Page 99 of The Virtuoso
“Talk to me, Ellen,” Val whispered as he turned her slowly around the darkened yard. “I leave tomorrow, you promised me answers, and we’re out of time.”
“Not now, Valentine, please. We’re not out of time yet, and all I want in this moment is to have this dance with you.”
He wasn’t going to argue with her, but tucked her more closely to him and wished the dance would never end. When the last notes died away, she stayed right where she was, both arms around his waist, her forehead pressed to his chest.
“Ah, damn.” Val stroked her hair and pressed a kiss to her temple. “Shall I simply take you home, Ellen? I can send the coach back for Nick and Dare.”
She shook her head. “Everybody would remark our departure, and while you leave tomorrow, I have to live with these people.”
Val rested his chin on her crown. “It should reassure me you’re not planning on haring off somewhere and not telling me.”
“Oh, Val…” Ellen’s voice held weary reproach.
“Let me take you home,” Val tried again. “It will give us a chance to talk, and I think we need that.” Sheowedhim that was closer to the truth, in Val’s mind.
She stepped back then, and Val felt a cold, sinking sensation coil in his gut. “Ellen?”
“I know I told you I would explain,” she said, turning her back to him, “but does it have to be now?”
“For God’s sake.” Val ran a hand through his hair. “If not now, then tell me when, please? I will be on my horse leaving for London at first light, and the sun set an hour ago. We are down to hours, Ellen, and bloody few of those.”
“I know, but I don’t want to see your eyes when you learn what I have to tell you. I don’t want to see what you think of me writ plain on your face.”
Val stepped closer to her. “You are being cowardly and asking the impossible of me. You are not a cowardly woman, Ellen Markham.”
“Cowardly.” Ellen winced and crossed her arms. “I am merely asking you for patience. We’re at the local assembly, for pity’s sake.”
“You’ve had weeks, Ellen,” Val shot back, his temper rising through his frustration and bewilderment. “You want to send me off for what amounts to no reason.”
“I can write to you.”
“You won’t, though. Why in the name of all that’s holy can’t you just, in the smallest, least significant way, trust me? There’s nothing you can say or do or think or imagine that will make me stop loving you. It isn’t in me to do that.”
She shook her head, and Val saw the glint of fresh tears on her cheeks.
“Blazing hell.” He crossed to her and wrapped his arms around her. “I’m sorry, Ellen. I’m sorry I’ve made you cry, sorry I can’t be more patient, sorry you are so frightened. What can I do to make it better?”
She drew in a slow, shuddery breath. “Let me collect myself. The evening has been long, and we are both exhausted. You find Nick and Darius, and I’ll be along in a minute.”
Dismissed, Val thought darkly. It crossed his mind that the simple truth might be Ellen had tired of him, and out of misguided kindness was allowing him some dramatic fantasy of past bad deeds, skulking relations, and a cruel fate. What did he have to recommend himself, really? His title was a mere courtesy, his wealth garnered in that most unprepossessing of pursuits—trade—and his former abilities as a musician completely unknown to her.
By the time Val worked his way back to the green, he was relieved to see the party was moving into the Rooster. Children were still shrieking and larking about, the laughter and revelry around the punch bowl and keg were louder than ever, but near the musician’s corner, the violinists were packing up.
Bile rose in Val’s stomach as he took in the carnival that had been the summer assembly in Little Weldon. His world was ending,again, and The Almighty was seeing to it this misery befell him in the midst of a bloody party.
Movement by the doors to the stairs caught his eye, and when he discerned what was going on, he started over at a determined trot.
“For God’s sake, be careful!” It came out more loudly and more angrily than he’d intended, and Neal Bragdoll blinked at him in semidrunken consternation.
“We’re movin’ the pianna, guv.” Neal frowned. “Can’t leave it outside all night.” Neal’s brothers nodded agreeably, as if any damned fool could see what they were about.
“You nigh bumped the legs right off of her,” Val shot back. “If you can’t be any more careful than that, you might as well leave her out here for the rain and the dewfall to destroy her more gently.”
“Her?” Neal set his end of the piano down, and a moment later his brothers did likewise with their end. “This is a pianna, not a her.”
“For God’s sake,” Val nearly shouted, “Iknowthat, but it doesn’t give you leave to wrestle it around like damned sack of oats. You neglect her year after year, and still you expect music when you come to do your drunken stomping about, and then you can’t be bothered to take the least care of an instrument old enough to be your grandmother. There’s music in here”—he smacked the lid of the piano. “There’s craftsmanship you can’t even conceive of, there’s… goodness and beauty.” He stopped, and his voice dropped considerably. “There’s… something of the divine, and you just can’t… you can’t take it for granted and endlessly bash it about. You can’t do that, much less again and again and again. You just… you can’t.”
An awkward, very unmerry quiet fell, underscored by the continued sounds of revelry coming from the Rooster. Val looked up from the little piano to see Neal’s slack-jawed confusion mirrored on faces all around him.
