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“Well, do not forget the other reason we are here,” said Fredrick eventually, grinning. “I want to try to find a wife, remember? And towards that end, do not forget the ball we are going to this Saturday, will you? We cannot rush out of town before then, even if you do find a buyer for the property. A man must make the most of any opportunity that presents itself.”
Joseph sighed heavily. “We shall go to the ball and try to find you a nice lady, Knightley. Never fear.”
They kept walking without speaking any further. Joseph felt like he had a heavy stone sitting in his chest. It was true – the sooner he could find a buyer for Bartok House and leave Somerset, the better. The spectres of the past were rearing up, clamouring for attention, and he didn’t know how much longer he could resist them.
***
When Joseph and Fredrick reached Bartok House, they went their separate ways before dinner. Fredrick yawned, climbing the staircase to his chamber, claiming he would have a nap, saying the country air and all the walking were invigorating but tiring.
Joseph lingered downstairs. He didn’t feel like resting. He was filled with a restless energy that he didn’t quite understand. He decided to walk through the entire property, taking inventory, so that he was familiar with every nook and cranny and could speak confidently about it to a potential buyer.
First, he spoke to the caretaker, taking careful note of any issues that needed addressing. Apparently, a section of the roof in the attic was leaking. Two chambers were infested with a damp mould, which kept returning, no matter how much it was scrubbed. But other than that, there was nothing major. He was confident the house could be sold for a very good price. It was, after all, the grandest house in the district.
After the caretaker left him, he toured the manor, going into every room. But when he entered the drawing room and saw the pianoforte, he stopped, his heart beating hard.
That was where he had noticed Marianne for the very first time. She had been playing the instrument so beautifully that it almost broke his heart.
He walked to the instrument, brushing a hand over it. It was probably out of tune. No one had played it for years. He resolved to get a piano tuner in immediately. A potential buyer might want to buy the property furnished, and everything needed to be in working order.
A rush of feeling swept over him. It had been one of his father’s evening soirees, where many of the local gentry had been invited. Many ladies had performed that evening. But it was the first of them, settling at the instrument, confidently spreading her hands over the keys, who he remembered and no other.
A hush had settled over the room as soon as she had begun to play. Joseph had stopped talking mid-sentence, entranced by the playing. He had turned, watching the lady as her hands flew over the keys. Beethoven’sMoonlight Sonata. Even now, whenever he heard it, he was transported back to that evening long ago.
She was beautiful, her fingers long and delicate on the keys, her back ramrod straight, and her face etched in concentration as she played. A heart-shaped face and a golden complexion, with rosy cheeks.
A tumble of honey gold curls fell down the back of her neck and around her face. Her eyes had been lowered, watching the keys, but as she finished playing, she glanced up, looking straight at him. Her eyes were the palest shade of green he had ever beheld, framed by golden lashes.
“Who is she?” he whispered, spellbound, to the gentleman standing next to him.
“Miss Marianne Windham, My Lord,” the man had replied. “The only daughter of Mr Arthur Windham, a local gentleman. She is very well known in the district for her exceptional talent on the pianoforte. And her beauty, of course.”
Joseph had nodded absently, turning back to watch the angel who created such magic through her fingers. The man wasn’t exaggerating – her talent truly was exceptional. As was her beauty.
And at that moment, he had been smitten, as if struck by lightning …
Joseph sat down at the instrument, staring at the keys, feeling such bittersweet sorrow that he could hardly bear it. The sound of music had not been heard in this drawing room for years. Until yesterday, the instrument had been covered. No one had played it in a very long time.
I should give it to her, he thought suddenly.I should send it to her home. It belongs to her. For who else could ever play it so well?
But as soon as the impulsive thought entered his head, he pushed it away. Somehow, he knew it wouldn’t make Marianne happy. She would reject the gift, not wanting anything from him. No reminder of the past.
He stood up, leaving the room. His heart was heavy again. Everywhere he went in this house, it reminded him of her, just like the whole town did. It was so overwhelming that he had to suppress the urge to tell the servants to start packing his trunks and prepare the carriage for an immediate return to London.
He knew nothing was stopping him. Fredrick might be a bit put out, having his heart set upon this ball and finding a country wife, but he would get over it. The solicitor could be his agent in selling the house. Nothing was insurmountable, after all.
His hands clenched into fists at his side. He just couldn’t do it. Not yet, at any rate.
He walked out of the house into the gardens. Bartok House was perched high on a hill, on the very outskirt of Acton-on-Rye. From this vantage point, he could see the whole town spread before him. He could see the roof of her house. Or her parents’ house. He simply didn’t know if she had married and moved to another, did he? He knew nothing about her life anymore. They were as strangers to one another.
But she had once been closer to him than anyone on this earth.
His eyes filled with useless tears again. If only he could go back in time and change it all. He knew he wouldn’t make the same mistakes again. He was a different man now to the one he had been then. He was approaching thirty now and was assuming the responsibility of the earldom. He was no longer the impressionable young man who would never dream of standing up to his father.
But it was all too late now. He knew it. Wallowing in the past was dangerous. He needed to leave Somerset behind forever.
