P.S. I Love You Page 11

  Simon nodded curtly, obviously still uncomfortable with someone knowing his secret. Cora had hoped that he was confident enough in her to know she had considered this before extending the invitation. He was still sitting on the bench so that was something.

  Cora’s left hand hovered above the ivories with her right above the ebonies. There was no easing into this piece—she would strike the keys quickly again and again with triplets on her right and a staccato beat with her left. She’d been this nervous to perform a piece of music before—many times before—and pushed the feeling down. The opening notes rang through the room, and she saw Simon's head gradually lean forward. He also turned his head slightly away from her, his right ear toward the keyboard.

  The notes at the beginning played along the higher register. The rhythmic, almost prancing cadence of the left hand was much lower, especially toward the end of the short piece.

  She noticed Simon lean forward more as the song continued until his forehead was nearly to the backboard, his eyes closed in concentration. When she finished the piece, she turned to him. Leaning close, she asked, “What could you hear?”

  Simon motioned to the notes left of middle C. “These I hear clearly.” He motioned to the middle of the keyboard. “These are muted.” And when he pointed to the farthest right, the highest notes, he said, “I don't believe … I can’t … I … barely hear those … at all.” His eyes closed again, this time in resignation.

  Cora recognized the longing in his voice, the desire to hear what once was his and was now denied him. She reached up to touch his cheek. His eyes snapped open, and his hand covered hers.

  “Simon, I have a challenge for you.” She stood from the bench, her hand slipping from his, and walked to a simple oak chair near the window and lifted it. Immediately, Simon was next to her, taking the chair into his hands. “Please set the chair next to the piano.” She walked back and pointed to the floor. She hoped she didn’t sound as wooden as she felt. Combining her fear to perform with playing for someone she cared for deeply made her stiff. “Here. This chair is for you.” After Simon sat, Cora asked, “May I position your head?”

  He nodded, and Cora, placing one hand on each side of his face, guided it to lean against the piano case. His eyes widened, but he allowed her to move him to the location she’d determined.

  She liked the feel of his skin under hers. “Please rest your jaw here.” She tapped one finger against the piano case. “The soundboard connects here and amplifies the vibration.” She had one hand still on his face, reluctant to move it. This alone calmed her.

  When she stepped back toward the bench, Simon raised his head. Cora commented, “I’d like to play the song again, but you have to promise that your jaw will not leave the casing until I’m finished.”

  “I agree,” he answered, but there was questioning in his eyes. And his jaw had already left the wood.

  “Please … ” Cora’s finger motioned him to place his jaw back against the case. “I hope you’ll be able to hear the higher notes better.”

  The moment she began the fluttering melody of Chopin’s “Black Key Etude,” Simon's eyes widened with a bit of a startle, but she kept playing, and he stayed rigidly in position with an ever-widening smile on his face.

  Deep emotions of excitement and gratitude swelled in her chest—it was working. When his eyes closed, she knew this was a profound experience for him. Near the end, one tear escaped his eye and rolled past his cheek before he swiped it away.

  Cora’s hands rested on the keys as the final notes faded. Her consciousness slowly expanded beyond the meter and notes, beyond the vibration that had engulfed her. The world that had faded behind the melody and beyond where she sat with Simon became sharper and real again. Had he felt it? How music lifts you to another place?

  A complete minute of silence passed between them. Cora could see Simon taking a deep breath and wondered if he needed a moment to collect his emotions. His voice was soft and somewhat broken when he asked, “Would you play it again—once more?”

  Cora welcomed the chance to weave a cocoon around them. She leaned across the corner of the keyboard and laid her hand on top of Simon’s. “I will play it for you as many times as you wish.” She could barely whisper as her voice cracked on the simple words too.

  Simon resettled against the piano as the opening notes rang out. After it was completed, Cora played another piece she knew by heart and watched the joy apparent on Simon’s face, the unshed tears in his eyes. She would not have been able to see the music sheets since her own eyes were also filling with tears. She didn’t want to stop, so she pulled music in front of her, wiped the tears away, and played three more songs.

  When the last vibration ended Simon’s gaze moved to hers. He stood from his chair, and Cora stood from the bench. A smile creased Simon's face. “I have never had such a gift. Thank you, Cora.”

  It seemed the right thing to do—Cora’s arms ached to hold him and share the happiness they both felt. She stepped to him and wrapped her arms around him. His arms likewise circled her. Her cheek pressed to his chest, and she felt his arms tighten.

  Her hands were beneath his coat and pressing against his back. His pulse raced under her cheek. One of his arms held her closely while his other hand lightly caressed the side of her face, her ear, her neck.

  “Cora,” he whispered.

  Her body reacted to the one word with a blast of tingles. She found it difficult to breathe, not because of his hold but because of his touch. She had only imagined how it would feel, and now, the reality of it was like a dream.

  When she looked at him, he placed one finger beneath her chin, lifting it slowly. His lips touched hers, not yet a kiss, just a touch, but she wanted more. She sighed. Her hands slipped around his neck, and he lifted her closer as she rose to her tiptoes to press her mouth firmly against his and threw herself into kissing him. His obvious passion matched her own. They kissed until they were both breathing heavily and looking flushed.

  Simon leaned away and looked into Cora’s face. A smile grew. He pulled her in for a hug, giving her comfort and acceptance.

  Cora relaxed in his arms and realized that the phobia of playing for someone was completely absent after the beginning moments of this recital. Choosing to give music to another person must counteract the phobia—that or the recent lip therapy completely erased any memory of it.

  The door to the music room flew open. “Who was playing—ack! Your Grace?” Lady Radnor’s smile soured as she stood in the doorway, gaping at Simon and Cora, who both jumped back immediately. “Misalliance, that’s what this is. Oh, the shame. You were—”

  Cora cut her off before she could finish. “You must be mistaken. I was simply leaving.” She nodded to Simon and brushed past Lady Radnor as she left.

  Everett was jogging toward her with a scone in his hand before she reached the staircase. “I only left the door for a minute.”

  All she said in passing was, “Nothing happened.” She continued up the stairs to her room and closed the door behind her, then sat heavily on the side of the bed. Had she changed his life? Damaged his reputation?

  Cora debated missing afternoon tea but knew her absence would be akin to an admission of guilt or a license to gossip. At the appointed hour, she put on a smile and walked into the parlor. May greeted her at the door and led her to a seat to the right of her mother.

  “How was your day, Cora?” Lady Cottrell asked, handing her a teacup.

  “I practiced piano for most of the time, so it was wonderful.” Cora noticed Bethany’s eyes sparkle with curiosity at the reply. Instead of questioning her, Lady Cottrell nodded and nibbled on the cookie in her hand.

  Cora heard Lady Radnor harrumph. Maybe she was hoping for public humiliation or at least an interrogation. Cora continued the dull conversation she had witnessed so often at these teas.

  When everyone left to prepare for the evening, Cora hung back and approached Bethany and May. “I need to let you know what happe
ned this afternoon.”

  “I heard a bit from my lady’s maid, but I’d love to hear the whole story,” Bethany said as she closed the door.

  The women sat together on the large davenport by the windows, and Cora told them about the private concert and the moment Lady Radnor entered. “I’m sorry if this causes problems. Will this reflect poorly on Simon or either of you?”

  “No. Our status is above such a thing causing any social bruise. It might for you if you cared about society’s censure,” Bethany assured her.

  A knock on the door ended the conversation. “Mr. Everett Hawley, my lady,” the butler announced.

  Everett entered and greeted the women. “I know I’m interrupting, but I have a question for Cora.”

  Lady Cottrell began walking toward the door. “I’ve promised to find Lord Cottrell.”

  “Would you care to take a walk?” he asked Cora and May.

  Both women rose and followed him.

  Everett, Cora, and May walked down the stairs to the gravel drive surrounding the park in front of the house. Along the tree line was a bench where the three sat.

  Everett lowered his voice. “I was hoping to talk with you about what happened earlier—with Simon.”

  Cora nodded slowly. This was an odd request, and she didn’t understand why Everett would make it. Perhaps it wasn’t, though. Everett was Simon’s wingman. He’d made a commitment to protect his friend, and he was continuing that duty. “And?” she asked.

  He looked down at his hands and folded them in front of him. “And I need to be assured that your waltz before the midnight supper wouldn’t be available for Simon.” He looked her in the eye. “May I request the supper dance?”

  He was an amazing friend. It was true that Cora had no use for the rules of this time period. In her mind, it was impossible for her to be ruined. Everett was acting to preserve Simon’s reputation—not to be labeled as someone who would ruin a woman or use her badly. A soft understanding glanced through her thoughts.

  She yearned to spare Simon any humiliation from society as well. She nodded in acceptance. “What do you suggest I do?”

  Everett squared his shoulders. “If you would accept only one dance from Simon, and preferably a country dance, it would go a long way to silencing the rumors Lady Radnor is whispering about.”

  “Of course.” Cora stood and was followed by May and Everett. “Thank you. I’m looking forward to this evening.”

  May linked her arm with Cora’s. “We should leave to get ready.”

  Having been bathed, dressed, coiffed, and dressed some more, Cora was pronounced acceptable to be seen by genteel company after the two-hour ordeal.

  The ball was the final day of Lord and Lady Cottrell’s house party, and the guests would go their separate ways tomorrow. Cora and May had accepted the invitation to travel to Everett’s home for a week before returning to Aunt Nellie’s. A little bundle of sadness settled into Cora’s chest. She knew it wasn’t waiting to go back to her own time that caused the sorrow but because she would be leaving—Simon specifically. She wanted to make the most of the time she had left. She would only give him one dance as she’d promised Everett, but she could spend time with him without dancing.

  The ball began shortly after a dinner with the houseguests. That had been two hours ago, and Cora had yet to see Simon. More people arrived every minute, none of them Simon. Wetheridge had already claimed one dance from May and Cora, but continued to hover around them. Most of the other men Cora had met during her stay had already danced with her as well. May continued to introduce Cora to new gentlemen as they arrived. They filled her dance card, leaving her with no time to stand along the wall. She had little time to miss Simon, but she did.

  A waltz began playing signaling the midnight supper was next. Wetheridge appeared in front of Cora, and extended his hand confidently, “May I have this dance?”

  “No … ” was all she was able to say before Everett appeared with his arm extended. “I believe this is my dance, Miss Rey,” he said, and then turned toward Wetheridge. “Sorry, cousin.”

  Cora accepted Everett’s arm, leaving Wetheridge red-faced. She saw Simon out of the corner of her vision escorting Lucy to the dance floor. A quick thrill shot through her. Evening clothes accentuated every feature of the man, heightening her appreciation. He didn’t dress in extreme fashions or colors, but his traditional masculinity radiated from him like a pheromone.

  “From the look on your face, I suppose you’ve noticed Simon’s arrival.” Everett turned her into dance position as the music started. As he leaned into the first step he said, “His mother and sisters stopped by on their way back from Bath to London and decided at the last minute to attend this ball.”

  “His family is here?” Cora’s head swung to look around the room, but she realized she wouldn’t recognize them anyway. “Who are they?”

  Everett turned her and replied. “Over my left shoulder. The older woman in green is the dowager duchess of Hertfordshire. Simon’s sisters are on either side of her.

  “I had no idea they were coming. Simon didn’t say a thing.”

  “He had no idea, either, until he received a note from his mother accusing him of accosting an American and shaming his family.” Everett leaned back and looked in Cora’s eyes. “He asked me to tell you that he will only offer you one dance this evening. Simon is in a tough spot and doesn’t want you to be as well.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Then Cora quickly added, “Not for the private recital but for not realizing the full impact the situation would have on him.”

  “I know Simon doesn’t regret the concert or your company.” Everett had taken a breath as if he had more to say, but instead, his mouth snapped shut and his eyes swept away from her.

  “What are you not telling me?”

  Everett seemed to debate momentarily and then spoke carefully. “Simon had a childhood that left him vulnerable. He was treated with indifference, if he was noticed at all. Most times when we took a break from school, he would come to my home instead of his own, and his parents preferred that.”

  Cora remembered the lonely tone on occasions when Simon wrote or spoke about his family.

  “He has a tender heart, though. They couldn’t take that from him. For all he’s been through, he guards it and rarely reveals it.” Everett deftly sidestepped another couple on the floor. “You, however, have pierced his armor. It’s as if he can’t hide himself from you.”

  Cora vacillated between hope and despair at what she was hearing. She had only hoped that if she were ever to marry, it would be to someone who loved her as wholly as her parents had loved each other. That same hope was tarnished with a thick edge of gloom. Simon lived in a different century, literally dying before she was born. Her heart twisted, and she had to blink back tears that crested around her lids.

  The song was nearly over. As the closing notes rang out, Everett gave a small bow and motioned them to move toward the supper prepared in the grand salon next door. He cleared his throat from strong emotion.

  Cora was so glad Simon had such a friend.

  He continued his tale. “Simon has never let himself dream that he could be loved for himself or have an affectionate wife and family of his own. He doesn’t think himself worthy. He hoped that his wealth or title would attract a woman who would help him fulfill his duty and not cuckold him before giving him an heir. You said that you came here to find a husband. If love is your aim for a marriage partner, I’ll give my blessing to your union with Simon should it come to that. If a love match isn’t something you can give him, please don’t include him in your hunt.”

  His blunt words seemed to bounce around in Cora’s chest and soured her stomach. She would be gone in a couple of weeks. The closer she became to Simon, the more the separation would hurt them both. “Thank you, Everett.” Cora could barely push the words past the lump in her throat. “I understand.”

  After seating Cora, Everett left to retrieve plates for them. She s
at, head bent in contemplation. Did she see love in Simon? She had to admit that there were tailings of love sprinkled all through their interactions. Cora admired his determination to move forward in his life though she thought it might take incredible force and courage. She appreciated his intelligence and his loyalty. If it wasn’t love yet, it could easily become so.

  Simon seated Lucy in the chair next to where Everett would be, making Simon three seats to the right of Cora. May took a seat near Cora before Lord Saalfeld left with Simon.

  “Are you all right?” May leaned across the chair between them and pressed her hand to Cora’s shoulder. “Sorry, but you look terrible.”

  “It’s nothing a little rest won’t cure.” Cora forced a weak smile. She noticed May looking at her, then at Simon and back again. “We’ll talk later,” Cora added.

  The other gentlemen arrived with dinner plates, allowing Cora to turn her attention elsewhere. She wasn’t hungry. She pushed the food around her plate to approximate eating and was happy that she wasn’t required to hold a conversation. Everett had turned to Lucy, and May conversed with Lord Saalfeld. She didn’t see any movement from where Simon sat, but she didn’t really look that way, either.

  At the end of the meal, Cora looked at May, who mouthed the word “Surprise,” as Lord Saalfeld lifted his glass toward Cora and spoke to those seated at the table. “Miss Cottrell tells me it is Miss Rey’s birthday.” The other guests raised their glasses as well. “To your health,” he said, tipping his glass toward her, followed by the same wish from the others around the table.

  Except from Simon. Cora’s ears were attuned to his voice, a clear timbre through the muffled words around her. “To your happiness.”

  “Thank you for the wishes.” Simon’s toast wasn’t so easy to dismiss. It made her wonder what would cause her happiness. She believed happiness was a choice. She’d had some big disappointments and sorrows in her life, and she chose to look for the good that came from them. Although her parents were taken from her too early, her mother much too early, she had memories and gifts from each of them that gave her joy.