Page 139 of Four Promises to Love

“I don’t know why Grantley insisted on keeping the performer a secret,” Ethan grumbled as he and Xenia took their seats at the front of the box. “He might have consulted me. I cannot claim to be an expert in many matters, but the piano is one of them.”

“Do try to relax, darling, and enjoy the show,” Xenia said.

“That is my point. I shan’t be able to relax if the performer is not up to snuff. I’d rather take a bullet to the head than hear a piano badly played.”

Seated in the row behind, Owen felt his heart plunge to his polished shoes.

“Is that preemptive complaining from Ethan I hear?”

Gigi popped into the box on Grantley’s arm.

“It is what your brother does best,” her husband drawled.

“Very amusing,” Ethan retorted. “We shall see who is laughing when your patrons demand a refund for a second-rate performance.”

“Since I offered the tickets for free to draw a crowd, they can grumble all they want.” After taking his seat, Grantley twisted around, saying to Owen in an undertone, “The guests are not going to complain, are they? My reputation is riding on this. That mysterious virtuoso of yours better be worth his salt.”

Owen gulped, but it was too late. Mama and Papa arrived to claim the remaining seats, and the lights dimmed. As the curtain rippled, the crowd held its collective breath. Owen wondered wildly if this might be a nightmare. He hadn’t had any since Finn started sleeping by his side. He was probably due⁠—

“Darling.” Finn took his face in her hands. “Breathe.”

The love in her eyes calmed him.

Then the first notes of the piano floated into the theatre.

It had been the virtuoso’s idea to start the performance with the curtain drawn. He’d wanted the focus to be on the sonata, which he’d deemed a masterpiece. But Owen didn’t know the first thing about music, and his heart climbed steadily toward his throat as the gentle notes hovered in the air like a question. It sounded lovely to him—but what did he know? He risked a glance at Ethan.

“Holy Mother of God.” Ethan bolted upright. “That’s my sonata.”

Owen braced himself for an outburst.

Yet Ethan fell silent, his gaze transfixed upon the wall of crimson velvet as the music changed. The quiet, searching notes took on a different quality. They gathered momentum, and lyric tenderness built into passionate intensity. Music filled the auditorium, so grandly it seemed impossible that it could have come from a single instrument. Phrase after phrase fell, some like spring rain, others like a winter storm, enthralling the audience.

“A true maestro,” Ethan whispered in awe. “It couldn’t be him.”

Only then did Owen release a breath.

The sonata continued to weave its magic. It shook the crowd with thunderous passages that reached every corner of the hall; it made them weep with moments of quiet, aching beauty. Owen felt the notes in his chest, his teeth, the sudden sting behind his eyes. Finn gripped his hand, nodding at Ethan.

Even in profile, Ethan’s expression was rapt, tracks of moisture on his cheeks.

When the last triumphant note was played, the audience surged to their feet, and Ethan was amongst them. The applause went on and on, calls of “Bravo!” shaking the rafters. Finally, the curtains parted, and the virtuoso came forward to take his bow.

“Bloody hell, it is Liszt,” Ethan shouted over the cheers. “How did you arrange this, Grantley?”

“Don’t look at me,” Grantley said with a grin. “This was Owen’s doing.”

Ethan turned around, and his startled joy filled Owen with relief.

“How did you…?”

“Liszt was the guest staying at Thymehill.” Owen smiled crookedly. “He liked the roses I planted.”

Ethan shook his head. “Lad, I don’t know how to⁠—”

“Please don’t.” His voice hitched. “It was my honor. Being your brother is my honor.”

Ethan’s gaze glistened. He laid a hand on Owen’s shoulder, and his squeeze conveyed everything that needed to be said.