“That does not answer my question.”
To Phoebe’s mind, it did. But then she recalled his mother had been married when she had left to live with her lover. Her lips parted, and she stared at him with a sense of shock. “No, I do not want to marry him,” she said empathically. “And this entire conversation is ludicrous because I am married to you.”
He arched a quizzical brow. “Do you not still love this man? Many people have acted with rank foolishness in the name of love. I see no evidence you would be an exception.”
How easy he spoke of the notion of her loving another man. Phoebe was flummoxed by the ache traveling through her heart down to her very bones. “I love no one,” she said with icy civility.
They stared at each other for long moments, and she desperately wondered what thoughts went on in his head. Her husband dipped into a short bow, turned around, and walked away. Why had he sought her out in the first place? Folding the letters, she tucked them into the drawer of the writing desk then walked over to the sofa and sat down, feeling bewildered.
What had just happened?
Wolf, who had been lazing on the carpet, bounded up on the sofa. After cuddling with Wolf for several minutes, Phoebe rang for Sarah, who assisted her to the music room down the hallway. Once there, she sat before one of the most beautiful pianofortes she had ever seen and lightly tested the keys, which were revealed to be well tuned. Taking a deep breath, she played, hoping to hide away from the brewing feelings in her heart and what it might mean if her husband proved incapable of returning them.
Her fingers leaped as if they had a life of their own, and music spilled into the air.
Thoughts of Hugh, from their early letters to the first moment she met him to their many kisses, swirled in her mind and heart. A mix of confusion, doubt, and such terrible yearning for more collided inside and drove her to play with impassioned intensity.
Chapter Twelve
The scent of lemon wax and pinecones was redolent on the air, and in the distance, someone played on the pianoforte. The old earl, who had been hobbling down the hall, paused, acute longing settling on his face. Whoever played was incredibly skilled, and Hugh suspected it was his wife, for the grand pianoforte had been silent for years.
Once he’d asked his father why he ordered it to be cleaned and tuned so faithfully when none of his children played. And it was then he’d learned his mother loved music and it was for her the earl had bought the instrument. His father shuffled toward the music room and eased the door open. Hugh silently padded closer, so he was positioned some distance away behind his father and could also see into the room. His wife sat on the well-padded bench, her spine straight, her hair a riot of waves over her shoulders and back, her bare toes curled into the carpet. And she played without using music sheets.
George wanted to marry her. Lord Westfall wanted to see this done. And Hugh…he quite believed he would see them both ruined if they ever attempted to take Phoebe away. Her connections in the ton were incalculable. A hitch travelled through his heart. He wanted her for more than just her connections; he had wanted her from that very first letter, before he knew her identity.
There was a dark voice inside wondering what if because if she loved this fool, she would choose to leave and run to him. While divorces or annulments were almost impossible to procure, with the right wealth and power, a man could let it appear that the marriage between Hugh and Phoebe never happened.
I love no one. The cold memory of that utterance whispered through him.
Hugh stared at her, rubbing the spot above his heart, which pounded. If you choose to leave, I will let you go.
The stirring sounds rippled in the air as her fingers danced over the keyboard with such elegance and grace, it was as if he could see the notes dancing in the air. His father visibly shuddered as the music seemed to pierce his soul, and Hugh was glad to see his enjoyment.
The doctor had visited yesterday and had attended the earl and the viscountess. Both had been given good reports, and Dr. Edwards had expressed his surprise that the old earl still lived. He had cautioned Hugh against hope, for his father was notably slimmer, and his heart was weaker. It would be any day now, but his father held on with impressive tenacity.
And now, other pleasures the earl had missed were unexpectedly provided by the viscountess. It surprised Hugh that given her skills, she had taken so long to visit the music room. They stood and listened, an odd sort of pride filling his chest.
“Such talent should be on display for the world to see and admire,” his father said in a low, bemused tone. “She’s an incredible player.”
Yes, she is, Hugh silently agreed. She had taken his sister under her wing, and lately whenever he spied Caroline, he would search for the wild young girl he saw in the well-dressed and composed young lady. His wife and sister had become fast friends, and sometimes to his bemusement, he was irritated that his sister commanded so much of Phoebe’s time.
Would I really let you go?
The music drifted away, and silence lingered.
“If you would join me, I could play anything you like,” she invited softly.
Hugh stiffened. How did she know he was there? It was as his father shuffled inside that he realized she spoke for the benefit of the old earl. Emotions clutched at his throat, for his father had relentlessly avoided her and had been very abrupt in their interactions. She had not shown any offense or complained to him, yet it must have bruised her pride.
“Anything?” his father demanded imperiously, making his way over to the armchair closest to her.
Hugh sensed that she smiled.
“As long as I am familiar with it.”
“Without the sheets?”
“Of course,” she said with a touch of arrogance, tossing her hair. “I’ve practiced for several hours in the morning for years.” She ran her hands lovingly over the keyboard and the fine edge of the instrument. “I even had a music tutor whom I surpassed in only a few months.”