The Girl is Not For Christmas - Emma V Leech Page 0,61

like King had.

King.

She would not think of him. She would not think of him standing in the hall, of his imposing height and his broad shoulders and the soft concern in his dark eyes, and the way everything seemed as if it would be all right when she was with him—even though that was nonsense. Perhaps if things had been different, if his father hadn’t cut him off, he might have come here, and she might have helped him, and he might have helped her….

“Stop it,” Livvy said again, angry now as she blinked back tears.

She paused in the corridor, staring out of the window at the grey sky and the darker grey of the sea underlining the horizon. She could see white horses on the waves and hear the distant crash as they thundered to shore. Reality was as grey as the view beyond the window, and she’d be a fool not to face up to it. She’d heard what King hadn’t said, that there had been a time when he’d hoped for a wife, for a family, but his father had made it impossible. Sooner or later, he would be forced to marry the girl the marquess had chosen for him, but he was waiting until such a time as he’d feel less of a monster to give in. No doubt when the girl was in her twenties, he’d have to let his father win. There must be an heir to the title, after all, and he couldn’t live on fresh air any more than they could. She felt certain his decision had made him despair, had driven him to drink, but with just a little help he’d pulled back before it was too late. He was a strong man, stronger than he knew himself if she had the right of it, honourable too despite his reputation, despite his own estimation of his character. King would survive; he might even be happy one day. She hoped so. She hoped so very much.

Livvy stared at the sea for a while longer, allowing it to calm her jagged mind, to smooth over the sharp edges of jealousy and resentment and quiet the erratic thoughts that made her bad tempered and restless. As she stood there, she heard music and believed at first she had imagined it. Turning towards the stairs she followed the sound, realising it was coming from the back parlour where their ancient piano was. Not that she’d ever heard it produce a sound like this before. The children practised on it and Livvy herself could manage a few lively songs for people to dance to, but Ceci was the only one who could play with any skill, when she could be roused to do so. This, though… this was something else.

Though she knew she ought not, knew her emotions were too near the surface to be anywhere near him, Livvy hurried towards the sound. For there was only one person in the house who could be playing such music, such a beautiful, sorrowful melody that made her want to cry and laugh all at the same time, and she had to see him. She wanted to see him so badly she knew it was a terrible, dangerous idea, but she was going to do it anyway.

It was in her nature to be honest with herself, after all, and honestly, nothing could have kept her away.

Chapter Thirteen

13th December 1818.

Music and melody and the means of undoing an unhappy earl.

King had found the piano by chance, some happy stroke of luck that he was not about to question, though why it hadn’t been pawned already he didn’t know. Once Walsh had told him of the family’s situation, King had noticed the spaces. There were picture-frame-shaped gaps on the walls, the paint or wall hanging exposed beneath a far brighter shade than elsewhere as the family’s paintings had been sold off. In every room there was a space, sometimes several, where perhaps there had been a chair or a pretty piece of furniture. The more he looked about the place, the more he saw, and yes, he was an appalling guest, the nosy kind, poking his beak in where it wasn’t wanted. There were too many rooms stripped bare, though, the layers being peeled away one by one. Lady Boscawen’s bedroom was the only one that remained untouched. He could see it happening to Livvy, too, could see the strain of hoping when experience had taught her not to be