Page 40 of The Butterfly
The rarest moments came when she could sneak him into the house when her stepfather was away and play only for him. She’d loved to feel his eyes on her while she did the thing she loved most … enjoyed the way he could appreciate what she did, even having no knowledge of music himself.
As she grew stronger, now able to walk about the London townhome without losing her breath, Olivia found her way back to it. She and Serena spent most of their afternoons in the drawing room, where Adam would play for them all—including Niall and Lady Daphne. Olivia never ceased to be amazed by her brother’s ability to pour his soul into the notes, to intertwine so much of himself into the music so that no one could doubt his mastery.
Closing her eyes and clinging tight to her daughter, she would let the notes flow through her, often shedding a tear as it brought back memories of her past. Serena had once laid her head upon Olivia’s breast and stared up at her with a little smile, reaching up with a tiny hand to swipe at her face.
“Why are you crying, Mama?” she’d asked. “Are you sad again?”
It had broken her heart to know that Serena had grown accustomed to her moods, watching her mother drift away from her time and time again. She hated that she’d allowed it to go on for so long, missing out on so many joyous moments with her little girl.
“I am not sad,” Olivia had said. “Sometimes, tears are happy. I love the music, and I’ve missed it, is all.”
One day, Serena had expressed an interest in learning to play like Adam, and predictably, her uncle had been all-too happy to oblige her. Taking her onto the bench beside him, he had begun teaching her the various notes and how to combine them to make chords. From where she’d sit on a settee, Olivia could not help but smile. Even when she had not been able to care for Serena, Adam and Niall had always been there. She did not think she could express to them how grateful she was to see her daughter so happy and carefree.
Once Adam would finish instructing Serena at the piano, he’d often invite Lady Daphne to join him at the harp, the two of them playing together as if they’d been born to. Daphne had shocked Olivia with her superior command of the instrument, her talent clearly born of something as visceral as Adam’s, honed over time with diligent practice.
After a few days of this, Olivia found herself beginning to feel the familiar urge deep within … that call toward the instrument she loved. The asylum had been so silent, aside from the berating voices of the nuns and the occasional weeping of the other girls—women like her who had found themselves forced to bear their children in such a Godforsaken place. By the time Adam had come for her, she’d begun to think she’d never hear music again. For so long, her world had been stunningly silent, voices coming at her muffled, as if through a windy gale. Now, sitting in this drawing room, her fingers began to twitch with a memory no amount of pain could have driven from her. Her insides grew warm, her palms breaking out in a sweat as a whispered voice in her mind told her she could bring herself to attempt playing again.
So, with no thought to Adam and Daphne’s duet, she rose from the settee, sitting Serena in Niall’s lap. Gaze fixated upon the harp Lady Daphne played with dexterous fingers, she began to move, slowly, as if through a dream. Her feet propelled her to the instrument, the outer edges of her vision growing hazy, until she could only see the harp, hear the harp,feelthe harp.
Her mouth went dry, her stomach twisting and roiling as if she might be ill, a moment of doubt creeping up on her in an instant. She closed her eyes for a moment and swallowed past the lump of fear swelling in her throat. She was afraid she’d forgotten how to do this, and the part of her that had so loved the music might have died.
She would never know unless she tried. Would it not be worth it to regain this small part of herself? Even if she could never have Niall, or a normal life, or any of the things she’d always wished for … she would have this.
The harp went silent, and she realized that Lady Daphne must have stopped playing upon her approach. Across the room, Adam went on playing with his back turned to them, oblivious to what was happening. Niall and Serena remained where she’d left them, still and silent.
With a shaking hand, she reached out to touch the instrument, her fingertips caressing a single string. The light ripple of that visceral call went through her, resounded through her soul, and lit her heart on fire. Those parts of her had not been missing, after all; they had simply been misplaced. As she took a step closer, she felt it all falling back into place, shuffling into order, solidifying to create such clarity, she thought she might weep for being able to see and feel it.
Adam had ceased playing and watched them from the piano bench. However, she could not spare him a glance … not while she was beginning to realize that she really could do this again.
“I’ve heard you play beautifully,” Lady Daphne said, her voice low and her words measured, careful.
Olivia stared at the other woman, really seeing her for the first time. She was so much like Bertram, it was uncanny—just as pretty, a slight edge of hauteur lending her features a patrician air. But, where Bertram’s eyes had been limpid and enigmatic, Daphne’s were sincere, open, shining as if with tears.
This woman was so unlike Bertram, she realized … perhaps a broken and aching soul just like her brother. It was no wonder Adam could not set her aside. He saw himself in her, as if glancing into a mirror.
“I … I do not think I remember how,” she replied.
That was only partially true. Some instinctive part of her screamed that she might remember if only she tried.
“That’s quite all right,” Daphne said. “Would you like to try? Once you attempt it, your mind will take to it as easily as it once did.”
She was right, of course. Still, something held Olivia back, some mixture of fear and uncertainty keeping her from reaching out and taking command of the harp. Daphne was moving, rising from the stool and motioning at someone else across the room. Olivia kept her gaze upon the harp, her entire being trembling from the inside out as she tried to find the strength to put her fingers to strings for the first time in five long years.
She could hear voices, one of them Niall’s … but hardly deciphered the words. A dull roar had begun in her ears, and she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to find her way back. The last thing she needed was to return to dulled senses—muffled hearing and unfocused eyes and a deadened soul.
Then, she was snatched back into the moment by a familiar touch, light but sure upon her hand. She opened her eyes to find Niall at her side, one of his hands lightly holding hers and urging it toward the harp.
He stared at her in wonder, as if he were just as taken aback by all of this as she. Yet, it was he who encouraged her this time, he who touched her fingers back to the strings with grim determination setting his features.
“Ye know how it’s done,mo gradh. I remember ye used to play such beautiful music. That part of ye is still in there someplace.”
Yes … yes, it was still there … in the deepest corner of her mind, glimmering like a faraway star, a tiny pinprick of light in the darkness.
Closing her eyes again, she took a deep breath, drawing strength from the hand upon hers, from the big body close enough that she could feel its warmth. He had always made her believe she could do anything, and now proved no exception. Her fingers twitched, this time, the movement strong enough to produce a note.
Her eyes opened, her lips parting as the sound floated into the air, bursting forth like a splash of vibrant color against stark whiteness. She plucked the same string again, and the spot grew larger and brighter, flooding her world with long-forgotten color. The empty air became a canvas, this instrument her paintbrush.
A smile softened her face as she tried more of the strings, testing herself, seeing if she could recall which ones made certain sounds. More colors came rushing back—blues and greens and hues of red. This room had not been nearly this bright when she’d first stepped into it. It was as if she’d thought she could see all this time, but only now realized how dim her world had become. This … this was true sight, true life, the truest part of herself.
