If Margaret wasn’t mistaken—as she’d long been about the anomalous twinkle—Charles had become aware of the effect he now had upon her faculties, and the man was enjoying the discovery. For, by all accounts, he seemed to be flirting. With her. Quite intentionally.
Taking up the lists on the table, Margaret fanned her cheeks in a manner she hoped appeared nonchalant as she returned the papers to the village ofCranfordfor safekeeping. “Professor Quimby hasn’t cleared me for fieldwork yet, so while D.O.G.S. operatives continue surveilling our suspects, I intend to reexamine the list of stolen inventions. I’d previously suspected a correlation between the newer purloined patents, but as the investigation has kept me busy on other fronts heretofore, I’ve not had a chance to fully think the matter through. This latest crash, while by no means ideal, has afforded me time to ponder the matter further, and the thought has occurred to me that the resurgence of theft in the last year might indicate that our thief is desiring to build something.”
“Build something?”
“Indeed. What better motivation for an inventor to come out of retirement than an idea that wouldn’t leave him alone? An idea that, after three decades of inactivity, he may nolonger have the faculties to develop on his own. An idea so all-consuming that he was willing to justify theft to see it realized. If I can determine why Dawkins selected the specific devices he purloined and deduce what he’s trying to build, it might help to isolate our culprit’s true identity. Meanwhile, you should carry on with planning the gala as normal, lest you raise suspicions, and report back if you remember why the names of our victims are familiar to you.”
Mr. Noble stood, shifting on his feet, but made no move to depart. “Before I leave, there’s something of a personal nature I’ve been meaning to address with you.”
Margaret gulped. “What might that be?”
“A rather large package was delivered to my home the other day, but the odd thing is ... no one in my family can recall ordering the item. A piano.” Charles eyed her with the air of a man who’d just solved an equation. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
Margaret barely suppressed a smile. As soon as she’d been well enough to leave her room, she’d ordered the instrument in the hopes that it would encourage Charles to take up playing again. “Have you been putting it to use?”
“I have. Although my neglected skills have gotten rather rusty.” Extending a hand, Charles nodded to the piano in the bay window. “Would you care to help me practice?”
Margaret’s breath caught in her chest, fluttery and disorienting. All those years ago when she followed the piano prodigy’s career, never would she have imagined that one daytheCharles Noble featured in all the papers would ask her to join him at the keys. Now, here he stood, beckoning her with outstretched hand. Charles. Her friend. Her very handsome friend. After she’d implored him to take up music again, she couldn’t very well refuse to play at his side. Nor, if she were honest with herself, did she wish to. She accepted the invitation of Charles’ hand.
Aided by Charles most patiently, Margaret walked past her wheeled chair toward the instrument. With his free hand, he grasped the bench against the wall, drawing it in front of the keys. Unlike her wheeled chair’s retracting seat, which maintained a boundary of separation with a chair arm, the piano bench facilitated a forced proximity. Charles sat flush against her side, near enough for his trousers to crush her skirts, as they faced the keys.
Before Margaret could ask what he wished to play, Charles retrieved a book of music from the top of the piano. She tilted her head. That wasn’t one of her pieces. Had he secreted the book among her music boxes before she’d come downstairs? He placed the sheet music upon the stand.
Reverieby Debussy, arranged as a duet for the piano.
Commencing the piece, Charles filled the room with music, the grace and skill in his movements contrary to his claim of being rusty. When the sheet music dictated, Margaret joined, her chords melding with his in wondrous harmony. Their fingers danced in unison along the keys, grazing only to separate, coming together only to part. Each touch, each note, inciting a new thrill. When they’d run through the entire piece, the silence was deafening.
The tension between them thick and cloying as a warm summer’s day.
Heart palpitating, Margaret struggled to breathe. She set out to put distance between them, but the bench was too short and her knees too weak. Perhaps mentioning the formality of D.O.G.S. business would restore their former way of interaction, friendly but professional. Thus protecting the spinsterhood she was meant to defend. “I want to thank you for your help with the case, Mr. Noble. Because of your assistance, it will be brought to a close much sooner.”
Charles wove his fingers with hers, securing her hand. “Ishould like to continue being at your disposal, Lady Margaret, long after this case is closed.”
Oh no, this would not do. What he wanted ... what she was beginning to want ... it could not be. “Of course I should like for us to remain friends—”
“If I wasn’t clear enough the other night, allow me to speak plainly now.” His thumb traced along her knuckles and the inside of her wrist. “I want to court you, Maggie. I know I’m a step down for a marquess’ daughter—”
“Titles mean nothing to me.”
“Then do you not believe my feelings sincere?”
Margaret shook her head. “On the contrary. I’m fairly certain you’re incapable of insincerity.”
“Do you not return my affections?
She lowered her gaze, unable to bring herself to lie, even though it would be kinder.
“You’ve every right to refuse me, but please tell me why.”
“Because...” Margaret steadied herself, resolving to have out with the truth. “Because I’m a step down foryou, Charles. I’ll not become a millstone about your neck, holding you back, weighing you down.”
“Oh, Margaret.” His utterance of her name was a caress. “You don’t weigh people down. You lift them up. My heart has never soared so high as when I’m with you.” Charles tipped her chin gently to meet his gaze. “What if our lives intersecting at the Bolshoi Theater and then again at the patent office wasn’t a matter of chance but of providential orchestration? What if everything we’ve been through was preparing us to be together? To take care of each other? To love each other through the good days and the bad?”
That was the problem, Charles didn’t realize how bad the bad days could be. How bad they’d eventually become. “Love cannot take away pain.”
“No, it cannot. But love can ensure we don’t hurt alone.True love is long-suffering and remains steadfast when our suffering is long.”
“And what if the suffering is endless? What if it only gets worse as the years progress?” She had to make him understand what a future with her would entail. “The doctors said I could wind up bedridden. I could lose my limited mobility and become completely dependent on my wheeled chair. The doctors said because of where and how the steel-tipped loom shattered on impact, I will likely never have children. That is the cost of a future with me, Charles. Have you truly counted it? Because I have, and it’s not a cost I would ever wish you to pay.”
