Page 39 of The Marquess's Imperfect Brid
When she began to play, however, his heart stopped. The room and the rest of the people in it disappeared at once, leaving only Lady Grace and himself, and the music in which she had lost herself. He felt himself transported directly into her heart, which she poured into every note she played with closed eyes and an expression of both joy and sorrow. His heart felt both heavy and light as she played, sharing her deepest feelings with the entire village.
He sighed, both sad and dreamy as he stared at the wonder that was Lady Grace and her music. He longed to hold her in his arms, to offer her comfort for the grief in her melody and share in the profound connection he felt to her right then. He thought about what she had told him about her insecurities since her accident, and his heart ached to show her that she did not need to feel anything less than as wonderful and beautiful as she was. The depth of his growing feelings for her was swift and overwhelming. And he would have been happy to drown in them, if he could do so with the sight of her lovely, smiling face.
As the song came to an end and the last notes faded into the air, the room burst into a thunderous round of applause, snapping him out of the trance and returning to the worldaround him. He looked around, pleased to see that no one was looking at her or whispering about her like she was a pariah, as he had observed people do since he had started spending time with her. Each face was filled with an awe and admiration befitting the best professional musicians of England. In Gareth’s opinion, that was the way in which everyone should always look at Lady Grace. It was certainly how he always saw her. But after seeing her emotions laid bare for the village to see, she was more beautiful and awe inspiring than ever before.
When she rose from the pianoforte bench, she was blushing, and the smile on her face could have illuminated ten pubs with its brilliance. It was clear that she was pleased with the way her performance was being received by the guests in the crowd as she bowed humbly to the applauding audience. She met his gaze for a moment before she turned to return to the edge of the room, and his heart stopped once more. In that instant, he felt that he could almost read her thoughts. There was no denying the connection which was growing stronger between them. Because in her eyes, he saw that she felt it, too.
***
I have never seen such affection in the eyes of a gentleman, Grace thought as she stood to the side, applauding gently as Abigail returned to the spot in front of the pianoforte. To Grace’s surprise, the crowd seemed reluctant to turn their attention back to the vicar’s wife. It seemed that her performance had had a profound impact on everyone, including people who only the previous night had had plenty of negative things to say about her. But most of all, it appeared that the marquess of Hayewood could not take his eyes off her.
She tried to take her mind off the marquess and pay attention to what Abigail was saying. She mentioned the meal they planned to host during Christmastide that year for theorphans and the less fortunate families that coming winter, as well as the carnival they would be hosting in the fall to raise funds for educational materials for the orphanage. Then, she encouraged the guests to continue enjoying the remainder of the party, greeting the people who approached to congratulate her on a lovely evening warmly. Grace stood awkwardly at the edge of the room, unsure of what to do with herself. She had just decided that she would rejoin her family and Millicent when Lord Hayewood rose from his seat.
Grace watched with a racing heart as he approached her. The look of affection and admiration was still brilliant on his face. She bit her lip, her cheeks flushing even before he reached her.
“Lady Grace,” he said, sounding as breathless as if he had just raced through a castle. “Your performance was the most beautiful and remarkable that I have ever had the pleasure of attending.”
Butterflies swirled furiously within Grace as she looked away from the marquess with shy humility.
“It is not often that I hear such praise,” she said. “But then, I never perform in public.”
The marquess looked shocked at her revelation.
“Why?” he asked incredulously. “Talent like yours would surely be appreciated at many events. Perhaps, even on the stage.”
Grace’s breath caught, the racing sensation behind her ribs tripling. She could hardly believe what she was hearing. Not only was she receiving genuine, awe-inspired praise, but it was coming from the most handsome, most distinguished gentleman she had ever met, outside of her own family. For a moment, she entertained the idea that she was dreaming. But the sounds of laughter and light conversation behind where she and Lord Hayewood stood reminded her that she was very much awake.
Before she could respond further to the marquess’s praise, however, a looming figure stepped into view of her right eye. She turned her head, still smiling, until she locked eyes with the woman who was watching the marquess and her. The Duchess of Darendale glared at her from halfway across the room. She frowned at her son before turning a hateful sneer onto Grace.
She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry and desperate for relief. Her lips felt numb, and she found herself unable to speak. She did not want to react in any way that would indicate to the marquess that anything was wrong, especially since it was his own mother who was making her so nervous. But she felt the color drain from her face and felt her limbs begin to tremble. If he did not notice yet, he soon would.
As expected, Lord Hayewood looked at her with a concerned expression.
“What is wrong, Lady Grace?” he asked.
Before she could answer or look away from the duchess, the marquess’s eyes followed her gaze to the place where his mother stood. He looked back at Grace as if for confirmation that what troubled her was related to the duchess. She said and did nothing, but her expression must have told the marquess what he wished to know.
Meanwhile, the frozen stare of Her Grace pierced through her, reminding her of her place in society. The duchess did not seem discomposed by both Grace and her son looking in her direction. Rather, that seemed to be precisely what she wanted, as a smug smile turned up the corners of her mouth. Grace was mortified, forcing herself to look away from the duchess and excuse herself from Lord Hayewood before he angered his mother enough to earn a lecture when they returned home, just for socializing with Grace.
When Grace looked at the marquess, however, his eyes were narrowed at his mother. His jaw was set, and he seemed tobe sending the duchess a silent warning. Grace felt terrible, as though she was creating a rift between the man for whom she cared deeply and his own mother. She desperately wanted to find her parents, or her brother. But the marquess took her hand, squeezing it gently. When she looked at him again, his eyes were on her once more and he was giving her a reassuring smile.
“Do not let her trouble you, Lady Grace,” he said with soft determination.”
Grace shook her head, looking away in shame.
“I do not wish to be the source of any trouble for you,” she said, shifting uncomfortably. “Especially with your family.”
The marquess shook his head, holding her hand tighter still.
“There will be no trouble, I assure you,” he said, sounding very certain of the fact. “Neither of us has done anything wrong. What exists between us is far beyond the understanding of those who wrap themselves in the shallow conformity of the rest of society. Therefore, why should we care what any of them say or think?”
Grace nodded, blushing. She agreed with everything the marquess had said about the opinions of others and how they should not care what others thought. But what did he mean about what existed between them? What was it that went beyond the understanding of others?
Chapter Twenty-two
Grace could hardly sleep that night. The accolades and commendations she had received after her performance had filled her with a pulsing energy that made her feel strangely both grounded and as though she was floating up toward the moon, which hung high and bright in the night sky. There had not been one sneer or distasteful whisper. In fact, apart from the apparent disapproval of the Duchess of Darendale, no one had looked at her with anything except amazement.
However, nothing could compare to the things that Lord Hayewood had said to her. Even as she lay in her bed hours later, when she thought of how he had held her hand and said that what they shared was something outside the realm of understanding for the shallow notions of the ton, her breath caught in her throat and her heart skipped a couple of beats.
