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“Oh, Mari!” Eleanor squeezed both of her hands tightly, knocking the embroidery to the floor. “Do not be discouraged. Sometimes these things take time. A couple must become accustomed to one another first before other intimacies can follow.”
“It wasn’t like that for you.” Marion wiped a tear away with the back of her hand. “Nathan wanted you from the moment he met you.”
“It is different,” Eleanor whispered. “This is not a love match, he - he may need to get comfortable showing you affection—”
“It’s not that,” Marion interrupted, shaking her head dismally. “He has kissed me, three times.”
“That is a good sign!” Eleanor said encouragingly.
“No,” Marion shook her head. “Each time he has looked at me afterwards as if he is full of sorrow and regret.”
“He could not regret your match,” Eleanor denied.
“I believe he cannot show intimacy with me because he is afraid of dishonouring his wife,” Marion whispered, ashamed of her words and the jealousy that welled up inside. “How can I compete with a lady who is dead?”
“Oh, Mari!” Eleanor hugged her friend close and Marion buried her face in Eleanor’s dark curls, breathing in the comforting, familiar scent of her.
“It is not you,” Eleanor said emphatically, pulling away and wiping away Marion’s tears with a gentle wipe of her thumb. “It is him. He must come to terms with having a new wife. You cannot compete with a dead woman and you should not have to.”
“But how can I help him come to terms?” Marion asked helplessly.
“Just be yourself,” Eleanor tucked a curl behind her ear and smiled at Marion lovingly. “Be open and honest and truthful with him.”
“I - I don’t know if I can,” Marion confessed. “What if he rejects me?”
The way my father did?a voice inside her head added.
“He will not,” Eleanor said, shaking her head. “He respects you. You respect him. You have to trust that he will be ready in time.”
“How much time?” Marion asked.
Eleanor smiled broadly, squeezing her friend’s hand tightly.
“Do not worry, my dearest. You are more than enchanting. If you can let your guard down a little, then he will be ready in no time at all.”
Chapter Eleven
Simon was thoughtful as they said goodbye to Eleanor and Nathan, standing on the steps to say farewell, watching their carriage disappear down the long drive. He considered Nathan’s words carefully.There is no shame in letting feelings grow.Could he do that? Could he honestly allow his feelings for Marion to blossom, unchecked, without any thoughts of Stella? He was unsure.
He walked back into the house, feeling the lengthening darkness of the dusk cooling the interior, making it feel a little lonely. He couldn’t help a swell of melancholy. How was it possible that he had a woman whose memory he adored, and a joyful, kind, flesh and blood wife to enjoy in the present and still feel lonely? Sighing heavily, he walked back towards his private study, intent on looking over some papers, but he passed the music room.
For a moment he felt like he had stepped back in time. Familiar tones from his childhood echoed down the hallway from the music room and he followed them like a man bewitched by a spell. As he stood by the open door, he could see Marion inside, a light frown of concentration between her dark brows as her fingers danced over the keys with all the trills and flourishes.
He closed his eyes, taken back to his childhood and the moments when, as a young boy, he would stand silently by the door like this, breath held, listening to his father play for hours and hours. The music seemed to run through his soul.
He gently pushed open the door, trying not to disturb her and walking quietly into the room. She didn’t stop playing, but she did notice him, and fixed her eyes upon his like a tiger as she moved into the slower movement of the concerto. It was clearly a piece that she knew by heart. Perhaps it meant as much to her as it did to him. Then, she stopped.
“Can I help you, My Lord?” she asked quietly, watching him carefully.
“No, please, continue,” Simon said, stopping in the centre of the room. “It is beautiful.”
She looked at him with an unreadable expression for a moment, and then nodded, setting her fingers back down on the keys. He stood beside the piano, his hand resting upon the lid and feeling the vibrations of the strings inside it, enjoying the way they travelled up his fingers and into his arm.
The stayed there together, only the flowing music between them, Simon lost in a whirlwind of past thoughts. He recalled the scent of his father’s cologne, the way he had sometimes hummed along with his playing, the soft scratch of the heel of his boot against the wooden floor. He recalled the way that sometimes, the entire small family would silently gather here to listen to his father’s playing, who would play on and on, for his small beloved audience, for hours and hours. Those were perhaps some of the happiest moments of his young life; to sit beside his mother, who smiled so beautifully as she sewed, content with her son and husband by her side, and listen to his father pour his talent out over the keys.
“Are you alright?”
Gently, Marion’s hands came to rest. Simon opened his eyes and saw she was looking up at him with some concern. Simon coughed, realising that he had been drifting far into his memory and felt a little exposed.
