And then Dot dropped one of her knitting needles with a clink and everyone gave a start.
And yet no one spoke. The fire cracked and popped. Apart from a tiny squeaking sound which might have been one of the Gardner sisters’ stays as she exhaled, the silence was so fraught it was very nearly like another guest in the sitting room. It would challenge Mr. Farraday to chess any minute.
When a voice finally came, the impact was like the voice of God.
“I’ve heard that you excel at playing the pianoforte, Miss Bevan-Clark. I would be happy to turn the pages for you if you would favor us with a song.”
Everyone pivoted in shock.
Captain Hardy rose slowly, gracefully to his feet, and he was smiling—nay, beaming—at Miss Bevan-Clark.
Delilah stared at him. Her mouth was open. She could not be more stunned if the clock on the mantel had come to life and said the same thing.
Miss Bevan-Clark’s mouth had dropped open. She’d slumped in her seat a little, amazed.
And then pink washed her charming, speckled cheeks.
“At this rate we can pay the bills by selling tickets to our quiet evenings in the drawing room,” Angelique murmured.
Trepidation began to simmer in Delilah’s gut.
What was he playing at?
But he wasn’t looking at her and he gave her no clues at all.
He’d fixed his silver gaze on Miss Bevan-Clark as though she were due north. He probably had her freckles counted by now.
Mr. Farraday was staring at Captain Hardy with grave uncertainty.
She gave her head a frisky toss. “Certainly, Captain Hardy,” she said, her voice a-tremble. “I should be happy to.”
The girl rose with great dignity and, amidst a gauntlet of fascinated eyes, sauntered through the dense silence to the pianoforte and sat down on the bench.
And Captain Hardy joined her there, peering solicitously over her shoulder as she leafed through a variety of selections.
“She plays very well, indeed,” Mr. Farraday said, suddenly. Ever-so-faintly belligerently. “I’ve heard her playdozensof times. At my family’s home and at assemblies. And we’ve danced dozens of times, too.”
Captain Hardy regarded him expressionlessly. “How fortunate you are.”
Mr. Farraday flushed.
He sat down hard on the settee in the place vacated by Miss Bevan-Clark.
A moment later he’d crossed his arms about his torso protectively again, the way a cat will tuck its tail about its feet when it feels uncertain.
He, like everyone else, was riveted.
“Do you know ‘The Soldier’s Adieu’?” Miss Bevan-Clark asked.
“What manner of officer would I be if I didn’t know ‘The Soldier’s Adieu’?”
She twinkled up at him as if it were the most enchanting thing anyone had ever uttered.
“But if you could perhaps play it in a key suitable to a baritone?” he said, so kindly Delilah’s stomach knotted.
Of course he was a baritone.
She remembered the rumble of his voice in her ear.I need you, Delilah.