Page 43 of A Marquess' Season of Secrets
The valet nodded. “I agree, Your Grace. What about this is troubling you?”
“Isabella can also play the pianoforte, and well, I might add. You would think she has had years of practice.”
She had played like a true lady, and even her posture had been that of a well-bred lady. Isabella had not known she could play the pianoforte; a truth that had been written all over her face. She had been just as surprised as he was.
“I heard a rumour that she took it upon herself to play the pianoforte without permission.”
“I do not think it was done purposefully,” Nash insisted. “A memory must have risen up within her and driven her to the instrument. All would have been well had I not joined her.”
Johnson’s eyes grew to twice their size. “Do you mean to say that you played the pianoforte for the first time in ten years?”
Nash nodded. “Yes, but I didn’t mean to. I was in my study when I heard the instrument playing, and at first, I thought it was my sister. I wanted to listen to her, so I left the room and made my way to the drawing room. I realised I was wrong the second I stepped through the doors.”
Nash had been flabbergasted when he saw Isabella at the pianoforte, and even more so when he had joined her. He and his mother had always played together; it had been one of the few activities they had enjoyed together.
When she died, his love for playing the instrument had died with her, and Nash had vowed never to sit before the pianoforte again. It had simply been too painful to do something he associated with her. Playing with Isabella had not brought any anger or sadness, as one would expect, but inexplicable relief and joy.
“Did she ask you to join her?” Johnson asked.
“Not at all. I asked her to play another piece of music, and suddenly I was striding towards the instrument and sitting beside her as though it was the most natural thing in the world. I even sang.”
“You sang?” the valet asked incredulously. “You opened your mouth and sang a song?”
“I know, it’s hardly believable. Something about the music beckoned to me as though it was loosening a great big ball within me. I have never felt like that before.”
“I hope this woman is not a witch of some sort, Your Grace,” said Johnson. “I have heard of stories where women bewitch men with charms, spells, and incantations. Red hair is associated with witchery in some parts.”
Nash chuckled. “You go too far. Johnson. I do not believe in witches, and having red hair is not some sort of bad omen.”
“Not a bad omen, but a witch, Your Grace,” the valet corrected.
“They might as well be the same thing to me, Johnson. Now, I do not want you blaming Isabella for breaking my vow when she did not even know about it. She simply played an instrument, and I reacted.”
Johnson appeared unconvinced, and Nash had a feeling he would try to look for a fortune teller or soothsayer to ask about Isabella. The valet might even bring back a charm that the man believed would protect him from evil.
This household and their suspicions. One cannot get away from them, no matter how much I disagree with it.
“I will take my leave and return whenever the moment befits me,” Nash declared. “Do not attempt to confront Isabella over this matter, Johnson. The woman has been through enough and does not need ridiculous accusations thrown at her. My sister has done a good enough job of terrorising the poor woman.”
“Your heart is too good, Your Grace, but I will follow your orders. I will not even look at the woman.”
Nash pursed his lips. “That is not what I asked. Treat her with compassion and kindness. She is a good person, just unfortunate.”
The valet did not reply, but his silence spoke volumes. Johnson would continue to distrust Isabella and would only rest once the woman was out of the house and their lives. It just seemed odd to Nash that his valet and sister were against an innocent woman.
It probably didn’t help that he was interested in her, but could a person blame him? The woman intrigued him like no other and brought more life to this household. Who would not wish to know more about such a person?
Taking his horse had been Nash’s first option, but he wanted to be comfortable and settled for the carriage with a roof. He could make his driver go around and around in circles while he took an uninterrupted nap.
“To the market, Franklin,” he told his driver and climbed into the carriage.
Fortunately, Nash had not seen Isabella today, and he had not bothered to ask about her because he was trying to avoid the overstimulation of being around the woman. He had been somewhat disappointed, though, as he had become accustomed to seeing at least a glimpse of her, but this was for the better.
Nash did have a few errands he had been putting off, so his trip into town would not be a complete waste of time. He needed to speak with his local bank, see his tailor about a new tailcoat, and he had promised Mrs Beeton that he would have tea in her new tea shoppe.
Nash called in at his bank first, a smaller branch of the main one in London. It suited him just fine because Nash preferred to stay away from London, especially during the Season. Ellie kept insisting that it was the perfect opportunity for him to find an eligible bride, but Nash did not fancy having young women and their mothers all trying to gain his attention.
Jasper, his best friend, had told him of the time he had nearly fallen into a scandal because of desperate parents. They had wanted their daughter to get married to him at whatever cost, but fortunately for Jasper, he had heard about the plot beforehand and escaped an unwanted marriage.
