Charlie intently studied the notes. He held his peace, interested to see what she would come up with.
“Perhaps you could carry the F over for effect,” she finally said. “And here.” She pointed to the next bar. “I’d add a C.”
Kade practically had to push his thumb up against his jaw to keep it from sagging open. Now that she’d pointed it out, the solution seemed obvious.
“I’m missing a bloody C, aren’t I?” he said.
“I think so.” Then she held up her hands. “But it’s just a thought, and only because this passage somewhat reminds me of one of the old ballads the vicar taught me.”
Kade couldn’t help grinning at her. “Miss Stewart, you are a genius. That is exactly what the passage needs.”
He put his hands on the keyboard and played the notes, incorporating her suggestions. The passage now captured what he’d struggled all morning to achieve.
“It’s perfect,” he said.
Her smile was both shy and pleased. “Just a lucky guess.”
“Then I’m exceedingly grateful for your lucky guess, and I’m going to insist that you play some of those ballads for me. That might give me some genuine inspiration, which I am sorely lacking at the moment.”
“I couldn’t,” she said, now looking slightly alarmed. She slid off the bench. “My playing is nothing out of the ordinary. Nor would my mother approve.”
“But—”
Shouts coming from the garden interrupted him. Kade had left the French doors to the terrace slightly ajar to let in the soft summer air, but now a noisy commotion carried into the room. Boys were shouting at something, from the sound of it.
He twisted around to face the garden. “What is that about?”
“I think it’s the stable boys,” Charlie replied.
She strode to the doors and disappeared onto the terrace.
Kade followed at a more leisurely pace, stepping out onto the wide stone terrace to see Charlie down on the neatly mown lawn. It ran from the back of the house to a small stream that meandered through the grounds of the estate. Although flower beds ringed the manor, including bordering the terrace in a summer riot of color, most of the grounds were lawn interspersed with clusters of holly and juniper. Directly behind the terrace was a magnificent oak, its expansive branches casting shade onto the house.
The oak was the scene of the ruckus. Three young lads were pointing up at the tree while attempting to explain something to Charlie, loudly and all at once.
When Kade joined them, Charlie tapped the shoulder of one of the boys, who appeared to be about twelve and older than the others. She told them to hush, and they subsided with a mutter, obviously still fashed.
“Problem?” Kade asked.
Charlie rolled her eyes. “Maisy is stuck in the tree again.”
The oldest boy, dressed to work in the stables, grimaced. “Sorry, Miss Charlotte, but it ain’t her fault. She’s just a wee one.”
“Yes, Peter, I know. But after last week’s episode, one would think she’d have learnt her lesson.”
Kade could now hear the sound of Maisy’s distressed mews. Peering up through the dense greenery, he could just spot the small gray cat about a quarter of the way up, clinging to a branch.
“Poor Maisy ain’t very smart,” piped up one of the little ones.
“Indeed,” Charlie replied. “But you boys are supposed to keep the kittens in the stables and barns, remember? Your father was quite clear about that.”
The two little ones, who appeared to be around six and eight, exchanged guilty glances.
Peter blew out an exasperated breath. “I know, Miss Charlotte. But Tommy and Billy keep forgettin’ and takin’ them out to play.”
“They get bored in the stables, miss,” piped up the middle one. “’Specially Maisy.”
“Told you that, did she?” Charlie asked.
