Page 19 of An Accidental Romance

He remained silent.

“Why is it that you now intend to leave abruptly when you have made the effort to call upon me?” she said. “We have exchanged words this afternoon that need further discussion, and yet you seem determined to flee rather than discuss the matter with me.”

He turned to face her but didn’t speak. His countenance was like iron.

“Well?” she asked.

“Flee,” he said. “You make me sound like a coward.”

“Areyou a coward?”

“I do not believe I am, no,” he said bluntly. “You know nothing about me or my life.”

“That is precisely the point, Mr. Fortescue,” Rebecca said. She balanced as best she could on her crutches and reached out to him with her hand. “Please stay. I wish to remedy that this afternoon, at least a little.”

He studied her carefully, and then she saw the line of his jaw begin to soften. He finally nodded. “Very well,” he said, “on the condition that you perform another musical number on the pianoforte first.”

“Agreed,” she said.

She returned to the pianoforte, her earlier embarrassment gone, a fluttery sort of pleasure taking its place. She had played the first two movements of a Beethoven sonata before being interrupted, but now something less intense than Beethoven seemed more appropriate to her. As she perused her stack of music, Mr. Fortescue moved one of the chairs in the room closer to the pianoforte and seated himself.

“I have heard the depth of your talent, Miss Rebecca,” he said. “I believe I already know the breadth of your abilities. I would be content with something as simple as a folk tune, if that pleases you.”

His words surprised her. “Very well,” she said. She selected a folk ballad and began to play, softly at first, a bit uncomfortable with her audience of one. Gradually, she relaxed into the melody and harmonies of the music, the lyrics floating through her mind as her fingers moved over the keyboard. She glanced at Mr. Fortescue out of the corner of her eye. He appeared relaxed, finally, his eyes closed.

She was halfway through the ballad when she heard soft humming, barely audible but there. Mr. Fortescue’s baritone voice added a layer to the music. The ballad may not have held the same depth of passion that the Beethoven sonata she’d been playing had possessed, but the emotion she could feel now, emotion that the two of them shared, was true and pure.

What an odd thing to realize.

She continued playing, Mr. Fortescue’s low voice winding around her like a silken thread. When she reached the last stanza, his humming turned into singing: “My dearest heart, beloved still, / With your downcast eyes of blue, / I vow again and always will / Belong to only you.”

The ballad ended, and Rebecca placed her hands in her lap, a trifle unsure what to do next.

“You truly do have a gift,” Mr. Fortescue finally said after a long, uncomfortable moment.

“Thank you,” Rebecca said.

Silence.

She decided perhaps she needed to apologize again. “I hope the choice of the ballad didn’t stir up bitter memories for you,” she said at last.

He gave her a puzzled look.

What was she missing? “The ‘my dearest heart, beloved still’ part,” she said. He didn’t reply. “After having so recently lost your wife,” she added. She wished there were a delicate way to extricate herself from this thorny situation.

“You appear to have forgotten what I told you before: that my marriage wasn’t of a particularly loving or romantic nature. There is no need for you to apologize.”

In her flustered state, shehadforgotten his words regarding his marriage. What waswrongwith her that she would forget the most singular bit of information she knew about him? Truthfully, she knew what was wrong with her—Mr. Fortescue was having more of an effect on her than she’d like to admit.

Thankfully, they were interrupted by a subtle knock at the music room door and Annie entering with a tea tray.

It provided an opportunity for Rebecca to regain her wits. “Thank you, Annie,” she said. “It seems we are always taking tea when we’re together, Mr. Fortescue,” she said. “You must find your visits here tedious.”

Annie set the tea service on a table near the french doors that led outside, as it was the only other table in the room besides the one on which Rebecca had placed her music. “If you’d like, I can have Albert come and move the table closer, Miss Rebecca,” Annie said.

“You needn’t bother, miss—Annie, was it?” Mr. Fortescue said. “I believe I can manage the task, should it be required. Thank you.” Annie curtsied and discreetly sat in a far corner of the room. “And, if you’ll allow me, Miss Rebecca, I shall pour.” He stood without waiting for her to respond and moved his chair next to the table where Annie had set the tea service. He placed another chair near it as well. “Before that, however, I hope you’ll also allow me to assist you across the room.”

Rebecca was still seated at the pianoforte, her mouth open in anticipation of replying to Annie but instead forming anOat Mr. Fortescue’s offer to pour tea. She was exceedingly surprised by his offer; she hadn’t expected him to be the sort of gentleman to offer to serve tea, as it was the hostess’s responsibility.

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