Page 92 of A Rogues & Gentlemen Christmas

How strange that she had known him such a short time, and yet she would trust him more than she would ever trust her own brother. He’d earned that trust in a matter of hours, with his honesty and his goodness, and she felt a rush of tenderness for him. How restful it was to be with a man who would not flare up with temper if one said the wrong thing, who would not react with violence or weeks of silence as punishment for whatever crime she’d committed. She knew she could not be certain he did not harbour those traits, or similar ones, not yet, but every instinct told her Edward Hardy was decent to his bones and she clung to that belief.

Carrying on her investigations, Grace discovered the milk house or dairy, a brewhouse and a large storeroom. Everything was well stocked and cared for and spoke of a prosperous, well-managed farm.

Returning to the parlour, Grace tugged the covers off the furniture, determined that she would create new memories for him, happy ones that she could share with him. With an exclamation of surprise and delight, she uncovered a small piano. Whilst she had now surmised that Ned was comfortably off, a yeoman of some standing going on his clothes and the size and quality of his home, a piano was an extravagance that she had not expected.

She hurried to the kitchen and fetched beeswax polish and a soft cloth and set to work cleaning the furniture, leaving the piano until last as she knew the temptation to play it would be hard to resist.

Finally, she looked about the place with satisfaction. The furniture gleamed in the glow of the merry fire in the hearth, and the piano beckoned her. It had been one of her father’s punishments, to lock the piano and take away the key when he was displeased with her. It might have appeared to have been a gentle form of retribution to anyone who viewed her life from the outside, but to Grace—who was forbidden so many of life’s simple pleasures—it had been torment.

She didn’t dare to draw or paint. Her brother had once fancied himself an artist, but it had soon become clear he was mediocre at best. When he’d discovered his sister had far more talent, he’d been fit to be tied. Grace had never the courage to lift a pencil again, let alone a paintbrush. She was allowed to sew, and had become adept at it, but she did not find any great satisfaction in needlepoint, though she liked to mend and repair, which seemed a useful skill and one she could take pride in.

There had been few books at home and most of those were dry texts on the law. Her father despised novels and poetry and believed them unfit for females, whose delicate brains were easily overwrought, and so she was denied any escape from the endless days that blurred one into the next.

Her father enjoyed music, however, and would often ask her to play for him. It had been some small solace to Grace that forbidding her to play must have hurt him as much as it did her.

She ran her hands lovingly over the keys as she sat down and experimentally touched one or two, delighted as the sound rang out around the parlour. She was unsurprised to discover it could do with tuning, but it was not nearly as discordant as she might have expected, assuming it had been years since they had used it. Her heart lifted as it always did when she played, and she ran through several pieces she knew by heart before turning her attention to the sheet music she’d found. There weren’t many, but with delight she found a piece by Ignaz Pleyel, a composer with whom she was familiar.

Setting her fingers to the keys, she played, at once lost in the light, bright, joyful music. It was not an especially complex piece, but played with such speed it needed her hands to fly across the piano. Grace laughed with delight as the music rose to a crescendo and her fingers struck the final notes, the sound ringing through the room. She was breathing hard, more with the glee of being able to play freely than with the effort required for such a piece, which she would usually play with elegant decorum. Anything less would see the piano locked up for a sennight at least.

It was a moment before she realised she was being observed.