Silent Melody (5 page)

And then a lady in pink satin and silver lace was hurtling across the room and throwing herself into his arms, and he closed his eyes again briefly as he hugged his sister to himself.

“Ashley.” She said his name over and over again. “Oh, Ashley, you wretch. You have not written to any of us for over a year, so that we have been almost beside ourselves with worry. And all the time you have been coming home. How could you!”

Doris, Lady Weims, looked a vibrant and lovely woman rather than the pretty, sometimes petulant girl she had been when he left. She had married Andrew, the Earl of Weims, five years ago. They had two children.

But Luke was recovering control of both himself and the situation. He turned to face his guests in the ballroom and raised his arms, though the gesture was unnecessary. The attention of almost everyone was already focused upon the drama playing itself out in the doorway.

“My apologies for the delay in the festivities,” he said. “As you can see, Lord Ashley Kendrick has arrived home from India unexpectedly. You will pardon my family group for withdrawing for a few minutes? The music will resume as soon as the sets have formed.” He nodded to the leader of the orchestra.

“Ashley.” Anna had taken his arm and was leading him away from the ballroom. “Where have you left Lady Ashley—Alice? And Thomas? Are they downstairs? Or did you have Cotes or Mrs. Wynn show them to a room?”

He was aware of his family about him. A stranger had joined Doris—presumably Weims. They were all beaming with happiness. They were in the middle of celebrating a new baby's christening with a ball. And he was tired. Bone weary. Soul weary.

“My wife and son are at a hotel in London,” he said. “They were exhausted after the long voyage. I came on alone. I wanted to come home.”

He was desperately tired. Perhaps tomorrow there would be peace. Not tonight. There was too much turmoil tonight.

Perhaps tomorrow.

•   •   •

A
hand touched her elbow and she came back from a long way away to find herself standing in the ballroom at Bowden Abbey. Lord Powell was smiling at her and gesturing to the sofa beside her. She sat.

He stood looking down at her, his hands clasped at his back. The hilt of his dress sword, she noticed, was studded with rubies. They did not match his coat. But perhaps, unlike Luke, he did not have a sword to match each outfit. Or perhaps, unlike Luke, he was not so meticulous about such matters.

He bent forward and waited for her eyes to focus on his lips. “Her grace will not now be here to dance with me,” he said. “I may spend the time sitting here talking with you, Lady Emily.”

She nodded, not quite sure to what she was agreeing.

“If 'tis your wish,” he said. “If you do not consider it improper. Or an imposition. If you have not promised to spend the time with another gentleman.”

She shook her head and he seated himself beside her again. He smiled. He looked very pleased with himself. She wished he would go away. She wished she could be alone. Lips moved wherever she looked but she could understand nothing. She was like an alien in an alien country.

She did not want Ashley to come home. Not now. Not ever.

“Lord Ashley Kendrick?” Lord Powell was saying. “From India? He is his grace's brother, is he not?”

She nodded. Yes, Ashley. Yes. But she did not want it to be Ashley.

“What a happy chance,” Lord Powell said, “that he has arrived tonight of all nights. They all seem exceedingly happy.”

She nodded. She wanted simply to close her eyes, to shut out everything.

“I have observed,” he said, “that this is a close and loving family, Lady Emily. You must consider yourself fortunate to be a part of it.”

Yes. Yes, Ashley was home.

Lord Powell leaned a little closer. “I am reminded of my own family,” he said. “You will find—you
would
find a similar closeness with us, Lady Emily.”

She smiled, stretching the corners of her mouth upward with a conscious physical effort. He was speaking of his family again. She tried to concentrate, to remember what he had told her of its members. She tried to think as his lips continued to move. And she tried not to think.

She did not want Ashley to be home. She wanted to be able to look at this man and see in him her future husband and life's companion. She wanted to make a rational decision about her future. She wanted a husband and a home and a place of her own in society. She wanted babies. And perhaps beyond rationality, she wanted hope, the hope that an affection would grow, even love perhaps. She wanted to have control over her own destiny. She wanted the impossible—she wanted to be
normal.

And she wanted the hope that her soul would be restored and healed and made whole again. So that she might take this man inside it.

She had to blink her eyes suddenly and saw when she could do so clearly again that he was looking at her with concern.

“Yes, you would, on my life,” he said, taking one of her hands in both of his. “And they would be willing to take you into their midst, Lady Emily. I know it. They love me, and they will love you. That is, they
would
love you if . . .”

She wondered if she would have tumbled into love with him during the past week if her heart had been whole, if her soul had not been shattered long ago. She rather thought she might have. But a heart and soul could not be mended by the power of the will, she had discovered over seven years. And so she had accepted reality and moved on. She watched Lord Powell raise her hand to his lips and hold it there for a few moments. She was aware that other people must be observing them—probably with indulgence—and that he knew it. She was aware too that the announcement of their betrothal must be a common expectation tonight.

And then, before the set was at an end, Anna was there and Lord Powell was scrambling to his feet and bowing. She smiled warmly at him and took the seat he had vacated. She took both of Emily's hands in hers.

“Ashley has come home,” she said unnecessarily. “He took passage from India without sending us word. He did it quite impulsively, he said. He was homesick. He has left Lady Ashley and their son in London. Luke is beside himself with joy. 'Tis a wonderful surprise for him, Emmy.”

Yes. There had always been a special bond between the brothers, even though they had been estranged for much of the year between Luke's return from Paris and Ashley's departure for India. Yes, Luke would be overjoyed.

But Anna's eyes were keen on hers, and Emily knew why she had returned to the ballroom before the rest of the family and had come to talk to her sister. Anna knew. So did Luke, though not a word had been spoken on the subject since that dreadful day when he had found her and comforted her at the falls.

“Luke plans to send our carriage for them tomorrow,” Anna said. “I daresay he might even go himself to fetch them. 'Twill be good to meet Alice at last. And Thomas. The children will have yet another cousin with whom to play. Though Harry will doubtless sleep through it all. He seems content to sleep his life away, except at three o'clock each morning, when he thinks 'tis time for a leisurely meal and a play. His papa had a stern word with him about it just last night, but Harry merely yawned at him and blew bubbles and tried to pull his nose. Luke says he must learn greater respect.” She laughed, but her eyes were still on Emily's and were still almost anxious.

Emily smiled. Anna was saying more than she usually did all at once to her sister. Anna was worried about her—about how she would behave, how she would feel.

“Lord Ashley Kendrick must be exceedingly weary,” Lord Powell said. “But at the same time he must feel great pleasure at being back in the bosom of his family.”

“Yes.” Anna smiled warmly at him. “But he
is
weary. And so pale and thin that he looks almost emaciated. Traveling such a long distance by sea must be dreadful indeed. My husband has taken him to his room. Doubtless he will return to his guests soon. Ashley will want to sleep.”

Emily had wanted to die when news came three years before that Ashley had married Alice Kersey, the daughter of Sir Alexander Kersey, his superior in the East India Company. She had literally wanted to die. She had not wanted to live any longer. There had been nothing left to live for. It had been frighteningly easy after four whole years to regress to the terrible self-pity and feeling of isolation she had felt on the day of his departure.

She had dreamed during those four years. Of course, she had known the difference between dream and reality. Deep down she had known that Ashley had never loved her as she had loved him, that he would not come home to her, that there would never be a happily-ever-after with him. But it had been a sweet dream. It had sustained her through the pain and loneliness and emptiness she had felt deep within even while outwardly she set about living an active and fulfilling life. Her deepest, most private self might have lived on the dream for a lifetime, even if ten, twenty, fifty years had passed and he had not returned.

But the news of his marriage had shattered the dream beyond repair. And life without the dream had seemed insupportable to her. She simply could not live without it. She had wanted to die. She had had to begin all over again the lesson of self-reliance.

Soon afterward, Luke had presented her with her first suitor. Luke, she had realized, understood. He really did know her remarkably well. Better, perhaps, even than Anna. Luke had never offered her pity, except perhaps during that dreadful hour at the falls. Luke offered her solutions and then stepped back so that she could accept them or reject them as she chose.

Lord Powell had taken her hand again and was raising it to his lips once more. “I shall return for the supper set, Lady Emily,” he said slowly. The dancing had stopped, she noticed, and the dancers were preparing for the third set. “I shall look forward to it.”

“What a very pleasant young man,” Anna said after he had left.

Emily smiled at her and nodded.

“And a very attentive young man,” Anna said. “You could be happy with him, Emmy?”

Emily nodded.

Anna touched her arm. “You could love him, Emmy,” she said. “Oh, my dear, marry him if you have any feelings for him at all. I have told you repeatedly that you do not have to marry anyone, that you can stay here for the rest of your life and be as welcome as my own children. Luke has told you the same thing. We both mean what we say. But, Emmy, what you will miss if you do not love and do not marry. The closeness and the contentment, the . . . Faith, but this is not the time or place. I want you to be happy. You know that. I want you to be happy as I am.”

There was passion in Anna's face. She was speaking with an earnestness that she would not normally have shown in such a public setting, and Emily had understood her even if she had not seen every word. Ashley had come home. But Ashley was married. He was a father. And during those moments when he had stood in the ballroom doorway, looking about him and then hugging Luke and Anna and the other members of his family, he had not once looked at her. Having greeted them all, he had been content. He had looked about no longer.

He had not looked for her.

Anna was afraid that Emily would forget reality.

She would not forget. Now that she had had a few minutes to recover herself, she would not forget again. She looked deliberately about the room until her eyes found Lord Powell leading Agnes out to join the third set. She smiled and knew that Anna saw both the direction of her eyes and her smile.

He was home. He was here at Bowden. He was upstairs, preparing for sleep.

He was thin and haggard. Exhausted from his long journey.

Tomorrow she would meet him again.

Ashley was home.

“'T
IS
madness, by my life,” Luke gave as his opinion as he sat in his brother's dressing room, one leg crossed elegantly over the other, his eyes watching the powder in a cloud above Ashley's head, then lowering to watch the valet gingerly remove the powdering gown Ashley had donned over a full-skirted evening coat of burgundy brocade.

Ashley grinned at him. “'Tis not every day one arrives home after a seven-year absence,” he said, “to be reunited with one's brother and sister and mother and to find a ball in progress celebrating the birth of another nephew. A third now between me and the dukedom, Luke. Well done.”

Luke raised his eyebrows. “'Tis in the nature of marriage,” he said, “as you have discovered for yourself. One's brood tends to expand in number.”

Ashley laughed as he stood and buckled his dress sword at his side and slipped his stockinged feet into heeled and buckled shoes. He was feeling rather wild and reckless. What was the point in going to bed, as his mother and Luke and Anna had urged him to do? He would not sleep anyway. He rarely slept. But the absence of sleep was worse when one lay alone in a darkened room. No, he would go down to the ballroom and dance.

“I shall look forward to meeting your sons and Doris's children tomorrow,” he said. “And Joy. She was but a babe when I left.”

“And is now a little girl who favors her mother in looks to such a degree,” Luke said with a sigh, “that she has her papa wrapped very securely about her little finger and knows it. Wait until you have a daughter, Ash.”

Ashley laughed gaily. “Lead on to the ballroom,” he said. “One would hate to arrive too late to dance. I shall dance with all the prettiest young ladies. Are there any?”

Luke pursed his lips and looked keenly at him. “There are,” he said.

“Then present me to the prettiest first,” Ashley said, opening the door and bowing with mock courtliness as he grinned and gestured his brother to precede him. “Who is she?”

“'Tis a matter of personal taste, Ash,” Luke said. “For myself, I can never look past Anna. But 'tis an affliction that does not affect all men, I am glad to say. 'Twould not be good for any other man's health.”

Ashley laughed again. “Anna is spoken for, then,” he said. “I will have to settle for second best.”

His tiredness was forgotten. Suddenly he was filled with energy. Suddenly he wanted to dance all night and all tomorrow too. He wanted noise and laughter and movement and flirtation. Above all, flirtation.

He was standing inside the doorway of the ballroom again a few minutes later, his brother at his side. A vigorous country dance was in progress. He resented the fact that he would have to wait for it to finish before he could dance himself. He felt drunk with exuberance and gaiety. He looked about him with interest. He saw the members of his own family, who looked surprised to see him all decked out for the ball, and then smiled at him. He saw a few familiar faces from the neighborhood. He saw Agnes, Anna's younger sister, who was dancing. She was Lady Severidge now, he remembered, of Wycherly Park close by. She had grown plump.

Then his eyes lit on a young lady who was sitting on a sofa some distance away, half turned away, though he had the impression that she had looked away from him the very moment his eyes moved in her direction. He smiled. He had noticed the same thing with a number of other people in the room. Doubtless he was the sensation of the hour.

“That one, egad,” he said to Luke, indicating the young lady on the sofa. “The one sitting with—with Will Severidge, by thunder. He has grown more portly with age. Who is she? And pray do not devastate me by telling me she is married.”

Luke did not answer, and Ashley swung his eyes to him and laughed.

“Zounds,” he said, “but you will not keep the secret. Who is she? Present me to her, Luke. I mean to dance with her. Without delay. This particular set is ending, by my life.”

“She is Emily,” Luke said. “'Twere better . . .”

Ashley did not hear what would be better. Emily. Emily.
Emmy?

“Emmy?” His voice was almost a whisper. “She is Emmy? Little Emmy?”

“Yes,” Luke said.

He stared at her blankly. She was totally unrecognizable. Though that was not the real reason he stared. She was the one person he had
not
thought about during his journey home. He had not really thought about her in years. And yet now he remembered all in a rush how very . . .
precious
she had once been to him. He had carried her in his heart for many long months after his departure, half with pleasure, half with heaviness, until the heaviness had outweighed the pleasure. He had missed her. He had wanted her. Not sexually—she was a child. Nonetheless he had needed her—her companionship, her acceptance, her devotion, her happiness, her peace. But he had despised his need for a child. And he had been uneasy with some guilt over it. He could no longer remember quite why he had felt guilty. But he had put her very effectively from his mind.

And then he had met and fallen in love with Alice. And had married her when he had found his feelings returned. It had been a love based on need—perhaps on both sides—just as his love for Emmy had been. But with Alice it had been reassuringly sexual in nature. She had been a woman and not a child. His lips tightened with memory for a moment.

But by God, how could he have all but forgotten Emmy? And not even given her a thought during the voyage home? And not thought of seeing her in Luke's ballroom? It was as if he had pushed her ruthlessly from his consciousness and slammed the door on her. He could no longer remember why he would have done so.

“Take me to her,” he said even as he watched another man step up to her and take her hand in his. William Webb, Lord Severidge, got to his feet.

“We are expecting an announcement tonight,” Luke said, “of her betrothal. To Powell, the man who is with her now. He has spoken with both Royce and me. She seems enamored of him.”

“Does she, by Jove?” Ashley had not taken his eyes off her. In full profile she was stunningly beautiful. He still could not believe she was Emmy. Emmy, all grown up, a woman and not a child. “Take me to her.”

He did not even notice his brother's reluctance. Or if he did, he did not care about it. He had come here to dance. To dance with the prettiest young lady in the room. And she was the prettiest, by Jove. Emmy. He would dance with her. He had forgotten her deafness.

She seemed to know he was coming. She stood and turned to watch him come. But Emmy, he remembered with a jolt of recognition, had always seemed to possess that extra sense. She had always seemed to know when he was approaching from behind her. Even though she could not hear. Ah yes, there was that. He recalled it with a shock of memory. Emmy could not hear. Or speak. Or communicate except with her eyes and certain gestures he had grown adept at interpreting. And had they not devised something resembling a language between the two of them? Zounds but he had forgotten so much.

“My dear,” Luke said, “here is Ashley come home to us.”

She was Emmy, right enough. Emmy masquerading as a grand lady and doing magnificently at it. But Emmy all the same. There were the eyes, large and expressive, leaving one with the impression that one could look through them straight into her soul. But she was a
woman.
He felt strangely sad.

“Emmy.” He took her hand from her side. It was limp and icy cold. He smiled. “Hello, little fawn.” He had forgotten his old name for her until he heard it coming from his own lips. And how inappropriate it seemed now. She was an elegant, fashionable, beautiful woman. Again he felt that flashing of sadness. The name had used to fit so well.

Her mouth quirked into the most fleeting of smiles. But she was pale and serious. He brought her hand to his lips.

“Tell me you are glad to see me,” he said, almost instinctively speaking to her in the old way, mouthing his words carefully, speaking a little more slowly than he did with other people. “I have come all the way from India. It has been a weary journey. Tell me you are glad.”

She stared mutely at him and there was nothing in her eyes that he would instinctively have recognized. Ah. She was not glad. Seven years had passed. He wished unreasonably that she of all people and places and things could have remained the same—a wild and lovely and happy child. What a selfish thought!

“May I present Lord Powell to you, Ash?” Luke was saying. “My brother, Lord Ashley Kendrick, Powell.”

Ashley made his bow, as did Lord Powell, briskly, the annoyance unconcealed on his face. So this was to be Emmy's husband? And he was already possessive of her? Even jealous, perhaps? Ashley turned back to Emily with a grin.

“They tried to put me to bed,” he said. “They tried to tell me I was tired. But I wanted to dance, Emmy. I am determined to do so. I promised to dance with the prettiest lady in the room. She is you. Come and dance with me.” Her hand still lay in his. He covered it with his free hand. “You see? The sets are forming.”

“This set is mine,” Lord Powell said stiffly. “Lady Emily has agreed to sit with me.”

“Besides, Ash,” Luke said, “Emily cannot dance.”

“Because she cannot hear?” Ashley grinned at her. “Is it true, Emmy? Does your deafness make it impossible for you to dance? Do you not know the steps? Can you not watch the other dancers? Do you not long to dance?”

Her eyes had taken on depth and he realized with some satisfaction that he could still read them, just as if seven years had not passed since he had last looked into them. Yes, of course she longed to dance. She always had. He knew it as surely as if she had put her feelings into words. Had no one else this evening seen the longing there? The longing to dance to the silent melody she could hear in her heart? And he was drunk with longing himself.

“Ashley.” His brother's voice had taken on the firmness of authority. “Emily cannot hear the music. Besides, this set is promised to Lord Powell. Come, allow me to find you another partner.”

But Ashley was gazing into Emily's eyes. “Let Emmy choose,” he said, smiling at her. “Which will it be, Emmy? Will you sit here, where I will wager you have sat all evening? Or will you dance with me?
Will
you dance with me?”

For several moments she merely stared. Her nod, when it came, was almost imperceptible. But they all saw it.

“Emily,” Luke said, but she was looking at Ashley, not him. “Ash—” But Ashley took no notice of him. He was still smiling at Emily, a look of triumph and recklessness in his eyes.

Lord Powell bowed. “I shall return to take Lady Emily in to supper,” he said.

“Come,” Ashley said, squeezing the cold little hand that lay in his own. “We will dance, Emmy. We will prove to these unbelievers that a man who is weary through to the marrow of his bones and a woman who cannot hear music or anything else can dance without missing a step.”

She walked beside him to take their places in a set. Emily had not grown taller since the age of fifteen, he noticed. She had been slightly above the average in height then, and slim and agile as a young colt. She had developed womanly curves since then, accentuated by the fact that she wore stays and hoops. But she had not really changed in any other way. Not physically, anyway.

He wondered if they really had tamed her during the seven years of his absence. If they had imposed all the trappings of civilization upon her. He hoped not. By God, he hoped not.

She looked up at him and he smiled at her as the orchestra began to play. Ah, yes. And her face was no longer that of a pretty child, but that of a lovely young woman.

He knew he had just done a dastardly thing. He had taken her from the man who was apparently to propose to her and announce his betrothal to her tonight. He had interrupted the set the man had reserved with her. He had stolen her away with the temptation of fulfilling a dream he knew very well she must always have had. Emmy would always have wanted to dance; anyone who had ever known her must surely understand that, he reasoned. He had not known her for seven years, but he remembered her as a child who was born to dance. He was drunk with emotion. He did not pause to analyze the strange thought.

He had done a dastardly thing. Another heavy burden to add to a dauntingly long list.

But he did not care the snap of two fingers. Tonight he had arrived home. Tonight he was going to enjoy himself. Tonight he wanted to dance with Emmy. And Emmy wanted to dance. And dance they would, by God. Together.

•   •   •

It
was only later that she realized what she had done, how very unmannerly she had been. She was remorseful then, for herself and the selfish weakness she had portrayed and for Lord Powell, whom she must have humiliated. But it was only later that she felt those things.

She had been caught up in some magical spell, and reality did not exist for her. He was there before her, speaking with her, holding her cold, cold hand in his strong warm one, smiling at her, calling her his little fawn as he had used to do, just as if seven years had rolled back and they were as they had used to be. He was here again, real flesh and blood.