Page 159 of The Sisters of Sea View
“Perhaps another time? I don’t know all the particulars myself.”
“Very well. You must be relieved. I know I am, for your sake.”
“Yes.” She exhaled a long breath, deciding not to share her concerns about Claire, not until she had learned more details.
Major Hutton stepped closer and handed her a few pages of sheet music. “In that case, might you play this piece? I purchased it at Wallis’s a few days ago. Are you familiar with it?”
She turned the pages, studying the complicated score. “No. It seems rather difficult.”
“I ask you only to try it. I shan’t critique your performance. Music proficient I am not.”
“Very well. Though I shall probably make many mistakes in my first attempt.”
“Isn’t that true for most things in life? Perhaps I might sit beside you and turn the pages, if that would help?”
“Can you read music?”
“I am out of practice, but I should be able to decipher the notes.”
“In that case, please.” She slid over to make room for him on the bench, pulse quickening in anticipation.
He glanced at the space she made for him but walked to her other side. “Do you mind if I sit here instead?”
“Of course not.” She slid the other way, her heart hitching to realize he wanted to sit with his “good side” toward her. He sat beside her on the bench, flipping his coattails behind him.
She inhaled the fresh, masculine scent of his shaving tonic, his nearness filling her senses.
He leaned toward the music, his broad shoulder brushing hers. She glanced over, and saw his good ear and well-trimmed side-whiskers very close indeed.
He squinted. “My sight-reading is not what it once was—in more ways than one. If I miss my cue, nudge me.”
Viola nodded. Side by side as they were, she would barely have to move to accomplish it.
She began to play, tentatively at first, faltering over a complicated measure, then gaining more confidence as her fingers became familiar with the melody and repeating refrain.
When she neared the bottom of the page, he leaned closer, following along, and his leg rested against hers. She could feel the firm muscle, the warmth of him through her muslin day dress and shift.
She nodded, and he turned the page, settling it into place.
After a slight pause, she continued on, finding her way through the measures like a winding path through a garden maze.
The music filled her, pleased her. She reveled in the rhythm of the lower notes rumbling through the instrument, the melody climbing from the depths, rising higher, then soaring.
“Lovely...” he murmured.
She glanced over and found his gaze on her, not on the music.
Her heart thumped. She fumbled a fingering before soldiering on to the end of the page.
Again she nodded, but he didn’t notice. The note lingering in the air, she nudged him, harder than she’d intended.
With a little grunt, he straightened and turned the page.
Nearing the crescendo, she closed her eyes, allowing the music its sway, the reverberating chords pulsating through her as though the strings extended from the instrument through her fingers and into her soul.
As the final notes faded, she slowly became aware of the silence, the stillness of the man beside her. He did not applaud nor praise her.
She turned and saw that he had turned not only his head but his upper body toward her as well, to better see her. His knee brushed hers and rested there. Was it a conscious action, or was he unaware of the contact ... and the effect it was having on her?
