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They laughed, and he was grateful for the tension that released. She hadn’t even seemed surprised by his admission, and he said so.
Molly raised her chin pertly. “I may be a spinster of nearly thirty-nine years, but a fool, I am not. I’ll have you know that I, too, had my own rakish ruses. I tarried in the music room with you when I certainly had tasks awaiting elsewhere. Dusting this room wasn’t even among my duties!”
“Molly Hawkins, rake with a dusting rag!”
Now they both laughed.
“Even so, Frederick, would we not enjoy each other’s company? Perhaps for you it’s not strictly necessary, but Icannotfritter away my days with idle hands. Not only is it not in my nature, I fear for my spirits. I’m meant to stay busy, I am.”
Nodding, he recognized the truth in that. They would both be wise to devise a plan for how she could spend her married days. He himself understood very well the importance to his spirits of being occupied and productive.
“We haven’t a need for the coin, but there are other shops near mine that seek assistants. The milliner’s or perhaps…”
But Molly was shaking her head. “Who will tolerate my”—she lifted her hands meaningfully, one tapping the other three times—“the way this household has? The way you do?”
A valid question, he thought. Could he find a way to include her in his appointments?
Undoubtedly and unreservedly, Frederick looked upon his visits to Clara Robertson’s music room only with fondness. From the very first visit when he spied Molly, he’d known an unusual and overpowering desire to earn her approval and affection.
He didn’t wish for Molly to know just how rare his tolerance for her interference with his tuning was. Never would he wish for her to look back at the appointments and feel foolish or tricked.
He wasn’t gregarious like his beloved brother Martin, nor as lax as dear Walter in his work habits. There were many reasons Frederick worked alone as the sole proprietor of Vogel Piano.
The strain of working with others took a toll, resulting in more megrims. More people in his day meant more noise, more nuisance.
Of course, Molly wasn’t just any person…
But it had taken considerable patience not to object when, during his very first visit, Molly had moved—moved!—his satchel. He’d set it down and during his explanation to Lady Clara about his methods, the fretful, beautiful maid had stared at his satchel as if it were a snake coiling at her feet.
At every other home or establishment he visited, he placed his satchel on the floor near the front leg of the piano on the side where the lid opened and situated it at a specific angle.
Molly had moved it a foot and rotated it.
The glory of being owner and operator of Vogel piano—and an in-demand tuner at that—meant that Frederick need tolerate no interference with his methods. He sought his customers’ honest opinions about his results; indeed, he took pride in achieving the highest quality outcomes for the instruments he tuned.
But to allow someone to handle his tools, to dictate where he placed his satchel…that had been unthinkable until he encountered Molly Hawkins.
He’d recognized the look of satisfaction and relief after she moved his bag. She’dneededto do it, and so he’d let her.
When he’d asked for her assistance by handing tools to him, he sacrificed yet again, trading away more control over his methods for interactions with the reserved woman.
It had all been worth it, yet it came at no small cost.
When Molly handed him a wrench or small hammer, yes, he gloried in their interchange, in her attention on him.
But the angle at which she passed it, and the weight with which she pressed it into his palm…
How could I stand that every day, all day?
And her humming!
He was charmed by how at ease around him she’d become, and her humming and singing were objectively lovely and in tune.
They were simply out of place in the context of the task at hand, a tremendous and painful distraction as he tried to become one with the piano.
No. No, Molly joining him on tuning appointments was simply not feasible.
“I’m afraid,” he explained gently, “that I am not suited to anything but working alone. I have great respect for you, as I did for my employers when I apprenticed. My father, then Herr Kraus in Leipzig. But I counted the years, then months, then days, then hours until I was free.”
