Desperate and Daring 01 - Desperate and Daring (8 page)

“Do you hear that?” he said as he pulled away.

“Hear what?” Heather slowly opened her eyes.

“Raindrops on the leaves. We have to return.”

Heather nodded, but she didn’t wish to leave. A little rain and their world had ended. Was it a sign? An omen that what her heart desired was fragile and unsustainable as remaining in a tree during a storm?

He jumped down from the limb and lifted her down. They hastily remounted and rode away from their tree. Heather looked back wistfully before turning and galloping up the hill behind him. It was still only sprinkling lightly, but that could quickly change.

By the time they reached the stables, they were slightly damp on their shoulders and thighs. The rain was still misting, but the cloud cover had grown thick and ominous.

“So much for our afternoon,” Fallon said in disappointment.

“What did you have planned?”

“Rowing on the lake.”

Heather raised a dubious brow.

Fallon laughed. “Do you find fault with my methods of wooing?”

“Shhh!” Heather looked around in fright.

“Forgive me, Miss Everly. Do you find fault with my methods of interviewing?”

“No, I’ve no complaints, but the lake is quite visible from the house.”

“And the weather does not agree with my plans.” He sighed. “I’ve been meaning to hear you play, Miss Everly. Our next meeting shall take place in the music room,” he said suddenly and very correctly.

Heather looked around and saw the groomsman waiting to assist them.

“Very well, Mr. Calder. I shall meet you in a quarter hour.

Fallon nodded, dismounted, and led Heather’s horse to the mounting block so she could dismount. He escorted her to the house, and they parted ways without as much as a glance towards each other.

The entire time, Heather’s heart had raced with panic. How long had the groomsman stood there? What did he hear of their discussion? Those thoughts spun inside her like a windmill, slow and consistent. Her stomach was knotted uncomfortably by the time she reached her room and rang for a maid to assist her. She was a horrid person, a wanton, deceitful woman, who was toying with the name of her family all for the way a handsome young man could make her feel. It all felt wrong until she looked into his eyes, and then nothing felt more right. What was she going to do?

Violet stared in apparent boredom at the small pool of rainwater that steadily grew on the railing of the gazebo. Inside, her mind was focused on her sister and one charmingly handsome steward who would be a much better husband, and certainly a more entertaining brother-in-law than a stuffy old duke. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Prim kicking at her hem as she hummed a tune to herself. Violet again focused on her sister’s predicament. But what could she do about it?
Nothing,
reason answered. But surely, something could be done?
Not a thing,
reason answered again. Violet sighed. Something must be done, anything. She couldn’t live with the idea that her sister was sacrificing her future happiness for her. Not for the sake of marrying well. That seemed like a horrible reason though she would never mention that in front of her mother. It just seemed so absurdly unfair.

“Do you wish to return to the house?” Prim asked beside her.

“Not presently. My hem cannot withstand the abuse.” Nor could the holes in her half boots.

“How long will we wait here?”

“Until it stops.”

“That could be hours.”

“So it could.”

Prim huffed and folded her arms over her chest. “I’m cold.”

“I told you to wear my pelisse.”

“I don’t want it ruined. It’s the last exceptional article of clothing between the three of us. I won’t be the one to ruin it.”

Violet grimaced. She could feel the last vestiges of innocence slipping from them. Oh, but to be so blessed and never know what it meant to be destitute. Many of the other ladies present were so fortunate, and it made it difficult for Violet to be pleasant to them. “If only she could marry him,” Violet grumbled.

“Who? Heather? She will, of that I have no doubt, but I feel guilty about it.”

“No—I mean…” Violet turned to her sister, “I need you to swear that you will not repeat what I am about to tell you.”

Prim’s eyes widened. “What is it?”

“I think Mr. Calder is fond of Heather,” Violet whispered, even though there wasn’t a soul around them to hear, “in a romantic way.”

Prim’s eyes grew even wider. “But
he
is the duke’s steward.”

“Yes, but he is infinitely more agreeable than the duke if the rumors are true.”

Prim’s shoulders slumped. “And more handsome. But he can’t rescue us from ruin. I’ve seen the ledgers. Father left us with an amount of debt only a duke could absolve.”

“But what about Heather, Prim? What about her happiness?”

“What about Mother? They will put her in debtor’s prison. That’s what Mildred said before we had to let her go.”

“Your governess had no business speaking to you about such things,” Violet fumed.

“That doesn’t make it any less true.”

Violet bent her head, closing her eyes against the sting of frustrated tears. They were hopeless and helpless, lower gentry on the verge of desolation. “I hate that she has to do this for us.”

“I hate it, too, Vi. I don’t know what we will do, but we will do whatever it is we can.”

“I wish she could marry Mr. Calder,” Violet admitted finally.

“I wish that, too if it meant we would be rescued. However, even I know a steward is no match for a duke. We will do whatever it takes to make her happy after she marries him. And if he is truly the monster rumor claims him to be, we will simply hire someone to kill him.”

“Prim!” Violet’s head snapped up in astonishment.

“It’s done all the time in books.”

“We are not in a book. This is cold, dreary, miserable life we are living.” Violet stood and shook out her skirts to bring warmth to her fingers.

“Yes,” Prim sighed despondently, “I’m learning that more and more every day.”

*

Heather arrived at the music room and found not only Fallon, but also a few of the other guests enjoying its purpose. Lady Karen was tinkling away on the pianoforte and two of her followers stood beside the instrument handing out compliments.

Heather was both disappointed and relieved. With others about, she wasn’t going to forget herself. They would serve as a reminder of her true purpose for being here. She schooled her expression to one of mild interest and entered the room. She greeted Lady Karen and her minions, and then turned to Fallon, who had set the harp near a chair where he waited.

“Try not to outshine her. Her glares could freeze boiling water,” he said low enough so only she could hear.

Heather fought not to smile. The result was an awkward twitch of her lips. “I’ll do my best, Mr. Calder.”

She took her seat and strummed her fingers along the harp. It was perfectly tuned. “What would you like me to play?”

“Anything that suits you.” He shrugged.

Heather’s temper flared to life. She didn’t like that he was behaving so casually when others were about. “Does the duke have a favorite composer?”

He shrugged again. “I wouldn’t know. I am partial to Mozart myself.”

Heather kept herself from glaring her annoyance and instead, turned to the harp. Lady Karen finished her piece to the applause of her audience of two and turned her attention to Heather.

“The harp? How quaint. I myself played with such an instrument as a child. Please let us hear you play, Miss Everly,” she said in mock sweetness.

Heather gave her a passable smile, and then focused on the strings. She tuned out everything but her hands and the harp. The first notes were quiet, a tentative touch on the cord, and they whispered out like smoke. With each touch, she grew stronger, the sound calming her and the familiar movements soothing. She had played this song more than she would care to admit. Something in it spoke to her, touched her heart, and made feelings pour from her that she didn’t always understand. She always played it alone, but now she would play it for him, and somehow, that seemed fitting.

Her heart beat in time with the thrum of the notes, heavy with longing. She longed to close her eyes, but she was afraid if she did, she wouldn’t be able to control the emotions that would be apparent on her face. She couldn’t let go of the little control she had left.

Fallon consciously kept his hands relaxed on his knees and his face impassive, but he could already feel the dampness of his palms and the rapid staccato of his heart. He had never heard anything so hauntingly beautiful. Watching her hands move across the strings with such passion made him aware of his own arousal. He struggled to take a deep breath and cool his blood. He looked across at the three ladies, and they were equally entranced. The harp had never been an instrument he admired. He likened it to wind chimes, light and airy, incapable of producing music with any real emotion and reverberation. He had been so wrong. He felt each note low in his stomach. It vibrated through him. He did everything in his power to look unaffected.

Heather swallowed a swell of emotion that threatened to overcome her. She regretted her choice of music now, but it was too late. She was too consumed by it now, too close to deny how it brought to light her own tangled emotions, the constant surge and withdraw, the lightness he made her feel, and the darkness she felt when she wasn’t with him. She closed her eyes briefly to relieve the sudden pressure in her eyes and bit her lip. She entered the second part, allegretto. The tempo increased and with it her breaths. But the lightness never lasted long, the good slipped away too quickly. That was life, and she knew that now. She was chasing a dream—a fantasy. As quickly as it had come it was over, she was into the third part, presto agitato. It was dark and dreamy, bold in sound, forceful with the truth of reality.

She blinked away tears and stared at the decorative carving on the pillar. She reminded herself she was only moments away from finishing the last chords. The peaks were rising victoriously and falling softly, over and over again, until the summit was reached, and softly again, the notes fell to earth, gently and quietly, like whispers once more, and her fingers played the last of it. She exhaled shakily and looked up at Fallon. He was staring at her intently, and then he wiped his face with one hand and suddenly, the look was gone.

Lady Katherine and her minions applauded her, offering awkward praise, much to Heather’s surprise.

“Well done, Miss Everly,” Lady Katherine said with a rare show of sincerity.

“Thank you, Lady Katherine.”

“You both should perform for the guests. An impromptu musical,” Miss Sagely suggested.

“I’ll speak with Lady Endervale.” Lady Katherine nodded confidently.

Heather was about to speak up when Fallon stood and stole her attention.

“Very well done, Miss Everly. The duke will be pleased. I don’t believe I know the piece.”

“Quasi una Fantasia, by Ludwig van Beethoven. It’s my favorite,” Heather answered carefully.

“I believe it is now mine, as well,” he said quietly enough that the others wouldn’t hear.

“Good day, Miss Everly, Mr. Calder.”

The three ladies quit the room and suddenly, they were alone and there was no air to breathe. Heather set the harp from her and stood, too. “I should go.”

“It is my deepest wish to be able to dance with you tonight, but Lady Endervale did not invite me to attend. It seems I’m not needed to stand in for the duke tonight.”

“I wish I could be excused from the ball. There is no reason for me to go.” Heather tangled her fingers in front of her and looked down at her slippers.

“Nonsense. You are in perilous need of dancing and champagne.”

She looked up and laughed. “Perilous need?”

“I’m afraid so.” He nodded emphatically. He moved to step closer.

Heather jerked back, afraid he would touch her, and she would collapse under the weight of her want.

He froze. “What is it?”

“I—we can’t, Fallon. As much as I wish it could be otherwise, I can’t let you woo me. There is too much at risk. I’m sorry… I’m so sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he said angrily.

“But I do. I’m sorry for what I’ve done thus far. I wish I didn’t know… what I am going to lose.”

She saw his jaw tense, but he nodded. “If that is what you wish, then I apologize as well.”

“It was a fantasy, Fallon. It could never be real.” She looked into his eyes, desperately hoping the emotion she saw there wasn’t pain.

He smiled, but it was tight, and it didn’t reach his eyes. “Quasi una Fantasia—Almost a Fantasy.”

Heather swallowed. He understood.

“I have to go,” Heather said desperately. “Good day, Mr. Calder. I will see you tomorrow.” She walked past him and didn’t look back. She was running away again, running from the desperate yearning of her heart. He didn’t stop her. He didn’t say anything at all.