Page 71 of Hearts of Briarwall

She’d asked him once, why he never played anymore. And would he play for her? He’d simply shaken his head over his ledger, and said, “I’ve no time for that, now.”

All at once, the bumblebee’s frenzied flight ended, and amidst the bows and applause, Lydia’s nerves decided it was time for a flight of their own. The servants brought in vases of clipped apple tree branches covered in blossoms and set them on the side tables and floor. Their scent filled the room, and Lydia closed her eyes, taking a moment.

When the pause after Mrs. Piedmont and Andrew had taken their seats became too long, Spencer pushed himself up and offered Lydia his hand with a bow. She stared at it, then placed her gloved fingers in his and allowed him to support her as she rose.

She swallowed as her head neared his. “We didn’t practice,” she whispered, as if only just realizing it.

“I’ve no doubt you’ll be splendid,” he said.

“Yes, but what about you?” she said, and he broke into an achingly beautiful smile.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ll try to keep up.”

They turned to face their audience, and Lydia froze. She couldn’t possibly do this after what had taken place in the morning room. “Say something,” she whispered to Spencer.

Spencer straightened. “We’ll be singing a song called ‘In the Shade of the Old Apple Tree,’ written by some lonely bloke who misses his darling.” He glanced at the piano. “Er ... unaccompanied, because our talent only goes so far.”

“Brilliant,” she muttered under the chuckles in the room.

“Not at all. Ready?” He held up the music for both of them to see.

She reached back and played the opening three notes on the piano so they could find their pitch. Then, with a nod, they were off.

Spencer began as he had in their first attempt, singing of the reminders of an old love. As his voice cleared and strengthened, Lydia was spurred to match it. She took her turn with the verses about never seeing that love again on earth. Their voices combined for the last bit, leading straight into the second verse they hadn’t yet practiced. Spencer nodded her way, so Lydia led, determined to look everywhere but at Sir Lawrence.

“The oriole with joy was sweetly singing. The little brook was babbling forth its tune. The village bells at noon were gaily ringing. The world seemed brighter than a harvest moon.” She looked to Spencer, who met her gaze and took his turn.

“For there, within my arms, I gently pressed you, and blushing red, you slowly turned away. I can’t forget the way I once caressed you ...” He faltered and swallowed, then glanced at the page and took it up again, looking out to their audience. “I can’t forget that happy bygone day.”

With a deep breath against her flittering heartbeat, she joined him for the chorus of the song as it changed from four-four time to a three-quarter waltz.

“In the shade of the old apple tree, when the love in your eyes I could see. When the voice that I heard, like the song of a bird, seemed to whisper sweet music to me.

“I could hear the dull buzz of the bee”—Spencer gestured to Mrs. Piedmont, who seemed delighted to be acknowledged—“in the blossoms as you said to me ...” He turned back to Lydia and lifted her hand, his eyebrows raised.

She took the part, willing her voice unaffected and sweet. “With a heart that is true, I’ll be waiting for you ...”

Spencer turned and gestured for everyone to join in singing the last line, and Lydia lifted her hands in accord.

“. . . in the shade of the old ap-ple treeeee.”

Resounding applause and laughter reached her ears even as she painted on a smile, ignoring Andrew’s intense scrutiny of both her and Spencer as her brother absently clapped his hands. She felt tears rise up in her eyes, but she swallowed them down past the rock in her throat and lifted her chin.

Spencer was right. She had no idea what love was, or what she was thinking believing she had any power over it. The Wendy League girls were playing with fire. All of them.

And fire burned.

Chapter 13

Spencer glanced out the window. He’d rather stomp about in the downpour than remain in company for the rest of the evening, but there he stood, not gazing at Lydia. Not remembering the velvety softness of her skin, or how her lips had searched for more of him to claim, or how intoxicated he felt when she’d pulled him to her. He clenched his jaw. The need for a stomp in the rain was becoming imperative.

After the musicale, Mrs. Piedmont suggested a game of whist—she apparently loved the game—but Sir Lawrence invited Spencer to join him in the study to talk business. “After all, that leaves a nice four for the game whilst we discuss ventures. Wooding, you don’t mind, do you?”

Andrew shook his head. “By all means, take yourselves to the study. I’ll remain as rooster among these lovely hens.”

“I would like to go,” Lydia said.

But before Andrew could answer, Sir Lawrence said, “Do not trouble your head about such things, my dear. I assure you, you would find our discourse dull indeed.”

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