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Chapter Four
Frederick had awaited this next visit to the Robertson household with great anticipation, scarcely sleeping the night before. Standing on the portico waiting for admittance, he feared that the passions were proving too much for his nerves.
The wide leather strap of his heavy tool satchel—the special one he carried for repair work—pulled on his shoulder and neck. Ordinarily, its weight was unnoticeable; today, it tugged.
His trade required considerable concentration, yet now, balancing the items he carried overtaxed his mind and body. Besides the two bags, one on his shoulder and the other in the opposite hand, he cradled a bouquet in the space between his body and elbow, a position requiring constant tension in his arm.
As the door opened, Frederick welcomed the brisk breeze that brought a few seconds of relief to the clammy skin above his collar. He closed his eyes, praying he could make it through this appointment—the one he’d spent fifteen days dreaming of, planning.
“Good afternoon,” he greeted the butler. Setting down his bags for a moment brought significant relief, as did the removal of his top hat, which had seemed thrice its usual weight on his skull.
He was aware of Molly in his peripheral vision, blurrier than usual. He wondered whether she’d noticed the flowers, which he’d spent two hours selecting this morning, and hoped they pleased her.
After handing off his hat, he forced himself to pick up his bags again before permitting his gaze to settle upon the remarkable woman in the foyer.
“Good afternoon, Molly.”
The air crackled between them at the utterance of her name, so intimate it felt almost forbidden. Her warm reception reassured him.Mein Gott, how he’d lived these past years for these moments of favor, however reserved. She was so proper in her every reaction and duty, making it even more rewarding to glimpse her approval shining through like that first ray of sunshine that brought dawn.
Molly held her hands in front of her waist, her apron crisp and white against her dark skirts. It was subtle as always, but one hand lightly squeezed the other three times before she replied. “Good afternoon, Frederick.”
The smile curving her lips was timid, but her eyes were unreservedly warm. They’d entered a new era!
His heart pounded faster. Unfortunately, that caused the dull pain in his head to throb, radiating sickeningly with each beat.
Not today, he pleaded to the universe.
Molly’s gaze dropped to the bunch of asters in the crook of his arm. “I hope you don’t mind me taking the liberty.” When she only stared at him, he encouraged her. “They’re for you.”
“For me?” Her willowy form moved slowly his way, delight on her face.
With care, she withdrew the bunch of purple flowers with yellow centers from the crook of his elbow, the stems brushing his body. She brought the bouquet to her bosom, and he envied it.
“Asters. How did you know they were my favorite?”
One side of his mouth lifted. “I didn’t. The offerings in the markets are scant now with summer gone. I visited two markets, selecting the prettiest I could find, hoping they would do you justice.”
Her hands tightened around the stems, her gaze dropping to the deep violet petals. “Oh! I thank you. Asters truly are my favorite whatever the season.”
Despite the gratification her words brought, he blinked, intrigued by her preference. From spring to summer, a profusion of flowers graced the markets, from sweet pastels to bright and cheery. “Why do you favor them so?”
“Some might think the aster plain—a poor cousin of the daisy, its leaves and petals spindly in comparison. But they’re hardier than one would expect from their appearance. Blooming now they are, when the more fragile aren’t. They withstand the elements, the cold, and bring such cheer.”
“Ah,” he breathed, understanding. “It takes little inspiration for a person to favor the rose. It takes an uncommonly keen eye to love the aster. You’re remarkable, Molly.”
Her brow wrinkled with disbelief, but after studying his face, assessing his sincerity, a small smile grew until it lit her face. “It takes an uncommonly keen eye to see that in me.”
After pondering that, Frederick risked the pain of shrugging under the heavy satchel. “For all my expertise in tuning pianos, I have spent my own life out of tune with the rest of the world. What others see easily, I do not. Opinions widely held by others don’t particularly interest me.” He glanced at the asters, then back up to her face, far prettier than any flower. “Could it be that not being in harmony with everyone else is sometimes a gift, not always a curse?”
Her eyes widened. “How so?” she whispered.
A bright spot suddenly appeared in the center of his vision and the edges darkened, as if he’d stared too long at the sun.Speaking of curses! Frantically, he wondered if it was best to depart now—before he made a fool of himself.
I won’t let this ruin today, he thought stubbornly. Not only did he wish to spend this time with Molly, he’d long promised Lady Clara that today would be the start of her piano renovation.
“Frederick?”
Molly’s concerned voice pulled him from his increasingly foggy thoughts. “Sorry. Please show me to the music room.”
