He nodded. “I…remember that vaguely.” He met Mr. Ashby’s gaze with something like familiarity.
Envy knotted in my gut. So he was beginning to remember Mr. Ashby…but not the woman he loved. It took effort to keep a smile on my face. “That is excellent, Graham. You’re beginning to remember.”
“How does it feel?” Elizabeth asked as she placed a hand on his arm. That small touch sent a burst of panic through me. He turned to her with bright eyes, as if he wished to share his joy with her. She responded in a similar way, her smile brilliant.
“On that happy note, why don’t we all retire to the drawing room and our forgetful friend can favor us all with a song?” Mrs. Bowers suggested.
My attention flew back to Graham, who was nodding. So he still sang. The fretful feeling that had started inside my chest eased. It was small things like that which made me believe in our future. He was still Graham, deep down. If Graham was to sing, I would be fully invested. If there was one thing I’d missed about him, it was his singing. He had a uniquely rich baritone voice; I loved to know that those who had beentaking care of him had discovered his talent, and that he took pride in performing as he used to.
Patrice stood and helped when Lottie came out to start cleaning the table. I almost stopped her, but I could tell she wanted to. Instead, I followed the party to the drawing room and sat next to Mr. Ashby.
When everyone was settled, Elizabeth took out a stringed musical instrument I was unfamiliar with and played the beginning of what sounded like “Amazing Grace.” When Graham began, it was confirmed. His voice was as rich and clear as ever, but I had never heard him sing this song. He normally only sang Scottish ballads or folk songs, not hymns. It was obvious now that hymns suited his talent even more than folk songs. The melody paired with his voice sent shivers up and down my arms. It was achingly beautiful.
When he finished, his eyes went to Elizabeth. They grinned at each other and everyone clapped. I suddenly wanted to disappear. That was precisely the expression he had reserved for me in the past, that tenderness and adoration. If I was worried about their relationship before, I was completely convinced they had mutual feelings now. I would have to have a frank conversation with Elizabeth tomorrow, and preparing for it would keep me awake all night.
“It’s good to see he still sings, isn’t it?” Mr. Ashby asked me. His tone sounded forcefully light. Perhaps he had been watching Grahamand Elizabeth like me.
I couldn’t control my sigh. “Yes, it is a comfort to know that hasn’t changed.”
He looked at me then. “Will you be all right tomorrow? I can come with you if you prefer.”
“Why? Do you think I’ll do something rash?”
Smirking, he leaned into my shoulder and spoke low. “While I wouldn’t put it past you, I think you’re more tactful than that.”
“It depends on her behavior. The situation may call for less decorum than I am wont to display.” We exchanged a look, his eyes dancing with humor and a barely contained smile on my lips. I stood and went to Graham, knowing I should say something to him. I never knew when I could spark a memory in him.
“You sang beautifully, Graham. I remember many evenings spent at the castle singing together. My brother’s wife, Melody, even played the harp alongside you once. You used to sing Robert Burns’s poems so well,” I said with feeling.
“Did I?” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Would you be able to sing one for me? Perhaps that would bring something back.”
My heart lit with hope, but only for a second before I frowned. “I’m afraid my musical abilities leave much to be desired. Even if I tried singing it for you, you wouldn’t have one clue as to the actual tune.”
That elicited a smile from him. “Are ye that bad?”
I nodded, reciprocating his smile. “Truly, it’s awful.”
“Perhaps you could recite the poem instead,” Elizabeth offered at Graham’s right. Her suggestion was perfectly cordial and helpful. Yet my hackles raised slightly. It was ungracious of me, but in light of my confirmed suspicions, I felt threatened by Elizabeth. No matter how considerate she was.
“I suppose I could,” I responded despite my irritation at her reasonable suggestion. It was only half an hour ago that I’d admired the beautiful, confident woman.
Elizabeth nodded and smiled congenially. I couldn’t be sure whether she noticed my change toward her, but she seemed unaware. “Everyone, Miss Findlay will recite a poem for us.” She motioned to me to stand before the room.
“This is called ‘A Red, Red Rose’ by Robert Burns.” It was my favorite song Graham used to sing. I recited it directly to Graham,in hopes that even one word would break through the barrier he’d constructed between us.
O my Luve is like a red, red rose
That’s newly sprung in June;
O my Luve is like the melody
That’s sweetly played in tune.
So fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
