The Virtuoso

to travel. Besides, I like seeing what you’re up to.”

Val’s smile was sardonic. “So you can report it to my family.”

“Speaking of which.” Darius pulled an envelope from his pocket. “Devlin gave this to the boys to give to you after he’d left. They were too busy yesterday, and last night…”

“Right. I told you not to wait up for me.”

Val took the missive with him back through the trees, reading while he walked. Nick was silent at his side, while Darius departed for the Bragdolls’ farmstead to start rounding up the labor needed to move the rest of the hay crop to the barn.

“What does he say?” Nick inquired as they reached the pond.

Val stopped and looked out across the water. “He says it took him two years to sleep through the night after Waterloo, and I’ve given my hand only a couple months. I am not to… despair.”

“Your hand?” Nick peered at Val’s right hand, which was holding the letter.

“This one.” Val held up his left hand.

“It appears to have all its parts.” Nick took Val’s hand in his and examined it. “Unfashionably tan, maybe a little callused, but quite functional.”

Val looked at his hand in surprise then flexed it. “It was sore. It’s been so sore I couldn’t play.”

Nick dropped his hand. “It doesn’t look sore, but not all hurts are visible.”

“No.” Val stared at his hand. “They aren’t. But this one was, quite visible, and now it’s… not.”

“Does it feel better?” Nick asked, puzzlement in his expression.

“It does,” Val said softly. “It finally does. I’ve still got twinges, and it will hurt worse by day’s end, but the mending seems to be progressing.”

“Country life agrees with a man.” Nick slung an arm around Val’s shoulders. “So does a certain aspect of nature best enjoyed on blankets by the side of streams.”

“What?” Val stopped and glared at his friend.

“St. Just and Axel both saw you on Saturday, enjoying the shade with your Ellen,” Nick said, grinning. “What a lusty little beast you are, Val. I am pleased to think I’ve set a good example for you.”

“Blazing hell.” Val dropped his eyes, a reluctant smile blooming. “I suppose I ought to be grateful they didn’t come running over the hill, bellowing for the watch.”

“Suppose you should, but really, I think there’s a lot to be said for the healing power of some friendly, uncomplicated swiving.”

“You think there’s a lot to be said for any kind of swiving.”

“I do.” Nick’s expression was dead serious. “More to the point, you were overdue, Valentine, and not just for some romping.”

“Maybe.” Val resumed walking, and Nick dropped his arm. “I was, probably. But one doesn’t always find what one needs when one needs it.”

“One doesn’t, but you’re doing a fine job improvising.”

Val glanced at him, seeking hidden meaning in Nick’s use of a musical term, but Nick’s handsome face was schooled to innocence.

By Tuesday afternoon Val had informed all of his tenants of the plans for the week and put both teams to work moving hay. The crews on the barn roof started to replace worn trusses and move material from the manor to the hay barn.

Val found Ellen at midday, arranging a bouquet in what would likely be his bedroom. She’d chosen red roses and bright orange daylilies.

“Interesting combination,” Val murmured, coming up behind her and inhaling her floral scent. “I like seeing you in this house, Ellen.” She went still, and Val knew a gnawing sense of stealing moments before time ran out.

“Hold me.” She leaned back against him. “I shouldn’t like being here so much, but I do.”

“Here in my arms”—Val tightened his embrace—“or here in my house?”

“Both.” She turned and slipped her arms around his waist. “And you shouldn’t be sleeping with me, either.”

“I’m protecting you.” Val dipped his head to kiss the side of her neck.

Ellen angled her chin. “As if locks won’t do that job.”

“They won’t, entirely.” He stepped back and took her hand. “Mama Nick has demanded our presence in the springhouse. What Nick demands, Nick gets.”

“He’s an odd man, but I like him.”

“His size sets him apart,” Val said as they moved through the house, “and I think he’s just used to being his own man as a result. I’m glad you like him—he can be overwhelming.”

Ellen shot him another look, and Val stopped and met her gaze. “What?”

“That man…” Ellen waved a hand toward the springhouse. “The one who so blithely hitched a team to the tree on my house, he’s an earl, Valentine. Your brother is an earl, and your friend Dare is an earl’s spare. What is the nature of your family that you associate so closely with so many titles, and your brother, of all the men who served long and loyally against the Corsican, was given an earldom for his bravery? Sir Dewey stopped entire wars, and he was only knighted, for pity’s sake.”

“What are you asking?” Val dodged behind a question, ignoring the insistent voice in the back of his head: Tell her your papa is a duke, tell her your other brother is an earl, as well, tell her, tell her the truth.

“I hardly know you,” Ellen said in low, miserable tones. “I don’t know who your people are, where you’ve lived, how you come to be a builder of pianos, what you want next in life.”

“My name is Valentine Forsythe Windham.” He stepped closer, unwilling to hear Ellen talk herself out of him. “My family is large and settled mostly in Kent. You’ve met my oldest brother, and I will gladly describe each and every sibling and cousin to you. I learned to build pianos while studying in Italy and thought it made business sense to start such an endeavor here. What I want next in life, Ellen Markham, is you.” He drew her against him, daring her to argue with that.

“FitzEngle,” she whispered against his shoulder. “Ellen FitzEngle.”

“Why not Markham?” Hell, why not Ellen Windham?

She would run, fast and far, that’s why, so he kept his mouth shut and held her on the porch of the carriage house for a brief, stolen moment. “We’ve been summoned.” Val smiled down at her, trying not to let a nameless anxiety show on his face. “But, Ellen, please promise me something?”

“What?”

“If you have questions, you’ll ask me, and I’ll answer. When we’ve caught our culprit, I want to talk with you. Really talk.”

“If you are honest with me, you will expect me to be honest with you,” she said. “I want to be, I wish I could be, but I just… I can’t.”

“You won’t,” Val reiterated softly, “but when you’re ready to be, I will be too, and I promise to listen and listen well.”

She nodded, and just like that, they had a truce of sorts. Val cursed himself for his own hypocrisy but took consolation in the idea Ellen might someday be ready to tell him her secrets. It was a start, and she’d already warned him about Freddy.

That was encouraging, Val told himself—over and over again. And if a truce sometimes preceded a surrender and departure from the field, well, he ignored that over and over again, too.

The next day, Ellen took the boys to market with her, leaving Val, Darius, and Nick to assist with the roof to the hay barn. At noon, Darius called for the midday break, and the crews moved off toward the pond, there to take their meals.

“Shall we join them?” Darius asked.

“Let’s stay here with the horses,” Nick suggested. “Doesn’t seem fair everybody else gets to take a break and the beasts must stay in the traces.”

“Wearing a feed bag,” Val said. “It’s cooler inside the barn, and I could use some cool.”

“I’ll second that,” Darius said, “and a feed bag for my own face.”