Page 100 of The Duke's Forbidden Bride
“There is no pressure.”
“I know.”
Their eyes met, and Spencer moved closer again, taking her into his arms. He pulled her to his chest, letting her forget the memories, and even her baking for a moment.
She sank into him, relaxing in his warmth. “Thank you.”
“You never have to thank me,” he assured her.
“I do, for everything,” she insisted. “For this, for your protection, for saving me from that place. I-I will never forget your face when you found me in the kitchen, drowned in the cauldron.”
Spencer flinched at the recollection, and he held her tighter. “I will never regret the day I pulled you out of there. Never, Eleanor.”
He tilted her face up to kiss her, and he didn’t care when she flattened her hands on his waistcoat, smudging flour on the fine material. He simply held her until she stopped trembling, and kissed her until her thoughts turned into softer things.
Eventually, Eleanor pulled away, returning to her dough, and Spencer asked her to have dinner with him that evening on the terrace instead of the dining room.
She agreed, replacing her fear of her past with excitement for the very near future.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“What is this?” she asked, not daring to reach for it, even though Spencer had just gestured for her to do so.
There was a music box on the table right in the center of a grand candelabra, several plates of food, and the almond and raspberry buns Eleanor had baked.
“It is a gift,” he said simply, before he realized he was trying to brush it off. He cleared his throat and spoke again. “I do not know if you are aware, but when Theodore mentioned the opera last week, your eyes lit up. So, I did some asking around. Well, by that, I mean I went to my sister.”
“Oh?”
“She told me that when you first became friends, you spoke often about music. She noted a sadness in the way you spoke about it, and I asked her why.”
Spencer felt her defenses rise, and he continued before she could begin to deny any sadness. It was as though she thought herself not entitled to feel it.
“Charlotte mentioned that at every ball, you would hum along to the music, only to stop when she looked at you. You liked music, but you were not allowed to.”
“She could not have told you that.”
“She did not, but I know what that pattern is like. The worry of being caught liking something, the denial. You do not use the music room or play like other ladies. You have not spoken of the opera or of visiting it, and whenever we venture into Everdawn Village, you bypass the pipers. You flinch whenever an orchestra dies down only to strike up again at balls.”
Eleanor touched the lid of the music box cautiously, and he could see her considering her words—so like him. “You are right. Idolike it, but I am not—was not—allowed to enjoy it. My mother taught me to be the perfect lady. The perfect bride, mother—anything required of me. Whatever I liked was irrelevant. I had to read the books she picked, play the instruments she chose, and everything else was not to be tolerated. If she would not tolerate it, then a husband certainly would not.
“Music is not quiet, so it was hard to love it in secret. It was a demand for a quality to have, a certain amount of knowledge of composers or scores, or an instrument. Proficiency to woo a suitor rather than enjoy myself. So I felt guilty in the moments Ididenjoy it. Then, at St. Euphemia’s, music was only performed in worship. Organs and choirs—it all became rather stifling. I think it killed so much of my love, but it also reminded me of how much pressure my mother had always put me under.
“She would always host musicales and have me perform in the hopes that I would attract a suitor. As their only child, Ihadto carry that mantle. Music stopped being a love of mine and became too much.”
She paused, meeting Spencer’s eyes as she laughed sadly. “I do not know if I am making sense,” she admitted.
“You are,” he assured her. “I understand you perfectly.” He nodded toward the music box. “Open it when you are ready, Eleanor. It is a gift. It is enjoyment. When you are ready, I would also like to take you to the opera. You are not required to perform for me, or anybody else, and you will never be under pressure to do anything outside of whatyouchoose. If you will let me, I would like to guide you back to that love.”
He hadn’t expected her to open it right there with him, but she did.
She trusts me.
He watched her carefully.
The gentle melody rose from the box. Spencer had imported it from Austria specially for her. It was a private way to find her way back to music without it being a public spectacle.
“You did not mention your problem with music,” he noted, watching her listen to the melody.
