Page 69 of Duke of Diamonds
Isaac remained seated, watching as the pair crossed the room, unable—unwilling—to look away.
What other surprises, I wonder, does she carry in those quiet hands?
Isaac did not know what he had expected. Perhaps something competent but stilted, a performance borne out of duty or education. But the moment Fiona’s fingers touched the keys, he understood how mistaken he had been.
The first notes floated through the drawing room, light and sure, each one slipping effortlessly into the next. There was nothingpracticed about it—it was simply part of her, as if the music had always lived in her hands.
He sat very still, the teacup forgotten in his grip.
How many other pieces of her had he yet to discover? And why, for God’s sake, was it not he who was learning them?
It was Elaine who had coaxed this out. Elaine who had drawn Fiona to the pianoforte, who had pressed laughter into her voice and music into her fingertips.
He should have been the one. He wanted to be the one. That thought struck him harder than it should have.
He watched Fiona’s profile as she played, the way her brow dipped ever so slightly with focus, how her mouth curved—not in performance, but in something nearer joy. It twisted something inside him, something tight and inconvenient.
I want to know her.
He had never truly wanted to know anyone before. Not beyond what was required. Not beyond what duty or proximity demanded. But with her, every new revelation was a quiet marvel.
Elaine, naturally, could not resist joining her. She perched herself beside Fiona with the usual lack of ceremony and began plunking out a clumsy melody. Fiona adjustedwithout hesitation, blending the notes between them until the mismatched rhythms found each other and became one.
Their laughter wove between the chords, the room warming with it. It should have been a simple thing. A domestic afternoon. Harmless.
But the melody shifted something.
The notes reached back. They pulled.
A memory stirred—one not summoned, but relentless all the same. Music in another drawing room. A different pair of hands at the keys. The air heavy with lavender and grief. And a promise he could not keep.
He closed his eyes for a moment, but the music kept threading through, present and past overlapping in a way that made it hard to breathe.
No, please... Not now.
CHAPTER 23
It was a time of more laughter. A time of much color...
The drawing room had been flooded with sunlight, the windows thrown wide despite the spring chill. Elaine had been at the pianoforte, all impatient instruction and dramatic flourishes. And she—she had sat beside her, earnest and eager, fingers stumbling over the keys with laughter on her lips.
She had loved it. Not just the music, but the learning of it, the way her brow furrowed when she missed a note and the triumph in her smile when she played a melody through without pause. Almost as much as she loved her paints—her little watercolors scattered across the table, staining her sleeves, her fingertips, everything she touched.
She had brought color with her. Music. Life. She had trusted him with all of it.
And he had ruined it.
He had failed her, not in one great moment of catastrophe, but in a thousand small ones. He had not protected her, not as a brother, not as anything. And by the time he’d seen the cost of his absence, it was too late. The music had gone silent. The colors had faded from her world. And then she had gone too.
He had crushed her dreams as surely as he had crushed her spirit.
The music from the present wavered, and a missed note pulled him back. He blinked, the drawing room returning in pieces—the polished pianoforte, Fiona’s laughter, Elaine’s hands still moving across the keys. But the warmth was gone from his chest.
Isaac sat straighter, drawing in a shallow breath through his nose. The pain in his ribs was sharp, as if knives had slipped between them. He pressed his palm lightly to his side, steadying himself.
You are here. She is gone. You cannot change it now.
Still, it hurt. It always would.
