The Baron Next Door (Prelude to a Kiss) (7 page)

“Grandmama, I know the baron was physically injured somewhere along the way, but I don’t think he is as deep as you may think. After all, we hardly know him.”

The older woman turned the full force of her gray gaze on Charity, just as the first raindrops pinged against the windowsill. In that moment, the clarity in her eyes was arresting. “That is what you think. But when one is my age, one learns a thing or two about reading people. Trust me when I say there is something more to him than just handsome looks and reserved charm.”

An odd feeling settled in Charity’s stomach, like a carriage suddenly lurching forward. She didn’t want to believe her grandmother’s observations. It was easier to think he was just an unpleasant man. A wounded heart would mean sympathy, which she wasn’t quite prepared to give.

No, Grandmama must be mistaken. Deciding to let the topic drop, she nodded and took a sip of her now-cold tea.

Unbidden, the purplish smudges beneath his tired green eyes flashed through her mind. A teeny, tiny, insignificant whisper of doubt ghosted through her.

She somehow didn’t think she’d be able to write him off so easily from now on.

H
e had known it was too much to hope that the quiet from next door would last.

Three days, three blessed days of relative peace, of not having a single headache, and now the proverbial shoe had finally dropped. Doing his damnedest to block out the noise, Hugh lifted the crystal tumbler to his lips and drank deeply of the clear liquid it held. It might look like water, but it burned a wicked path to his gut. It was a sensation he had not only grown accustomed to in the past four years, but one that he looked forward to. More so, even, since his brother’s death.

And especially so now that
she
was his neighbor.

He supposed he should be impressed that the music somehow managed to reach all the way to his study. Perhaps he should also consider himself fortunate that it was well into the afternoon, and he was fairly well rested. It was possible he should be grateful that she had given him three days’ reprieve from the noise.

But he wasn’t any of those things.

He was too damn frustrated to be. He’d been here two and a half weeks now, and the tantalizing taste of freedom kept dancing away from him. Every time he felt the immense relief of nothingness, the blessed lack of pain that sharpened his mind and softened his dried and hardened soul, hope would rush in, bringing with it the long-dormant dreams for a normal life. But the thing about hope was, the more one had, the harder one fell when it was dashed.

Like now, when he could feel the slow but inevitable build of tension at the base of his skull. It gave him ample warning of what was to come, but no method by which to thwart it. It was like standing in the middle of a battlefield with the enemy visible from miles away, but having no means with which to either fight or flee.

Dropping his chin to his chest, he abandoned the tumbler on the desk and massaged the back of his neck with his hand. He was
trying
to fight. He was here, was he not? He was doing everything in his power to climb out of the darkness that had descended upon him years ago on that hellacious day at Waterloo. The fact of his continual setbacks just made his efforts that much more arduous.

He glanced down to the letter on the desk in front of him, its looping script overflowing with his sister-in-law’s enthusiasm. The baby was doing well, continuing to thrive under the overprotective watch of nearly the entire village. Felicity was eager to hear word of how the dinner with her cousin had gone, and if the waters were working their magic. She mentioned her brother would soon be in town, and unapologetically admitted that she had written to an old friend to inform him of Hugh’s arrival, so he should expect another invitation, which she insisted he must accept. She had so much hope for his therapy and was delighted he was “moving forward in his recovery.”

Instead of making him feel better, as he was certain his sister-in-law had intended, it just exasperated the feeling that he was a bloody failure. Or perhaps the proper term was
more
of a failure. She was so certain that if he could just trust in the waters, trust in the doctors and their know-it-all advice, that he’d be healed. Never mind that in the past four years he had seen at least a dozen doctors—quacks and sawbones alike—who had a dozen snake-oil remedies for what ailed him. She just couldn’t accept that he might not get better.

The problem was, he very well might not.

After all, a broken clavicle could mend in time and wounds could fade to scars, but there wasn’t a whole hell of a lot that could be done for a compressed spinal cord of the cervical spine, as the most respected of the doctors he had seen had called it. Hugh could very well suffer the effects for the rest of his life.

But he didn’t blame Felicity for her optimism. Her well-being, and that of his niece, depended on him now. With Ian gone, Hugh could no longer get away with living on the outskirts of society. He had to pull himself together if he was to be any sort of leader at all.

He settled back against the butter-soft leather of his chair and exhaled. If anyone should know about leading, he should. He had commanded scores of men as a captain during the war, demanding respect and delivering strong, dependable leadership. Until the moment it mattered most—that day everything had changed.

He pressed his eyes closed, willing the thought from his brain. He was here now, and he intended to do everything in his power to do right by his brother’s wife and daughter. He’d do just about anything to free himself from this prison of pain.

“Jacobson,” he shouted, dropping his hands to the desk.

His bemused batman appeared in the doorway several moments later. “Sir?”

“Bring the foul swill that serves for water to me, please.” It was something that he should be requesting of the footman, but he stayed away from the other servants as much as possible. He didn’t want them being witness to his struggles.

Wry humor lifted the man’s good brow. “The recommended five liters before breakfast not enough for you, my lord?”

“Just fetch the damn water,” he grumbled without heat. Jacobson was as good a man as Hugh had ever known, but he had no trouble showing irreverence.

Probably why Hugh liked him so well.

Jacobson’s retreating footsteps seemed to fall in time to the tinkling music, which also matched the throbbing that built in intensity with every passing moment. Tonight would be hell, but tomorrow was another day.

*   *   *

“I think we should add just a little more flavor of the Far East.”

It wasn’t a statement Charity would have expected to make even a few days ago, but now she said the words with confidence. She nodded for good measure as May glanced to her in surprise. “I must say, I thought the Eastern influence made you a bit nervous.”

Charity set down her pencil on top of the sheet music she had been working on and swiveled around in order to face May fully. Sophie had returned home early in order to join her mother at a final fitting of her gown for tomorrow’s opening ball, so they were on their own as they worked on a few minor changes to the recital selection.

A little too guilty of the charge to deny it, Charity offered a sheepish grin. “Yes, I know, but the more we practice, the more I really appreciate the beauty of the added exotic element. I love that we can take a completely traditional piece and turn it on its head.”

It was absolutely invigorating, actually. So far from her normal range, it challenged her in a way she truly craved. It was unique and beautiful, and she was proud of that.

May strummed a few chords as she pursed her lips. The resulting twang was full of notes that shouldn’t technically sound good together, but somehow came across as melodic. “I would love it, of course. But only if you are certain it won’t make you worry even more about the selection committee performance.”

Ah yes, the dreaded selection committee. Auspiciously, its function was to properly assign the registered musicians to the Tuesday best suited to their talents. Since the event was meant to encourage the participation of the
ton
, they didn’t dare be so crass as to call it an audition, but Charity knew full well that’s what it was. If, for whatever reason, a musician—or trio—didn’t meet their standards, she had no doubt they would find a way to prevent them from playing. The knowledge added an uncertainty to the whole thing that Charity really didn’t like. After all, music was supposed to be the one thing that she never had to worry about.

Pushing aside the lingering apprehension, she smiled. “Think nothing of them. We shall play our hearts out, and that will have to be enough.”

May’s wide grin plainly revealed her happiness. “Then I couldn’t be more thrilled. It’s comforting to know that the sounds of my home and those of this country can blend so nicely. It gives me hope that I won’t always feel so dreadfully out of place.”

It was hard to believe that someone so beautiful could feel out of place anywhere. But even with Sophie and Charity as friends, it was clear that May still felt like a trumpet in an orchestra of woodwinds. “As far as I can see, you fit in beautifully. No one would know you were from a different part of the world altogether just by looking at you.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good thing,” May said wryly. “I don’t want to be incompatible with my English home, but I also don’t want to lose any of the elements that made me who I am. I miss the heat and the shouting and the brilliant colors.” She idly ran a finger across the polished wood of her zither, lingering over the painted design.

“Well, then,” Charity replied, picking up her little pencil once more and tapping it on the sheet music. “Let’s bring that to our piece. Play me the section from the beginning of the third movement, only a little more forte, and with an extra run of your own feeling.”

May repositioned herself before diving back into the music, her fingers working quickly over the taut strings. Charity listened, closing her eyes as she soaked in the music. May seemed to know intuitively what would work, though as far as Charity could tell, she never played the same thing twice. May was by no means a precise musician, but she had an accomplished ear. When she was done, Charity smiled broadly. “Brilliant! Let me work on this a moment to see if I can translate it to paper.”

She bent over the already cramped five-bar staff and went to work tweaking the arrangement. An added note here and there, and satisfaction was blooming in her chest as she teased the perfect arrangement from the chaos. Together, they were creating a story unique to them.

“Why do you always do that?”

Startled from her thoughts, Charity glanced up from her music, confusion creasing her brow. “What?” She’d almost forgotten May still sat beside her zither, quietly waiting for Charity to make the changes.

Pointing to Charity’s neck, May said, “Rubbing your shoulders. Are we working you too hard?”

Ah.
Self-consciously allowing her hands to drop to her lap, she shrugged. “
I’m
working me too hard. I can’t help it—whenever I am excited about something, I’ll work and work at it until it sounds exactly like the music in my head when I play it out loud. Luckily, my mother isn’t here to chastise my dreadful posture.”

And it really was awful—she was hunched over like a miser counting his coins. Belatedly she sat up straighter, just as Mama would expect of her. “I suppose that is the cost of being a musician.”

Bemused, May crossed her arms. “What is? Bad posture?”

“No,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Losing oneself so thoroughly in the music. Forgetting everything else in the world except the perfect rise and fall of notes, dancing to the tempo in one’s mind.”

May quirked a single brow, looking at her as though Charity had quite lost her mind. “I think that sort of experience is reserved for the virtuosos.”

It was Charity’s turn to be taken aback. May sounded so flippant. As though music was just a hobby for her. “But . . . you play so beautifully. With such passion. Surely you have experienced the singular high of playing the perfect piece.”

“Thank you for the compliment. Yes, I do play for the enjoyment of it, but I certainly don’t live and breathe music. I don’t play until my neck and shoulders ache or my fingers bleed. I play to think of home, and to pass time in a most pleasant way.”

Though May seemed unperturbed with her comment, Charity was shocked. May had such passion behind her performances—Charity could read her ability as another might read a book. But one look at her relaxed features and Charity could plainly see she wasn’t nearly as invested in her talent as she’d originally thought.

“Come, don’t look at me as though I just admitted to possessing a third eye. I do thoroughly enjoy playing. I simply bow to your superior musical sensibilities. Of the three of us, you are by far the most naturally talented.”

“Well, thank you. I guess.”

“You’re welcome,” May said with a regal tip of her head. “And you really should take better care of yourself while slaving to your art. Every time I see you, you inevitably are rubbing at those poor, abused shoulders of yours.”

Charity couldn’t help but chuckle. “Yes, Mother.”

“You’d better listen to me, or I may have to set Suyin on you.”

She was clearly teasing, her blue eyes merry in the diffuse afternoon sunlight. Charity smiled back. “That sounds rather unpleasant. What is sue yin?”

“Not what,
who
. Suyin is my lady’s maid, and she is a treasure. She has a special technique to relieve muscle tension that is highly effective, if somewhat intimidating.”

Charity raised a dubious brow. “I’m not certain I want to find out what that means.” She vaguely knew of the oddities of Eastern healings, though nothing specific. It seemed that some very odd ingredients were involved in their tinctures.

Her reaction amused May, who chuckled and shook her head. “I don’t even want to know what it is you are imagining, based on your expression.
Tui na
is simply a form of therapy for the joints and muscles. Papa paid Suyin an outrageous amount of money to come work for us, specifically because of her skills, when Mama grew ill. It was the only thing in the world that brought relief for the terrible head and body aches Mama suffered toward the end.” She swallowed, visibly regrouping. “We are forever grateful to her, and Suyin’s become part of the family since then.”

A shadow of sadness passed over May’s eyes, before she shook her head and resolutely smiled. “Truly, having her with me helps to keep me sane now, living here with Warden Stanwix.”

Charity laughed out loud at the description. “I must admit, the more I hear about your aunt, the more terrified I am to meet her. Is she really the battle-ax you make her out to be?”

“You shall simply have to see for yourself. I would say more dragon than battle-ax, but for all I know, she could be a typical English matron.”

Charity gave an overdramatic cringe. “They are rather terrifying. To be avoided at all costs at any and all social functions.”

“Duly noted. I was so very, very relieved that she has agreed to let me attend the opening ball for the festival, I didn’t even think of all the scary people I may meet.”