Page 61 of Lady for a Season
Edward responded,
“But surely you see my Lady
Dancing across the Thames
Rivalling the glittering icicles
With a glory of golden hair.”
“Such a fine composer,” she teased.
“It is easy with a pretty tune and such magical surroundings as we had today,” he replied. “And we sing well together, do we not?” His voice was warm, and Maggie wanted, for a moment, to bask in that warmth, to revel in the closeness that it implied, their natural affinity, their ease when they were together alone. But he was looking at her with eyebrows raised now, waiting for an answer.
“We do.” It was all that she could manage, but it was a feeble response for what she felt and perhaps he thought the same. A flicker of disappointment appeared and vanished again across his face, as though he had hoped for more.
“I like to hear you sing,” she tried again, wanting to give more, to show him that she shared his joy of the moment. “It makes me think you are happy.”
“I am happy when I am in your company,” he said but it sounded too much like the pale compliments handed out at every social occasion they had attended so far, without true meaning between them. They were both silent, uncertain of how to proceed, what response would be appropriate.
They were interrupted by Bartholomew the footman, asking if they wanted hot drinks.
Edward shook his head and Maggie likewise.
“I think that might be the servants’ way of encouraging us to retire for the night,” said Maggie with a small laugh when Bartholomew had disappeared.
Edward stood. “Probably,” he agreed. “In that case, may I offer you a candle to light your way upstairs?”
They each took a candlestick, the two small lights flickering as they made their way up the stairs. They paused on the landing by their respective doors.
“Good night, Edward,” she said, reaching for the door handle.
“Maggie?”
“Yes?”
“I am…” He hesitated.
“What is it?”
“I am glad we had this time together. Not just today.”
She nodded, her face serious. “So am I.”
He made her a small bow. “Goodnight, my lady.”
She curtseyed. “My lord,” and entered her room, but when she sat on the bed, she could hear him next door, still singing the song.
“Though I am nothing to her,
Though she must rarely look at me,
And though I could never woo her,
I love her till I die.”
Chapter 7:
Almack’s
