The Last Eligible Bachelor - Ashtyn Newbold Page 0,24
it rained, he had held me up to the window, or led me to the window by the hand once I was too large to hold. Together we would search for a rainbow in the sky. Most of the time, we found one from that vantage point, but other times we walked outside on the wet grass to expand our search. My heart yearned for those moments, and I held my breath as Mr. Hill continued on.
So was it when my life began;
So is it now I am a man;
So be it when I shall grow old,
Or let me die!
The Child is father of the Man;
And I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.
The moment he finished, the breath I had been holding slipped out of my lungs, and my heart ached. Did Mr. Hill share my sense of wonder with nature? If he valued that poem as much as he said he did, then he must.
Hearing that poem again reminded me of what I had lost. How much I had changed. I had tried to hold onto that sense of wonder in seeing a rainbow across a spring sky, but since becoming Sophia’s maid it had faded away. I had become less observant of the beautiful things the world had to offer. Everything had become grey. The sky, the rainbows, the flowers, even my heart had lost its brightness and joy. Nothing could ever be as colorful and marvelous in a world where Papa was trapped in a cage. Birds did not sing with as much perfection anymore, and rainbows didn’t exist. Only rain.
Mr. Hill sat down, and I realized too late that I hadn’t applauded. Without permission, my gaze traveled to his face, searching every inch of it for something familiar, for the things I felt within myself. Mr. Hill’s blue eyes were filled with more than a teasing glint. They went far deeper than that. They were not a puddle or a shallow pond. His eyes held a sea of emotions and experiences. Even without the various shades of blue and grey, I would have been unable to see past the surface. He seemed determined to hide those depths from me and everyone else.
The question assailed me again: what was he doing here at Winslow House?
“I believe it is your turn, Miss Sedgwick,” he said in a quiet voice.
His words jarred me back to the present. At that moment, he was here to tease me. To humiliate me. To entertain himself at my expense.
With a deep breath, I came to my feet. I felt Mr. Hill’s gaze on my back as I walked to the pianoforte. I had never played well, but I had been taught a few easy songs that could be used if ever I was forced to perform at a party. Much like tonight. There was one song in particular that Mama had advised me never to perform, unless I wished to appear like an unrefined child as she had phrased it.
The song I had sung that morning in the gardens was short enough to spare the guests the prolonged agony of hearing me sing, but just strange enough to shock them all. I had learned it from a servant in my household as a child by the name of Anne. She had sung it each morning as she worked outside my window. I had not understood the meaning until I had grown older and realized she had been singing about her preference for freedom and nature over marriage. The irony of singing it here was too exciting to resist.
My hands shook as I sat down at the pianoforte. I had to do it, if only to ensure Mr. Hill never, ever considered me. I plunked out the first few notes before beginning in my shaking voice.
O’er mountain, o’er valley, o’er rolling green hill
Little Anne goes riding
O’er stream, o’er woods, with a lone quadrille
A man she soon be finding
Hark! A bird sings in the trees
A tune made just for Little Anne
She feels a light and calming breeze
Without the coming gentleman
O’er mountain, O’er valley, O’er rolling green hill
Little Anne goes riding
O’er stream, O’er woods, with a lone quadrille
From the man she soon be hiding
Hark! A bird sings in the trees
A tune made just for Little Anne
She feels a light and calming breeze
Without the coming gentleman
I heard every crack, every mismatched tune. I was not deaf to my inability to sing, but I acted as if I believed my talent to