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I like you.
I have started out wrong. I am happy that you are my wife. I listen to you sing to our daughter, and her chortles of joy make my heart hurt. I’ve never felt such an emotion before, but I’ve gathered it is a good thing, because I also want to smile whenever I see Franny and you together. Whenever you laugh, her legs kick, and her smile is comparable to the beauty of yours. How I wish she could hear my voice, even if once. How I wish I could sing for you…laugh with you.
I’ve learned the beauty and power in the sweet sounds of laughter since I met you, and I regret, I deeply regret that I might never do the same for you. I now wonder if you would come to dislike my silence and the bareness it can offer. Permit me to give you something I’ve only ever played for myself in the dark of the night when I am alone and wistful. I learned to play the flute on my travels around the world, and it is the only sound my lips can make. Allow me to sing to you, laugh with you, and speak with you with those sounds.
The paper wavered in her hands, and a splat of water dropped on it. With a sense of alarm, she realized silent tears ran down her cheek. She lifted her gaze to him. “I am being silly. I do not know why I am crying.”
He lowered her down, and she was so very aware of the slide of his body against hers.
“Would you…would you play for me now?”
He regarded her silently for a long minute, and she desperately wished she knew his innermost thoughts. He stepped away from her and went to the bookshelves, where he retrieved a rectangular-shaped box with an exquisitely carved design on the surface. Hugh opened it and lifted out a strange flute.
Phoebe gasped at the beauty of it and padded over to his side. It was unlike any she’d ever seen, the colour a pale green, almost like jade. He lifted it to his lips, and she grabbed his wrist, halting him. Phoebe grabbed his hand, tugging him to go with her. She smiled when he followed her to the open window.
“Let’s sneak out here to the gardens.”
He glanced behind them to the door.
“I know we can go outside and exit through the drawing room, but this seems more…exciting.”
His lips curved slightly, and she collected that to mean he approved. She quickly toed off her slippers and swung one of her feet over the window while gripping his shoulder for balance. The day dress rode up her shins to reveal her stocking-clad legs. Feeling his stare on her limbs, she turned away, hiding her smile.
Quickly he helped her through the windows before following. Once he was fully out, she hurried ahead on the stone path to the side gardens. Phoebe gasped when he tugged her arm, and when she whirled around, he glanced pointedly at her stocking-clad feet on the cold ground. Her husband held out the jade flute to her, which she grasped, then he dipped and swept her into his arms. With a squeak, she hurriedly wound her arms around his neck and held on, careful to ensure she did not drop the flute.
A dangerous sensation thrilled in her heart. A hint of a smile hovered about his mouth, but he did not look down at her, just continued toward the gardens with long, powerful strides. Phoebe sensed he was quite pleased with himself and could not understand why he had lifted her in his arms. Not that she would protest, she liked being there.
They entered the side gardens, and he lowered her to her feet and collected his flute. She sat on a stone bench by the Grecian fountain, and he sat on another opposite her. Hugh held her stare in an unbreakable hold and lifted the instrument to his mouth. He placed his lips along the body, to the second hole, and his fingers covered the fourth and the six. Then he blew.
A wind-like sound, beautiful and haunting, lifted in the air. Shivers rippled over her skin, and her lips parted as she stared at him in astonishment. Phoebe had never heard a sound so dark and brilliant, so majestic and haunting. She stood as if pulled by an invisible string to stand before him. The entire moment felt ethereal as the air between them vibrated and pulsed with such emotions, her throat ached.
I feel as if I am fated to love you, Hugh Winthrop, for I’ve never dreamed I could feel such a yearning for another soul.
Without breaking his rhythm, Hugh stood and peered down at her as he played. At times the music echoed plaintively, then it lifted in the air, rich and compelling. What are you saying to me? she silently asked, unable to look away from the blue brilliance of his eyes. And the music answered. The sounds that poured forth felt pure, yet too intense, for her heart quaked with the unnamed sensations filling it, and it was all evoked by the music he made.
“Hugh,” she whispered. “I…”
An ugly sound intruded upon the beauty of the night. The music stopped abruptly, and they both looked around to see Caroline with tears streaming down at her cheeks.
“Please come inside,” she said in a soft, composed tone, very much at odds with the pain in her eyes and the wetness on her face.
“The old earl…” Her throat worked to swallow, and she pressed a palm over her chest. “Our father…he has died.”
…
Two weeks had passed since the earl went on to his rewards with a smile on his face. There hadn’t been any cries of alarm or pain before his passing. He’d spent his evening reading to Franny before kissing her small tuft of hair and retiring to his chamber. It had been his valet who had found him lying on the bed, his hands across his chest and that contented curve to his mouth. Though his passing had been expected, a blanket of grief settled over the castle, and rain had fallen intermittently since with a gloomy rumble of thunder and lightning cutting across the sky.
Lord Albury had been laid to rest in the family crypt only yesterday. Phoebe had not known him long, yet it felt as if a part of her heart had been removed. The earl had left each person a letter, and she had been surprised that he had left one for her, too. She had read it so many times, the words were interred in her heart.
Dear Viscountess Huxley,
My dear Phoebe. It was a pleasure to know you in the short time allotted to us. You are a very delightful young lady who has brought much joy to my son. I have seen much smiling from him and an air of hope that I doubt the lad himself is aware surrounds him. I thank you for that, for I did not realize how severe he had been in his countenance.
I must warn you, though he is very attentive to his lady wife, he might never express certain sentiments I can see in your eyes each time you stare at him. Do not hope in vain for it, and you will not suffer any disappointment. Do not push for more than he is able to give, do not give him the opportunity to doubt your loyalty, and you will not suffer heartache. I daresay once you’ve minded this old fool’s teaching, your union will be one of contentment.
I thank you for the joy of Francesca and that I was able to dote on my granddaughter before I go on to my reward. I’ve left a letter for Hugh, Caroline, and William as well. It is my wish that our homes are not transformed into tombs of grief. Dear God, no black crepes and mourning attire for the world to see and speculate. You will miss me where it counts the most, in your hearts, and that, my dears, is more than enough.
Love, your father.
