Chapter 24
After dinner in her room, Isabella made her way down to the library with no expectation that Elliot would be there. He had been kind and friendly and had even agreed to walk back towards the house with her, albeit that he had been determined to stand so that only the left side of his face showed.
But she knew what such encounters took out of him, a man who had been left alone with his own emotions for such a very long time, and she had thought that he would very likely choose to spend the evening alone to fortify himself.
She did not blame him and did not mind, thinking that he would perhaps contemplate the things they had spoken of and come to some conclusion. After all, he had done just that with the doll and had, in the end, taken the doll as a keepsake and laid it on a chair in his own room. Perhaps this time alone was much-needed, and she was fully determined not to be disappointed by his absence.
However, she had just finished lighting the candles when she heard him come into the room.
“I have bought my violin with me, once again, and hope you are keen to play this evening.” He walked over to the fireplace and set his violin on his armchair whilst he took a poker and prodded at the weakening flames. “I had the fire lit a little early this evening, and it seems to be dying out already. Carry on without me, I will just put some extra wood on this and see if I can get it going again.”
“As you wish,” she said with a laugh. “Or I could ring the bell and have somebody come and remake the fire if you would prefer it?”
“No, I am quite capable.” He laughed too, and she thought him such an unusual character in more ways than one.
As a man who had been born to be a Duke, it seemed such an unlikely thing that he was prepared to kneel in front of the fire and throw on logs in an attempt to revive it. There was something about the whole thing which made her like him all the more.
Her own father, an Earl and a much more minor person in terms of title, would not have pulled on his own boots, never mind put a fire to rights. But that was only one of many great differences between Elliot Covington and the Earl of Upperton, she knew that much.
“Then I shall start with something by Haydn again if you have no objection,” she said, taking her favourite piece of sheet music from the piano seat.
“No objection at all,” he said and carried on raking over the fire grate.
“I must admit, I find it quite soothing to be able to play something I have come to know by heart. I have played it so often since you bought me this beautiful piano that I hardly need to refer to the music anymore. Something about that gives me a sense of comfort, of safety. And it also gives me a little confidence, I think.”
“You play very well indeed, Isabella, and you ought to have confidence. After all, you have not played for a number of years, and in a matter of days, you have mastered it again. I think you are a very fine musician.”
“I should like to be able to compose my own melodies, just as you do. I even thought about trying it, but I sat here and sat here, and nothing would come to mind. And then I spent an inordinate amount of time wondering quite where it is such inspiration comes from, and then I was diverted again, not even thinking of a melody, but thinking of the mechanics of developing one. That is hardly artistic or creative, is it?”
“I suppose that melodies are not something that you suddenly decide to create,” he spoke thoughtfully, even though he had laughed heartily at her admission. “I think it is something that just comes to mind when you least expect it. You probably hum little tunes that you do not know and never heard before all the time. That is composing, is it not?”
“Oh, I see what you mean.” Isabella sat down on the piano stool and laid her hands on her lap while she thought. “So, one does not simply sit down and say right, I am going to come up with a melody. Instead, it is easier to wait for the melody to come to you, as it were?”
“Yes, that is it exactly. At least, that is where my own little thoughts come from. They just appear, just a few bars, but it is enough then to make a start. When you have a melody come into your head, and you play that shortest of pieces, it seems to open up your heart further to creativity, and the rest of it comes quite naturally. You must try it; see if I am not right.”
“I shall,” Isabella said and hoped that she would find herself humming the tunes sooner or later. “Oh, it is no good. I am already worrying that I shall never hum again, that nothing will ever come to me. Really.”
“Isabella, it will come.” Elliot rose from the now roaring fire. “Just as soon as you stop thinking about it. Or overthinking it.”
“Yes, I shall try to empty my mind.” She laughed. “But not until I have played the Haydn. I had better concentrate whilst I do that.”
Elliot turned to retrieve his violin and, as he crossed the room towards her, she surreptitiously peered up at him. She knew it would not do to simply stare at him outright, to boorishly override his own thoughts and feelings on the matter of being looked at. But still, she wanted to test herself, just secretly.
It was true that it was not particularly light in the library, although the sudden flaming fire and the fact that he had crossed the path of her candelabra had done much to expose his disfigurement. And she had to admit, just to herself, that it was still not an easy thing to look at. But perhaps it was a little easier than it had been on that first day and, after all, progress was progress. Esme would have been proud of her, she felt sure.
“I am ready when you are, Isabella,” Elliot said, his smooth, deep voice coming from behind her once again.
Without another word, Isabella began to play. As soon as her fingers began to dance across the keys, she felt her confidence in the piece riding high. In the end, she closed her eyes, quite determined not to think about it, but just play, taking on board some of Elliot’s observations of life.
As she listened in the darkness, she realised that she had never played better than she was playing at that moment.
When they reached the end of the piece, Elliot clapped.
“I say, that was very well done.”
“Thank you,” she said and felt the warmth of his praise. “I closed my eyes, and I did not think about any of it.”
“Then I think you are perhaps ready to try a new instrument.”
“Right now? This minute? I am to learn how to play the violin?” Isabella could hear her own excitement.
“Yes, though I am not entirely sure that you will master it in a minute.” He laughed.
“That is not what I meant, and you know it. You are teasing me.” She laughed also.
“Here, just stand up and take the violin,” he said, and she held the violin just as she had seen him do so many times before.
“Like this?”
“Yes, that is perfect.” He was standing behind her, so close that she could feel his presence. “Now, I am sure that you know that different notes are formed when difference strings, or a different combination of strings, are pressed against the wood. Like this.”
Elliot reached out and covered her hand with his own, gently moving her fingers over the strings and then pressing down gently. With his other arm, he reached around her and put the bow in her hand, again with his own hand covering hers.
Without a word, he moved her arms so that the bow ran across the strings. It was a simple collection of notes played gently as he pulled her arm backward and forwards, drawing the bow across the strings.
“Goodness me, that is wonderful,” Isabella said breathlessly. “I almost feel as if I am playing it.”
“Well, you are.” He laughed and, standing so close to her, she felt his chest against her back. “Well, I suppose we are both playing it. It is a joint effort, is it not?”
“Yes, although I think your share of the work is probably greater than my own.”
“So, let us try and make another note.” Gently, he took one of her fingers and moved it to another string, leaving the others in place.
Once again, he held her hand as he drew the bow backward and forwards across the violin. Such a simple change in the position of one finger had made an entirely different sound altogether. Isabella was quite amazed.
Once the notes were played, Elliot just stood still, not speaking or moving, for several moments. Isabella closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling of almost being cradled in his arms, even as she stood facing away from him. She could feel his breath on the back of her neck, and its warmth gave her a wonderful, tingling feeling. Her mind had wandered entirely, and she felt sure that she could not take in a moment’s tuition that she would remember later. She just wanted to stand there in his arms in the dim light of the library, and she wondered if he felt the same.
At that moment, there was a brisk knock on the door, and the two of them jumped apart, turning to see who was entering.