“My father was patient with me, too, when I was younger. He would sit for hours, guiding my hands as I struggled to master even the simplest compositions.” His voice carried an uncommon gentleness, his usual bravado absent.
The pain, though subdued, lingered in the quiet depths of their reflections—present enough for Blanche to gather the courage to ask, softly, hesitantly:
“When… when did it happen?”
Heath exhaled, the weight of memory settling into his features.
“Christmas night. It was the coldest night of the year?—”
Blanche watched him carefully, noting the way his posture stiffened, the way his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
“Percy was there. He tried to keep me distracted, but…” Heath shook his head slightly, exhaling sharply. “It was the first time I realized that solitude would be a far greater companion than I had ever expected.”
Blanche’s fingers twitched slightly against the piano, her pulse threading with something too complex to name. She did not offer sympathy—not the hollow kind, nor the useless pleasantries people threw around in moments like these. Instead, she spoke only the truth.
“It does not have to be.” Heath’s gaze flickered to her then, unreadable, assessing.
For a fleeting moment, something crossed his expression—something uncertain, something that might have been hope, if he dared entertain the thought.
But he did not reply.
Instead, he only exhaled slowly, his fingers curling absently over the keys before settling over hers again, pressing down, drawing forth another quiet note.
Blanche let the sound linger between them, her touch light against the ivory keys. A quiet warmth had settled in the air,delicate but undeniable, woven into the intimacy of their shared confessions.
“My childhood was somewhat different,” she admitted, a faint, thoughtful smile touching her lips. “Sweet, though perhaps not adorned with the same tender gestures as the ones you describe.”
“What was it like for you?” Heath asked, his voice gentle, inviting her to continue.
She exhaled, shifting her gaze toward him. “My mother, for example. She always said Fanny was the true jewel of the family.”
Heath hummed, tilting his head slightly. “And what of you?”
Blanche huffed a quiet laugh. “I was tolerated, I believe. But my father… he understood me, or at least, he did not attempt to shape me into someone I was not. He let me be. He bought me books, encouraged my curiosities. In a way, I think he knew I would never be as polished as Fanny, but he never seemed to mind.”
Heath watched her carefully, an unreadable softness flickering behind his gaze.“Sounds like a man with sense.”
She smirked, shaking her head. “He is. He used to take us to Richmond Park when we were children. It was always an event—planned meticulously, filled with stories and laughter.”
Heath chuckled, leaning back slightly. “Richmond is quite far from London. I find Hyde Park more intriguing, especially when you are there.”
Blanche paused, narrowing her eyes in mock suspicion. “What are you implying, exactly?”
Heath smirked, the gleam of mischief returning to his features. “Only that I recall a particular walk with you there, not too long ago. You were rather captivated that day, if memory serves.”
Blanche scoffed, but the warmth blooming on her cheeks betrayed her. “I believe that was merely the result of excellent scenery.”
“Ah,” Heath mused, resting his chin against his hand. “I see. So it was the trees, and not my company, that left such an impression on you?”
Blanche rolled her eyes, though her lips twitched at the edges. “You are insufferable.”
Heath exhaled a chuckle, letting the teasing linger a moment longer before his expression shifted—subtle, measured.
“And your father?” His voice was quieter now, his tone less playful, more careful. “You have not heard from him?” The warmth in the air dulled slightly, the atmosphere faltering.
Blanche’s fingers curled over the piano, her gaze drifting downward. “No. But he will return. I know it.”
Heath hesitated. He did not contradict her, but neither did he agree. Instead, his silence pressed into the space between them, heavy, unspoken, and Blanche felt it.
