few minor exceptions.

  Henry nudged him. “George,” he whispered. “You can slow down. I promise I’ll let you eat your fill.”

  “Good advice for me as well,” Bethan said.

  “Yes, Sister. Come up for air,” Elunid drawled, making George giggle.

  “Would you mind passing me the chicken, George?” Elunid asked. “It’s frightfully good, isn’t it?”

  George gulped before he said, “My favorite.”

  A companionable silence ensued as they tucked into their tea. She found herself glancing at Henry frequently. Did the food taste better because he shared it with her? He seemed different today, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. More elegant, cultured, light-hearted?

  Elunid glanced at Bethan. “You’re staring at me.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Chwaer. It’s just good to see you eating so well.”

  Elunid lifted one slender shoulder. “I’m hungry.”

  Bethan wiped a tear from her eye.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I’m happy for this day, Sister.”

  “I’m a burden to you.”

  “No.” She grasped Elunid’s hand. “You mustn’t think it.”

  “I’m not often well.”

  “No,” Bethan said.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  Elunid’s shoulders slumped. “You’re wrong. It is most definitely my fault.”

  “Let’s just enjoy this day, Elunid.”

  “Aye,” Henry said. “It’s a fine day indeed. And George…” He grinned. “What do you like to do best?”

  “Eat.”

  “Besides eating.”

  “Sing.”

  “I know it’s breaking my own rules of not singing at the table, but how about a song or two?”

  “Oh, yes!”

  “I’m sure our dinner companions wouldn’t mind.”

  “Of course not,” Bethan and Elunid chorused.

  “Will you sing with us?” Henry asked.

  Bethan shook her head. “No, I cannot.”

  “I know you can,” Henry said.

  Elunid poked her arm. “Would you make poor George unhappy on his special day?”

  “Oh please, Mistress Bethan,” George cried.

  How could she say no to the boy?

  ****

  And what could it harm? Besides, she was already singing on the inside.

  “What shall we sing, George?”

  His dark brows knit with concentration. “I don’t know. I love so many songs.”

  Mistress Reynolds put glasses of sherry on the table. “How about ‘My Thing is My Own?’ ”

  “Why, madame! I can hardly believe a fine lady like yourself would allow us to sing such a bawdy song,” Henry teased.

  “I like the tune, and I’ve a good memory of it.”

  “Do you now?” He winked.

  She slapped him lightly on the shoulder. “Oh, if I was only twenty years younger, I’d lead you on a merry chase, lad.”

  They laughed.

  “I like the tune too,” George said.

  “Ah, from D’Urfey’s Wit and Mirth: Pills to Purge Melancholy,” Bethan said. “Bawdy, but fun. Shall we begin?”

  The slightly shocked but captive audience roared at all the right places, and one couldn’t help but notice how well Henry’s voice and hers blended.

  “A Master of Musick

  Came with an intent,

  To give me a lesson

  On my instrument,

  ~*~

  I thanked him for nothing,

  But bid him be gone,

  For my little fiddle,

  Should not be played on.”

  They finished with a flourish, and the room erupted in applause. Elunid hadn’t sung but held up her glass. “To George. May your thing be your own for many years to come.”

  “Oh, hear hear,” Henry said.

  Her sister had made a joke.

  “I don’t know what thing you mean, but I’ll try,” George said.

  It felt so good to sing, as if part of her had been caged and had just been set free.

  “I have a song,” George said eagerly. “May I sing it, Da?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  The room grew still.

  “I love to live by the ocean.

  I love to live by the sea,

  When all the lovely mermaids,

  Swim up and sing to me.

  ~*~

  They tell me I am handsome,

  They tell me I am sweet,

  And they are very sorry,

  That they don’t have feet.”

  The room erupted in applause.

  “Well done! Where did you hear it?”

  “I made it up myself!”

  “Goodness.” Elunid grinned. “I like it very much.”

  George remained standing. “I am the king of birthdays, and this is my command: I would like my royal subjects”—he pointed at Bethan and Henry—“to sing a song together.”

  “A duet?” Henry glanced at Bethan. “Why not?”

  She nodded.

  “What shall we sing, George?”

  “Hmm…how about ‘I Thee Treasure’?”

  “Stand up,” George ordered.

  Bethan cleared her throat and gripped the table’s edge. All eyes in the room watched. This was maybe not such a good idea. She sat down.

  “Bethan.” His eyes held reassurance, his broad chest strength.

  She rose, and at his nod, they began to sing. The room disappeared as she watched his mouth move, and the rise and fall of his chest. She let his rich bass consort with her soprano.

  When they finished, the room was silent. Then the crowd cheered and waved their handkerchiefs in the air. Several women wiped their eyes.

  Mistress Reynolds sniffed. “Took me back to my younger days. You make a fine pair, the two of you.”

  “She plays the pianoforte as well,” Elunid said.

  “Does she now?”

  “Yes, she plays beautifully.”

  “Thank you, Sister.”

  Elunid shrugged. “’Tis true.”

  “This is fortuitous indeed,” Henry said. “I helped Ian cart a pianoforte from the docks. Came in for him from France.”

  “You should have seen Maggie’s face when we arrived with it. Apparently he’d not thought to mention it. She was none too pleased.”

  “We got out of there as fast as we could.” George shuddered, making Elunid giggle.

  She hadn’t played in ever so long. Sometimes when Elunid had her bad days, Bethan retreated to her imagination, warm fingers on cool ivory. She reveled in the beauty of it, how the notes on the paper made perfect sense when so much of her life did not.

  “We shall escort you over to see it,” Henry said. “Mayhap you’ll play George a tune.”

  “Yes,” Elunid said. “It’s early yet. I’ve time yet before They call upon me.”

  Henry and Bethan exchanged glances. His eyes shone with perfect understanding and warm reassurance.

  “Why not?” she said.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Why not indeed? Once outside, Henry offered Bethan his arm. How would it be to have her on his arm every day, feel her bright presence at his side to share life’s duties? He hadn’t thought he could want her more, but after hearing her sing…

  He would request she wear the peacock dress when they married. The dress would overpower another woman, but on her it complemented her tall grace, made her eyes a darker blue.

  He grasped her by the waist and spun her around. She squealed but smiled down at him. Yes, he would marry her.

  He set her down again, and she backed away. “George is a wonderful boy.”

&
nbsp; He smiled. If they’d been alone, he would have kissed her then, put into it all the joy in his soul. “He’s all a father could ask for.” He took Bethan’s hand, kissed it. “Thank you for making his birthday memorable.”

  Ian’s harassed voice carried through their cottage window. “Woman, I insist you sit down and put your feet up.”

  “I’m fine. Do not order me about.”

  “Any fool can see you’re exhausted, and there’s no need to work yourself every damn minute of the day.”

  “I’ve never heard Ian sound so irate,” Henry whispered.

  “I know my own body.”

  “Your feet were swollen last night, if you recall.”

  “It’s very common.”

  “I don’t like it. It’s a sign you need to slow down, and you know it.”

  “You’re being tiresome, Ian.”

  “I may be stuck in this chair, Maggie mine, but you will do as I say.”

  “He must be worried about her to be so cross. It isn’t like him,” Bethan said.

  “We should stop eavesdropping,” Henry said.

  “Yes, I suppose it’s wrong of us.” She grinned mischievously.

  His heart flopped in his chest like a landed lamprey. Henry opened the door for Bethan, and the room fell silent.

  “Oh, hello!” Ian’s nutmeg-colored hair stood on end.

  Maggie stood, red-faced and panting.

  ****

  Bethan took Maggie by the arm. “Let’s go sit down.” She guided her to the divan in the sitting room.

  “What I’ve been trying to tell her,” Ian muttered.

  “We heard,” Henry said drily.

  Elunid and George stood at the threshold.

  “I’ll make some tea.” Bethan motioned for them to come in.

  Henry patted Ian on the back. “Ian, man! We’ve come to see your pianoforte.”

  “Ah, excellent! Let me finish something up here. It’s a mixture for Captain Jacobs.”

  Maggie sank onto the divan. “Truthfully, I longed to sit down, but he was being so dictatorial I had to argue.”

  Bethan snorted and lifted the midwife’s feet to put the stool underneath them. “Your feet are dreadfully swollen. The ankles too.”

  Maggie nodded and closed her eyes. “I think I’ll like this child better out than in.”

  Bethan almost dropped the teapot.

  “You think it’s funny now,” Maggie said. “Wait until it’s your turn.”

  “Me? No, it will never happen.”

  “Why?”

  “My sister. She would be his burden as well.”

  Maggie opened her eyes, pierced her with her gray gaze. “Never underestimate the man you love. And you love him, do you not?”

  “Well…”

  “It’s plain to see, Bethan.”

  Thankfully, Ian entered with Henry in tow. “The pianoforte is over in the corner.”

  “Yes, because we needed one more instrument.” Maggie rubbed her forehead. “Though in truth I’m happy music soothes him somewhat.”

  “Is it your head again?” Ian wheeled over to Maggie, put his palm on her forehead.

  “Yes, I’ve a headache,” Maggie snapped. “Will you please stop fussing over me like an old crone?”

  “I’ll fix you something for it.” He wheeled out of the room, quickly returning. He mixed the contents into her tea and gave it to her. “Take it. Now.”

  “Yes, yes. Go show them your new toy.”

  Ian shook his head, then led the way. “It’s over here in the corner.”

  “Oh, do you mind?” Bethan excused herself and joined them.

  “Of course not,” Maggie said. “I’ll close my eyes for a bit.”

  It was a thing of great beauty, carved wooden and glowing.

  “I just finished polishing it,” Ian said.

  “Oh. It’s exquisite, so much finer than the one I played.”

  “You play?”

  “Yes, though it’s been a long time.”

  “Wonderful!” He clapped his hands. “You can teach me.”

  “But Mr. Ian,” George cried. “You play all manner of instruments.”

  “To be honest, the piano is not my forte.” He waggled his eyebrows.

  Maggie groaned.

  “Sit down, Bethan.” Ian ordered.

  Henry pulled the bench out for her. “Please, dear.”

  Ian shot him a glance. “Ah?”

  “Play something, Sister,” Elunid said.

  “Well, I…” The keys beckoned to her.

  “Please, Miss Bethan,” George said.

  Elunid retreated to the divan with Maggie.

  Bethan turned around. “Elunid, will you fetch Maggie her tea?” Yes, she was steady enough to do it.

  Ian handed her some sheet music. “Here, can you play this?”

  One of her favorites. Thomas Tallis composed for Henry VIII, Queen Elizabeth, and Queen Mary as well. “I haven’t played in ever so long. I’ll be rusty.” Her heart raced as she scanned the music. What if she didn’t remember? A broad hand squeezed her shoulder lightly and rested there.

  She took a deep breath. The keys were cool against her heated fingers. She began to play the opening notes, tentative and soft at first, but soon the room around her dissolved, and her heart opened like a new rose.

  “This has lyrics.”

  Henry’s deep voice jolted her out of her reverie, and she struck a bad note.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to distract you,” he said.

  “Just so, just so,” Ian murmured, an amused lilt to his voice.

  “Yes, Henry.” She’d said his given name without thinking, and on her lips it felt as intimate as a kiss. “But they’re in Latin.”

  He nodded. “Carry on, Mistress Bethan.”

  She played the opening lines, and his bass voice banished all rational thought and surrounded her senses, as her fingers on the keys joined him in a dance.

  He knew Latin. How could a man with such humble origins speak Latin so flawlessly? Her fingers trembled on the keys. He leaned forward to turn the page, warmth radiating from his chest. His breath caressed her neck, making her tingle all the way to her breasts. Every inch of her body felt alive and warm.

  As Henry turned the final page, the music ended. She couldn’t contain a disappointed sigh.

  “You play beautifully,” Henry said.

  She held her fingers in front of her, feeling as if they belonged to someone else. “I could scarcely believe I remembered how to play.”

  “Your fingers remembered.”

  “Yes.”

  His eyes had turned black as the minor keys, and as full of possibilities. He fingered the sheet music. “Do you know what this song is about?”

  “I don’t read Latin.”

  The bench was big enough for the both of them; she motioned for him to sit. The side of his hard thighs burned through her dress, and she had a momentary flash of memory like lightning in darkness, of feeling his bare thighs against her light summer dress.

  He cleared his throat. “Bethan?”

  “Yes?”

  “You had the most peculiar expression on your face.”

  Pray God he didn’t know what she was thinking.

  “I asked how you came to be interested in the music of Thomas Tallis.” He rested his strong muscular fingers on the keys.

  “Years ago, a friend of my father came to visit. He was a skilled pianist, and he carried his music with him wherever he went. He left this very piece for me.” She stopped, opened her mouth to speak, promptly closed it.

  “What is it?” His voice was very gentle.

  “It’s just that…I’d forgotten. When I play the piano and the music sinks into me, I’m not my sister’s keeper. I am just myself. I can forget my life, escape into my own world, instead of always being in hers.”

  “Yes.” He was so close she could hear his heart beat. “It’s how I feel when we’re together.”

  Joy rushed through her
like a spring fed river. She nodded, gratified at the look of warm pleasure in his eyes. “You do not think us selfish?”

  “I feel no shame about my feelings for you, Bethan.”

  “It’s impossible.”

  “How can I convince you it’s not?”

  She couldn’t look at him. “I would be both selfish and foolish to expect anyone to carry my burden.”

  “Have faith in me, Bethan. I would do anything for you.”

  “You’re only human.”

  “Can you not see we’re meant to be together?”

  She cleared her throat and put the pages in order. “If I play it again, can you sing it in English?”

  “I’ll try. Bethan, you can change the subject all you want, but we will be together.”

  She tried to remain unaffected by what he said, but anger warmed her face. He didn’t know what life required of her. How could she give herself to him when she could not give herself fully?

  Then, the notes on the page, so precise and predictable, soothed her as they always had. The music and his deep voice singing of praise and faith were over too soon.

  “Thank you. I like the words, but I think it sounds better in Latin.”

  “I wish I could kiss you, Bethan. Slowly, thoroughly, and privately.”

  She nodded. Just because it was impossible didn’t mean she didn’t want it.

  “Sister, I need thread.”

  She released his hand, and he groaned.

  She rose. “Elunid, I need to speak with Maggie for a few minutes, and then I’ll take you.”

  “Time is running out,” her twin said.

  “I lost track of time.”

  “Clearly.” She looked anxiously toward the door.

  “George could take her,” Henry said.

  “Yes,” said George. “I’m tired of sitting.”

  Henry reached into his pocket. “If I know you, you’re probably hungry again. Fetch yourself and Elunid something at the bakers.”

  “Thank you, Da!”

  She studied Elunid; there was nothing in her manner to hint of oncoming trouble. “Why not?”

  “How nice of you to give me permission.” Elunid rolled her eyes.

  “Take my arm, Elunid,” George said.

  To Bethan’s surprise, she linked her arm with his.

  “I’ll meet you at the notions shop in a bit.”

  Ian and Maggie were drinking tea on the divan.

  “It’s time, Maggie,” Ian said. “Tell her.”

  “Tell me what?”

  Maggie sighed. “I know he’s right. Bethan. I feel it won’t be long until the baby comes.”