Page 9 of Sweet Siren
"What shall it be?" Andre askedher.
Liv smiled at the newlyweds. "For you, my dear Andre and Marianne, a composition that speaks of all the delights oflove."
"Wonderful," said Marianne, as she refused with a polite dismissal of her hand the footman's offer of acigar.
Liv strode to the huge black piano. "I thinkChopin."
Killian was at once beside her, pulling out the upholstered bench. "Please," he offeredgraciously.
And shesat.
Inhaling, she called upon the years in which she'd lost herself in music. Years of lonely torment when sanity came only from the notes of passion that flowed from her fingertips to fill her childhood home and later her husband's. Only in the technical demands of countless hours of sonatas or etudes or little ditties she herself composed, did she find an escape and a means to cope with the innumerable failures of her father and herhusband.
The audience grew quiet, rapt. To her left stood Killian Hanniford, hands clasped behind his back, at the ready should she ask for a score. But she needed none. Never had. Not for a decade or more. Bars of compelling notes danced in her head. She called on them when she needed inspiration for her work. Sonatas, particularly those by Chopin, were the pieces that flowed through her head when she designed the final elements of a drawing room, an orangerie or a bedchamber. Noblemen and aristocrats and the new American moguls like Killian Hanniford demanded extraordinary, monumental and above all, unique décor for their new countryhomes.
Chopin. Who loved, lost, and died too young and too full of regrets seemed a poignant choice for the evening. He embodied romanticism and above all, she was here to celebrate how love could enhance one's life...even if she did not believe it. Even if she'd never had any evidence of it. Nor everwould.
She put her hands to the keys, struck by her own paradox. She could not love. Not anyone other than Camille. She had lost. Lost herentréeto society and lost any desire to regain respectability. And as for regret, she'd vowed years ago never to waste her time regretting anything she could notchange.
That cut Killian Hanniford out of her lifeentirely.
What then to do about that tiny corner of her heart where fondness for him had taken roottonight?
She hit the first chord and sat back, jarred by the discord. Once an evil flower had grown in her heart. She’d tended it, named it vengence and hated herself for it. In its place, a different plant sprang up. Regret rooted andblossomed.
Might she find it in her heart to enjoy his company? And if she did, could she ever forgive herself for her failure to shunhim?
* * *
Killian shookhimself from his reverie. Olivia had given them Chopin's piano concerto Number 1 and he was unable to regain his equilibrium. He talked, he smiled, he refusedbrandy.
But he needed only to talk with her, smile at her, understand how she had become so accomplished as a pianist. Indeed, he'd heard many a great composer in London concert halls. Here in Paris, he'd been honored to hear many more. Never, in any drawing room, had he heard their equal. Until tonight. She stunnedhim.
He was astounded by her talents as a pianist. She had evoked such heartbreak and delight from the keys that his eyes stung with hot tears. No musician had ever done that to him. How could he possibly let her go without telling her how profoundly she affected him? Not only as a musicianeither.
But as a stirring, irrepressibly strong and vibrantwoman.
And now, if he detected her movements clearly, he could see she was leaving, excusing herself from her hostess and Marianne and Remy. Other guests stood, presaging their owndepartures.
Killian had to do more than say goodbye toher.
"Andre, Marianne," he said as he reached their sides. "Forgive me. I will go too. It's been a long day. I'm sure you both could do with lesscompany."
They laughed and looked at each other likeconspirators.
"We could," Marianne told him and stood on tiptoe to kiss him on both cheeks. "But we've decided we're not going southtomorrow."
"That's a surprise," he said. Marianne had written to them that she wanted to spend her wedding trip in the south of France in Provence. "I thought you'd taken a house in Arles for twomonths."
"We cancelled it yesterday," Andre told him as he curled an arm around his bride's waist and kissed her on the crown of herhead.
"I'm expecting a child, Uncle Killian. Can you believeit?"
"What? But...that's marvelous! That's why you look so pale." He shook Andre's hand and patted him on the back. He lowered his voice, and leaned close. "When did youlearn?"
"Yesterday. I felt so fatigued. The doctor came and examined me. I can't believe it, Uncle Killian. I didn't think I was capable ofit."
Andre hugged her near. "I told her I didn't care if it never happened. But it has. And believe me, I am thrilled. But I did want her to enjoy our wedding daymore."
