Page 65 of Hearts of Briarwall

Mrs. Piedmont drew Andrew’s name, leaving Sir Lawrence to perform with Violet.

Violet caught Spencer’s attention and nodded toward the piano, where Lydia sat, running her fingers lightly over the keys. He sighed with forbearance.

He could not give Lydia hope, but he could bekind. He moved his feet in her direction.Friendly.He approached the piano. In no way did he have to entertain thoughts of a romantic nature concerning Lydia Wooding. As if to fortify himself, he looked in Sir Lawrence’s direction, but the man’s attention was all on Violet and a servant who was delivering what looked to be a violin case.

“Violet told me you sing,” Lydia said.

Blast.

He took a steadying breath and drew up to the piano. He shook his head. “I’d no idea what she was up to when I told her that.”

Her mouth drew to the side. “That sounds like her.” Her brow rose, and she cleared her throat. “Will you sing a duet with me, Spencer?” she asked.

He glanced at the piano. “You play and sing?”

She shook her head. “Iplinkand sing. I was a horrid piano student with a slight crush on my vocal instructor. So naturally, I languished in one instrument and advanced in the other. My poor heart broke when Mr. Atwood married, but at least I could sing my melancholy.” She sighed dramatically, a spark of humor in her eye. “Thirteen is such a hard age.”

He could not help the smile that came so easily when she was like this. Absolutely charming in her self-deprecation. He looked to the floor. “Indeed, it is. And yes, I will sing with you. But I’m not by any means proficient. The only instruction I’ve had was the boys choir at Eton. At the time I was a high tenor. Unfortunately—or fortunately, depending on how you look at it—I’m now somewhere in the deeper middle range, my only practice being church on Sundays and perhaps as I shower.”

She grinned, dropping her eyes to several sheets of music before her. “Perhaps we could arrange for a downpour for our duet.”

Her pink cheeks and the way she’d said “our duet” brought on his own blush, realizing he’d been far too candid in mentioning himself in the shower.Church.He should have ended it with church. In church he was ... well ... clothed. “I’m sure the acoustics in here will do more for us than singing in the rain.” He gulped, wishing to move on.

Her eyes widened. “Oh, but the acoustics at the temple are wonderful, even in a downpour. I sing there sometimes, just to make use of them.”

“A goddess to behold, I’m sure.”

The way Lydia glanced down at the suggestion, a beguiling smile on her lips—he pushed a hand through his hair, undoing any smart styling he’d managed for dinner. What a lummox he was. His father would say he’d gone soft in the ’ead.

With a forced exhalation, he veered the subject. “What will we be singing, then?”

She shuffled through the music sheets. “I like this one.”

He took the song she handed him and recognized it immediately. “‘In the Shade of the Old Apple Tree,’” he said. “An American song?”

“An immensely popular American song,” she said, holding out her hand. “Florrie has a Victor Talking Machine, and this is one of my favorite songs to play.”

“It’s quite sentimental, is it not?”

She arched a brow in his direction. “It is positively sentimental.”

He gave her back the music, and she placed it on the piano. He stepped behind her as she began to play out the melody, humming to find the notes.

“In other lands I’ve wandered since we parted,” he sang softly behind her, staring intensely at the paper, urging his nerves away.

She paused and looked at him over her shoulder.

He only nodded to the page, and she quickly resumed her playing. “I seek the garden fair beside the stream.”

She drew in a breath and took a turn. “I tread each well-known pathway heavy-hearted. For all I see recalls the old, sweet dream.” Her voice was a sweet, full alto, her vibrato gentle as a lullaby.

He caught himself staring and joined her. “No more on earth your loving smile will cheer me. No more on earth your dear face I shall see. Yet memories of the past are ever near me. They linger ’round the dear old apple tree.”

She stopped playing and looked up at him.

He glanced at her. “Are we not going to sing the chorus?”

“You, sir, have a charming voice.”

---