Page 29 of Only a Mistress Will Do

“Neither do I, still, I need you to come. I have a forfeit to pay if you remember.”

He stared at her and she waited for him to refuse. Then he gave a terse nod and turned his back, making his way through the crowd.

Violet wanted to sink onto the floor and never arise. She’d just managed the most difficult request of her life. Welcoming a customer at Madame Vestry’s paled in comparison to willingly throwing her happiness away with both hands. She could only pray now the worst was truly over.

Chapter 11

Violet sat at her toilette table on Christmas afternoon, turning a small tin horse over in her hands. Christmas had always been a time for food and revelry at her home. When she was growing up, her parents had held a weekend party each year for the children of the family at Yuletide. She remembered with fondness the sleigh rides, snowball fights, hot cider and special gingerbread, and various parlor games she had played with her brother and cousin. During these events she and Jamie and their cousin Kit had grown especially close. She still had this small tin horse she had won one year, one of the few possessions she’d managed to keep through all her recent travails. She set it back on her toilette table, a reminder of happier times, and rose to head downstairs.

This year she enjoyed the creature comforts provided by Tristan’s generosity, although she sadly lacked the spirit of the season. She and Susan had ventured out to a midnight service last evening, in an effort to reclaim the special feeling of the holiday. Tris’s absence these past weeks had cast a pall over everything, for she had truly missed his company. His visit this evening would hardly be a joyous one. An ending rather than the beginning suggested by the Christmas story.

After a small festive luncheon eaten, at her insistence, with Susan, Mrs. Parker, and Thomas in the kitchen, she’d retired for a nap and now made her way to the music room to practice and await her guest.

She’d done little in the way of decoration since she hadn’t been in a holiday mood at all. Susan had tucked some greenery throughout the house, bringing the fresh scent of pine and bayberry into the rooms. The candles gave off a golden glow as she settled at the harpsichord first. She had progressed from the Scarlatti and ventured into Bach, now pouring her sorrow into the keyboard as she worked to once more perfect the selection before Tris’s arrival. At last satisfied with the pieces, she moved to the harp.

As always, she caressed the instrument before she sat down, imagining a particular person beneath her fingertips rather than the harp. It had been bittersweet to practice on the wonderfully generous gift. She always thought of Tris when she played, great joy mingling with sadness. Today he would finally hear her play, the only time perhaps, so she sought to make it a memorable one.

One touch of the strings and the world fell away as she became absorbed in the music until the instrument became an extension of herself. Even after so many months of not rehearsing, it had come back easily, quickly consoling her for the loss of a different love. Today she practiced one song alone. Into this one she poured her heart and soul. So he would remember her.

“Violet.”

Susan’s voice brought her back from the trance-like state she achieved when playing her best.

“Lord Trevor is in the parlor.”

Violet’s stomach twisted and her hands trembled, but she rose and nodded. “Please show him in here.” Hurrying from behind the harp, she took her position just inside the door to welcome him.

He rounded the corner, a splash of deep scarlet brocade, gold braid and buttons catching the light. She caught her breath at the sight of his powerful body, broad shoulders, narrow waist, strong legs—a splendid figure she drank in with a bold, greedy gaze.

“Good evening, Miss Carlton.”

Icy formality it would be then. “Good evening, Lord Trevor. Merry Christmas.” She indicated a chair placed before the instruments. “Please be seated.”

He complied, although he did not meet her eyes until she crossed to stand directly in front of him.

“I asked you here, my lord, to pay the forfeit I owe you. I…” Much as she wanted to, she simply couldn’t look into those deep sapphire eyes, see all the anger and, farther back, the hurt in them, and say everything she wanted to say. She loved him too much to doom him to a life of dishonor. That hurt and anger were her burden to bear because of her love. The only path left to her was to tell him in the only way left to her.

“I am here, Miss Carlton. I am listening.”

Unable to say more, she fled to the harpsichord, her heart battered. Beginning with the Scarlatti, she poured herself into the music. At first painfully aware of his gaze on her, she managed to push through until the music overtook her and she forgot everything except for it.

The next two pieces rolled from her fingers one after the other with only a break to change the sheets of music. She’d practiced so diligently she hardly needed them. When she finished the Bach, she rose and looked at Tris for the first time since she began to play. The stunned look on his face made her want to weep. Hurt and anger had been replaced with wonder and regret.

“Violet. Oh, my dear.” He came to his feet and strode toward her, taking her hands and kissing them with a fervor that made her toes tingle. “You are magnificent, my love.”

My love. A wonderful Christmas present, indeed.

“Truly one of the finest performances I have heard. Why didn’t you tell me you played so well? We should have been looking for a manager for you. You should be playing professional engagements.”

His words, his touch, overwhelmed her, made the blood pound in her ears and her legs threaten to collapse. If only they could remain this way forever. “I never thought myself very much better than the other young ladies who exhibited. I simply wanted it to be perfect for you tonight.” Joy came flooding back as the icy stranger melted into the man she adored.

He smiled, boyish once more. “I declare your forfeit paid most handsomely.” He raised her hands and kissed them, his warm lips leaving prickles on her skin.

“I am so happy that debt is satisfied,” she said, relishing their intimacy. This was the companionship she had sorely missed these past weeks. She forced herself to note each word, every touch, every glance, storing them up to cherish in the months and years they would be apart. “And now I have something else for you. A Christmas gift.”

With a twinge of regret, she pulled her hands from his grasp and seated herself at the harp. She smiled and nodded at him, stroked the pillar of the harp, then rested the sound board on her shoulder, nestling it against her. The magic of the harp coursed through her as it always had and she plucked the strings with sure fingers, all her soul, all her love, all her passion flowing into the piece. She had nothing to give him as a remembrance of her save this, so she’d make sure it would remain with him the rest of his life.

As she played the final notes, for the first time the sense of devastating loss welled within her. She would never play for him again, never share their passion for music. She stared at the now silent strings, wanting to recall the minutes past, relive them and cherish them to the fullest, yet knowing it impossible. She blinked back tears.