In the Dark with the Duke by Christi Caldwell Page 0,73

doorway. Suddenly, her sister stopped. “Lila? I’ll have you know, I have dearly loved having you here with me and Vallen.” Emotion hoarsened her sister’s voice. “It has been more welcome than you can know.”

After she’d gone, Lila picked up the flittermouse. Her sister spoke of Lila remaining on, and even as she was grateful that Sylvia had welcomed her into her home and wished to have her near . . . this was still not Lila’s life. She reverently stroked the bat’s unfinished ear, this beautiful masterpiece whittled by Hugh. This piece he’d created because of her. Or about her. Either way, there’d been some thought of her as he’d made it. And what did that say about him and her? About them, together?

The carved bat slipped from her fingers, hitting the keys and setting loose a lone G-sharp that blared loudly in the otherwise silent room.

Unblinking, Lila stared at the dark-brown wood creature, now prone upon the stark white-and-black keyboard.

Together? Her . . . with Hugh?

Where had that idea come from?

She . . . she couldn’t be together with Hugh.

Nor has he given any indication that he so much as wants more with you. More than that which you already shared this morn.

Nay, the best—and most—she could hope for was their remaining time together. Not because of his past or of any rank that divided them, but because she was too broken for anyone.

As if mocking her with that truth, the staccato beat of a drum pounded in the far distance of her mind and memories, joined by the light, airy whistle of flutes as she was transported back to a sun-filled summer’s day. Lila let her hands move, plying that familiar tune.

Hark now the drums beat up again

For all true soldier gentlemen . . .

Her lips twisted around the lie in the lyrics, and she stumbled over her words. True soldier gentlemen. Nothing true or noble about any one of them that day. With their fine crimson uniforms and gold buttons, how very romantic they’d all seemed to the girl she’d been. Lila let her fingers fly.

So let us list and march I say

And go over the hills and far away.

She struck the keys hard as she played and sang.

’Tis volunteers shall win the day . . .

Her voice grew more and more pitched as she sang. Volunteers. Cobblers, bakers, and candlestick makers. Men who were neighbors.

Over the hills and far away . . .

Lila ground her fingers into the ivory and black keys, until the tips of the digits were numb and aching, and she welcomed the discomfort.

Because the discomfort was naught compared with the pain they’d once known, and still, far muted, the pain that came from the memories.

Come gentlemen that have a mind

To serve a queen that’s good and kind—

Her voice shook. Good and kind. There’d been nothing kind about king or queen that day.

Come ’list and enter in to pay . . .

How many men and women had been betrayed by the Crown? Hugh’s visage slid forward. How many were there like Hugh—good, honorable men, who dwelled in East London, forgotten? Reliant upon undeserving men like Bragger and Maynard?

Lila’s fingers slid on the keyboard, sending up a discordant melody.

Her heart pounded in her breast. Of course. That was it. This was the answer, not for her . . . but for so many.

She’d been so focused on equipping herself with the skills to defend and protect those she loved, and yet . . . there were so many. Women. Men. Children. People of all origins, who were in need of the very same skills. And how many on the fields of Manchester, had they possessed those abilities, would have been able to break themselves free from a merciless crowd that hellish August day?

Hugh’s words came exploding through her frantic musings.

“That is the way one who lives in the rookeries goes through it. People don’t live here, Lila. If they’re lucky, they survive, and then they die.”

They survived . . . if they had the skills Hugh did.

And it was as she’d said to him: he deserved far more than simply surviving. He’d insisted he didn’t know what “more” was.

“I wouldn’t even know what more than that is, Lila.”

Her heart beat faster. She could help ensure that so many were provided the ability to defend themselves.

A giddy lightness suffused her breast. It was the answer for her . . . and Hugh.

If she had someone such as him beside her, working, someone who knew