The Architect of Song

  I reached for the hand on his knee. “I’ve learned things of his past. Unsettling things. I have caught him in lies.”

  His chest rose on a sigh. “I know of his dealings with women and gambling. I know of his alleged temper and weakness for liquor. Do you not think I visited the rumor mills before allowing him to court you? But he assures me those days are behind him. And as for lies? It isn’t as if you’ve been entirely honest with him.” He squeezed my fingers. “How long have you known the gypsy woman was his aunt? Yet have you mentioned how you helped her? He told me he saw you at the cemetery when he visited his brother’s grave. Yet have you ever explained to him why you stole his brother’s flower?”

  Heat flashed through my face, a bristling surge of nerves. There it was. Confirmation that Lord Thornton had known it was me all along. Why hadn’t he said anything?

  “He didn’t wish to tell you,” Hawk grumbled. His voice startled me and I looked up to find him gazing again out the window. “Otherwise he’d have to explain his actions at my grave. His hostility towards a dead brother. His knowledge of the journal.”

  Uncle’s hand moved within mine and recouped my attention. “There’s something real between you and Nicolas. Anyone can see it. In the way you look at one another, in the way you connect so often without words. It could be your shared physical encumbrances. It could be because he grieves for a lost loved one just as you do. Grief can bridge to friendship, even to something much more powerful. Whatever the case, there’s a reason you act irrationally around him. A reason why you snuck into his chamber this morning … a reason you stole the flower from his brother’s grave.” He paused, cocking an eyebrow. “Why you keep watch over it so judiciously.”

  Yes. But that reason was so much more complicated than Uncle could ever conceive.

  “There are times a woman has no explanation for her actions,” I mumbled. “There are times her emotions rule her, and she knows not why or in what direction they will lead. All she can do is follow, and hope her heart proves a reliable compass. Mine has failed me, of late.”

  Uncle’s eyes glazed, as if he was somewhere far away. “Enya shall be disappointed when we leave. She’s grown rather fond of this place. I believe she hoped we might stay. Did you know her favorite poet, Lord Byron, lived in a castle much like this one?”

  I strained to read his lips—they moved so minutely now. Hawk filled in the words that I missed.

  “She can recite the sonnet, ‘She walks in beauty, like the night’. Makes it sound like a song … never missing one rhyme or rhythm.” Coming back to the present, Uncle’s grasp on my hand withdrew, as if he were embarrassed.

  I couldn’t help smiling. “Enya is quite remarkable.”

  As if a bee stung him, Uncle leapt to his feet, kneading his hands. “I love your mother. I always will.”

  Rising, I stopped his nervous fingers. “Mama shall always be in your heart. But if there’s room for another, you should bear no guilt for filling that vacancy.”

  He shook his head. “It’s wrong. Enya is … is yet so young. What could I offer her?”

  “Warm arms and a loyal heart. Children.”

  So shocked by my suggestion, Uncle sputtered an unreadable scolding. Then, regaining his composure, he slowed his lips. “What would others say of such a pairing?”

  Hawk observed us from across the room as he rested his pocket watch on his palm.

  “That there can be beauty in a winter-spring love, father bear.” I patted my uncle’s cheek. “Just look at the purple heath upon the snow outside.” I felt Hawk’s gaze on me and thanked him silently for wisdom imparted.

  Uncle’s confused frown deepened. “Snow and heath?”

  I straightened the cravat at his neck. “Never you mind. Just know that I support whatever you decide. You deserve to be happy.”

  Tapping my nose with a fingertip, Uncle smiled sadly. “As do you, tiny sparrow. We’d all do well to disregard the opinion of others. Had Nicolas not been so desperate to maintain his reputation so this Manor might be a success, perchance I wouldn’t have conceived of such a ruse as the ‘dowry’ to sanction his desire to court you. After all, at that point he’d already said he would buy your parent’s estate, keep it in your name, and let us stay there indefinitely, so long as he could have my cottage to use when he ventures into Claringwell.”

  My chin dropped. “You mean to say, I was never to lose the estate? I thought it was his requirement in order to marry me.”

  “I came up with that. Deemed it the best way to ensure you traversed here, to get to know him. You can be so stubborn at times, Juliet. But had I told you the truth, perhaps you wouldn’t have been so suspicious of his intentions. This disastrous morning could’ve been avoided.”

  I couldn’t fathom it. “He wanted to court me even without the property? Why?” Then it dawned on me: the interview he found in Lord Larson’s mining files. Perhaps he felt obligated to help us financially out of respect for his brother’s memory.

  “Wait,” Hawk said. “From what your uncle said, my brother didn’t find the interview about your accident until your uncle told him of it.” His words were logical, yet my heart still couldn’t make sense of it. “He was bidding for your estate long before that.”

  “Juliet.” Uncle’s hands cupped my shoulders, his white shirt and brown vest wrinkling. “Those follow-up missives we exchanged all those months … they were about you. Not the property. The viscount is drawn to you, just the way the good Lord intended. That visit when your mother and I met him in person, she took a portrait of you. I watched him as he studied it; he was captivated—enamored. As you said earlier, there are times a woman’s emotions rule her and she knows not why. The same holds true for a man. But it’s ever more difficult for him to act upon rash feelings in our society. Everything he does must be treated as a furtherance of his career. Even courtship involves negotiations and—” Uncle’s mouth clamped as his gaze drifted over my shoulder.

  I turned to see the viscount stepping into the shop. Just as he promised, he was here to retract his marriage proposal. A pinched sensation tweaked behind my sternum.

  I inclined my head in greeting.

  He tipped his top hat in response, his free hand squeezing a linen bag tied with a bow. Dressed in a purple frock coat, a canary yellow double-breasted vest, and a tombstone shirt one shade browner than the mossy green of his trousers, he appeared to be on his way out for the day.

  Then I remembered. This afternoon he had planned to take me for my dress fittings in Worthington while he ran some errands. A sinking perception pooled at the base of my throat. He would be going alone now, just as he would to all of the upcoming galas. He would be unattached and available to fill other women’s dance cards. Having fresh insight into how it felt to be touched by him, and learning all I had of his generosity toward me and my uncle, I didn’t like the thought of that. Not even a little.

  Utilizing his cane in that graceful manner, the viscount paused to stand beside us and nodded to my uncle. With an answering nod, Uncle shook his hand.

  Lord Thornton removed his hat and smoothed his thick hair.

  Before he could speak, I stepped up. “Might you give us a moment, Uncle?” I directed the plea to him while keeping my gaze on the viscount’s troubled features.

  My uncle excused himself and returned to his bolts of fabric on the other side of the room.

  “How’s your arm?” Lord Thornton studied my sleeve. “Do you think it will bruise?” He looked almost green, as though sickened by the possibility he harmed me.

  I wiggled the elbow he had used to escort me from his room. “I am fine. You were not as rough as you assume.”

  “Thank God. I never meant to …” His eyes closed. When they opened again, he had regained his composure. His cane gestured all around the room. “So, does it suit? We can change anything you wish.”

  I made a point to look nowhere but him. “I see nothing I would change, my lord.”

  His eyes droppe
d to the bag in his hand. He held it out. “I brought this for you.”

  Hawk appeared at my side in a blink, as curious as me.

  I took the linen bag. My hand brushed Lord Thornton’s and warmth radiated from my arm to my chest, reminding me of our embrace in his room. I balanced the gift upon the settee to untie its bow.

  The bag fell away to reveal a dome of spun glass—porous like crystallized mesh—seated upon a wooden base. The dome was a removable lid with a lock set into the front. Given its size and shape, it reminded me of a case waiting to house a large mantle clock.

  Confused, I looked up.

  “I had Mr. Diefendorf make it,” Lord Thornton explained. “He’s the German gentleman who runs the glass shop next door to your boutique.” Untangling a small chain from his pinky, the viscount handed me the key for the lock. “His expertise is glass-blown ornaments and jewelry. But this is a terrarium. To house that special flower you’re so fond of.” The viscount studied me with a deadened gaze, as if a wall of opaque glass dropped into place between us. “This will keep guests from touching it if you wish to have it with you in the boutique; yet it still allows the plant to breathe and receive light.” Thick lashes smudged his cheeks as he ran a long finger over his top hat where it balanced topsy-turvy on his can’s handle. “On the night of your arrival, your lady’s maid told Miss Abbot of the flower’s importance to you. Of its … frailties.”

  All this time, he’d known it was the flower from his brother’s grave, and still he was pretending not to know. Even after my despicable behavior this morning, even after our parting of ways, he was still sanctioning my lies, allowing me to keep the plant because he thought I needed it—emotionally.

  I held my breath, feeling utterly unworthy of such a gesture.

  Hawk cleared his throat. “He’s hoarding it over you … to remind you that he has the upper hand.” His theory pierced the swell of air from my lungs. “Don’t forget he still harbors secrets. Why was our aunt in your room? And there’s more behind our father’s absence than he’s letting on.”

  Yes. I could not deny that the viscount was keeping things from me. But I doubted it could be any worse than all of the truths I’d been hiding from him.

  “I stole it,” I said.

  The viscount’s brow twitched. “Pardon?”

  I strained my vocal cords on my next attempt, in case I had mumbled. “I stole the flower from your brother’s grave.” Judging by the size of the viscount’s widened eyes, I must have yelled the confession.

  Across the room, my uncle’s head popped up from his folding. He quickly turned his back to give us privacy.

  “Juliet, shush.” Hawk’s voice hissed in my ear.

  The viscount’s dulled gaze shattered to an inquisitive light. “You stole it.”

  “Yes. I was grief stricken over the loss of my—”

  The viscount lifted one of my hands to his mouth. “Shhhh.” His breath warmed the pads of my fingers. He released me to reveal a most beautiful smile. “That’s all I need to hear. Thank you for your honesty.” Then his countenance sobered. “I should talk to your uncle now.”

  “There’s more,” I said, trying to speak quieter this time.

  Hawk stood behind his brother. “He’ll think you’re mad if you tell him everything. You’ll be locked away in a bedlam somewhere.”

  Not if I show him you exist …

  “I will leave,” Hawk threatened, making his way toward the door. “I’ll disappear on the other side and assure he never sees me. And you’ll spurn a petal in the process.”

  A gouging fist twisted in my stomach.

  The viscount waited for me to continue, patient.

  I sighed, surrendering to Hawk’s pressure, but undefeated in my effort to gain ground. “I should like to beg your forgiveness, my lord,” I said to my host. “For my conduct this morning, for all of my offences thus far. And to assure you,”—my fingers locked hard in front of my waist— “that from this moment forward, I’ll leave your past where it belongs. I do respect you … for your patience and gentility, for your intellect and wit. For your generosity toward me and my family. But most of all, for your acknowledgement of your flaws, which has helped me embrace my own. If the offer yet stands, I should like to accompany you today for my fittings. You’re the only man with whom I wish to attend the galas—only you.”

  Lord Thornton’s features softened to an expression of fragile astonishment.

  Hawk cursed from across the room, having settled where Uncle smoothed out his fabric. The glow of pride upon Uncle’s dear face was well worth the awkwardness of stepping outside my dignity. I awaited the viscount’s response.

  At last, Lord Thornton frowned. “No. This will never do.” His answer was a punch aimed at my stomach.

  “I understand.” Biting back a humiliated sob, I started to back away.

  He captured my fingers. “Wait. Yes. I covet your company. But you’re not the only one who should make amends. I have been lying to you, too.” A tremor shook his jaw. “My father isn’t on holiday. He’s in Worthington, in a sanatorium. He is the errand I was to attend while you were being fitted. Do you wish to accompany me still?”

  My fingers squeezed the viscount’s. “Yes. On one condition. I would like to meet your father.”

  “Are you sure?” The viscount asked, rubbing my knuckles gently. “It is a rather severe setting for a woman’s constitution.”

  I almost rolled my eyes. If he only knew how strong I was. How strong all the women I’d ever known were, in fact. We were so often underestimated.

  Hawk frowned, moving closer. “This is different than spending time with a dead man, Juliet. Have you ever attended one of those places? I venture it would make my brother’s dungeon look like a child’s carnival.”

  I fidgeted. Imagining the inside of a sanatorium was unsettling. But for Hawk’s sake, I would brave the trip. He needed to meet his true father, to rinse his mind of the monster who raised him … tortured him.

  “I am sure.” I answered both of the brothers at once.

  “Fair enough.” Lord Thornton smiled before turning me loose. He plopped his hat on his head but forgot to tuck in his bangs. My fingers clenched around the settee’s arm, itching to touch the auburn streaks that spanned the hat’s brim.

  “Well then …” He reluctantly stepped back. “I should allow you time to prepare. Of course, your lady’s maid will accompany us. And I’ll ask your uncle along, as well.”

  I nodded.

  The viscount tipped his hat and limped across the room, meeting Uncle’s pleased smile with one of his own.

  Relief rushed over me in a balmy wave.

  “You should never have acted on your guilt.” Hawk’s husky baritone battered my happiness. “Nicolas is no saint. He locked our father in a bedlam … that is how he managed to get his inheritance to spurn as he pleased. Had he changed as he claims, he would’ve brought our father here by now. To let him share in this privileged life he’s built.”

  I paid no mind to Hawk’s accusations regarding the viscount, too busy tripping over his observation of my own motives. For guilt alone could never have resulted in laying my pride at Lord Thornton’s feet. Something more—something deep, real, and unexpected—was taking root within me …

  Something neither me nor Hawk could bear to face.

  I traced the terrarium’s dome, captivated by its intricacies. The glassy mesh felt like icicles beneath my fingertips.

  “A fitting gift for you, Juliet,” Hawk muttered from over my shoulder. “A cage of ice. The perfect size to hold a dead man’s broken heart.”

  I could not contain a sob.

  Chapter 26

  A new broom sweeps clean, but the old brush knows all the corners.

  Irish Proverb

  Lord Thornton’s colorful berline offered warm transport, cutting through the heavy winter mist and snow-powdered roads. We arrived in Worthington around one of the clock.

  First, we stopped at the haberd
asher for my dress-fittings. After listening to my opinions of dress reformation, the seamstress, Miss Hunny (who true to her name had silvery-gold hair scented with honey-water), showed me an array of mourning fabrics: bombazines, satins, and crapes, even some silks. After I chose several, she adjusted her spectacles, took measurements, and promised to have at least one new gown prepared in time for Monday night’s opening gala.

  When Lord Thornton mentioned a riding habit, I feared Uncle would be anxious. But it appeared they’d already settled the matter. Hawk, having been silent up to that point, stressed that the viscount had betrayed my trust. But in truth, Lord Thornton never once agreed not to tell my uncle. His ability to get my stand-in father to comply was a testament to the bond of respect between them.

  Miss Hunny brought out a riding habit that another customer similar to my build had ordered a month earlier but never purchased. Made of fawn-colored brushed cotton, it featured a tailored jacket with an attached bustle of soft netting, puff sleeves, and long tapered cuffs. Its crowning glory was an ankle-length split skirt with a double row of filigreed buttons that pinned back the fullness for ease in riding.

  I tiptoed into the display room to model it for the viscount. So tickled to be wearing the equivalent of men’s trousers, I beamed in the mirror. Behind my reflection, Lord Thornton’s image beamed right back.

  The waist required a few alterations which I was capable of doing myself. Lord Thornton purchased the matching suede gloves, then led us next door to a cobbler to order a pair of leather lace-up riding boots, insisting I pick the color. I chose a deep chocolate that favored the viscount’s hair. He assured me he’d send a footman to fetch them Friday so I could have my first riding lesson on Saturday before the guests arrived.

  We stopped for lunch in a small chophouse set within a pink stone cottage, rumored to serve the best cuts of meat in town. Upon tasting my braised fillet of mutton, I had to agree.