The Virtuoso

“We’ll send Sean back with the coach, then,” Nick offered, eying them both.

“No need.” Val reached out to tuck the end of the shawl into the crook of Ellen’s elbow. “We can walk, if Ellen’s agreeable. It’s less than three miles, and it’s a pleasant night.”

“I do.” And if all it got her was a few more of those small gestures of caring, she’d count the tears worth the heartache.

“Good night, Ellen.” Darius kissed her cheek and touched her arm. Nick went one better, wrapping her in a careful hug. He kissed her forehead for good measure, then hugged Val and slipped an arm through Darius’s as he took his leave.

The single candle flickered.

Like my spirit, Ellen thought, eyes searching Val’s face for some clue to his mood. He’d been angry after their waltz, and so hurt, and she’d had little to offer him in the way of comfort.

“I have something for you,” Val said, extending a hand to her.

“You must not give me one more thing, Valentine.” Ellen linked her fingers through his. “You’ve given me too much.”

“Things.” Val shrugged. “A few nails and boards, that isn’t much, Ellen.”

“Not just the conservatory.” She used the back of his hand to brush the tears off her cheeks. “You’ve given me much more than that.”

“Barely anything worth mentioning,” Val replied, and his voice held a note of true humor. Ellen studied him closely as he tugged her onto the stage. “There’s one more small token I would leave with you. Forgot the bench.” He smiled at her and hopped down to retrieve a piano bench from against the far wall. His step was light, and Ellen realized the difference now as opposed to earlier in the evening was that he seemed to have gained a measure of peace.

Peace? She hadn’t told him the worst of her secrets yet.

He set the bench down by the little piano and patted the bench. “I do better with an appreciative audience.”

Ellen’s eyes flew to his. “But, Valentine, there are things I promised to tell you, hard, miserable things.”

“Yes, I know.” Val sat and pushed the cover off the keys. “Things to make me hate you until my dying day and wish vile fates upon you nightly.” He patted the bench again and offered her the sweetest smile. “I have made up my mind that I don’t need to hear them, Ellen. If you don’t want to tell me, I don’t need to hear them. If you do want to tell me, then I do need to hear them.”

She all but fell onto the piano bench, so taken aback was she by his words.

“You are not arguing,” he observed. “This is good, for I don’t want to argue. There are other things I must convey—things about myself—but to get them out properly, I will need the assistance of my little friend here. You can sit closer than that, can’t you?”

Cautiously, she moved a little closer, close enough that Val could kiss her cheek.

“Now.” He laid his fingers on the keyboard. “Where to begin?”

* * *

Always before, Val had played for others with some secret, suppressed hope somebody was noticing, that they were impressed with his skill, that they would recall the Windham fellow who did so well at the keyboard. Invariably, they did, until all anybody really recalled about the Windham fellow was that he did so well at the keyboard—until it was all he could recall of himself.

For Ellen, he did not play to impress, he played to express. He did not care if she noted his technical skill, his proficiency, or his virtuosic ability. He wanted her to hear his soul, to hear his love and his absolute faith in her. He played for her, but he also played for himself, for the sheer joy of being so fluent in such a beautiful and challenging language. He opened up his heart, not merely his hands, and played and played and played, giving her every good and noble and honest part of himself he could translate into notes and sounds.

The crowd in the Rooster went quiet, gradually shifting out into the street to hear the enchanting music drifting so delicately through the summer night. In the shade oak near the livery, Thorn Bragdoll sat rapt, his fingers twitching with longing for his flute. The old men sharing a last pint on the steps of the bakery stopped drinking and drew out handkerchiefs, and Rafe and Tilden left their bar to join their customers, staring up at the open windows of the assembly room.

And when Valentine let the last tender melody fade up into the stars, he put his hands in his lap and hoped it was good enough for the woman he loved. He shifted to straddle the piano bench and wrapped his arms around Ellen’s waist. She curled up against his chest and held on to him as if she were drowning.

“Damn you, Val Windham,” she breathed against his neck. “Damn you, damn you. All summer…” She stopped and drew in a shaking sob.

He listened, his soul calm enough to absorb any reaction, as long as she was in his arms.

“All summer,” she went on, “you climbed around on the roofs and in the trees, hanging bat houses, mucking stalls, wrecking your hands, when you can… My God, Valentine. My God.”

She was shocked, Val got that much, but he wasn’t sure what the rest of her reaction was.

“I have listened to you,” Ellen said earnestly.

Not, I have listened to you play, or I have listened to your music. I have listened to you. Val heard the distinction and saw it in the urgency on her face. “I have listened to you,” she said again, “and I am grateful for the privilege. More grateful than I can ever say, but now, you must listen to me.”

“I’m here, Ellen.” Val’s arms settled back around her, and he waited until she was again tucked against his chest. “I’m listening.”

“My babies,” Ellen said in soft, heartbroken tones. “Val, I killed my babies.”

“You did not kill your children, Ellen.” Val stroked a hand down over her hair, gently disentangling the flowers she’d woven into her bun earlier. “You will never convince me otherwise. You would never knowingly bring harm to any living thing in your care.” She went still against him, utterly, unbreathingly still. “Love?”

“Oh, Valentine.” She let out her breath. “I do love you. For those few words alone, I love you. Your faith in me warms my soul and brings light to places condemned to shadow. But you’re wrong.”

“I am not, but tell me why you think otherwise.”

“I conceived three times,” Ellen said slowly. “Each time, the child did not live to draw breath.”

“Many women cannot complete their pregnancies,” Val pointed out, his fingers now working on the chignon itself. “It isn’t your fault you miscarried.”

Ellen shook her head. “I did not miscarry. I aborted those babies, Valentine. My actions were what caused those pregnancies to end.”

“You loved your husband. You wanted to give him children, and you loved those children, Ellen. Knowing you, I believe you loved them before they were born.” He pressed his cheek to her temple and knew an urge to take her inside his body, to envelope her with the physical protection of his larger, stronger form.

“I did love them, husband and children both.” Ellen stopped and drew in an unsteady breath. “I could not protect my children. I did not carry easily and suffered endless upsets of digestion. With every pregnancy, even before my menses were late, I was unable to keep my meals down. Francis was distraught, but everybody said it would pass quickly. It never did.”

“You still did not cause those pregnancies to end.”

“My love…” She used the endearment for the first time, though Val had never heard anything so sad. “You are wrong. To treat my upset digestion, I drank teas and tisanes by the gallon. I found one Freddy offered me to be the most soothing and the one that stayed down the best. He was so solicitous, and Francis was pleased to see it, as Freddy was not the most promising young man in other regards. I was grateful for the relief, but then I would lose the child. Three times this happened, the last time just a few weeks before Francis came to grief.”

Three miscarriages in five years, followed by the death of her husband? Val wanted to howl with the unfairness of it, to shake his fist at God and take a few swings at Francis.

“You needed time to heal.” Val began teasing her braid from its coil at her nape. “You should have been given more time to recover.”

“I didn’t want time to recover,” Ellen wailed. “I wanted to provide my husband with his heir, and he accommodated my wishes reluctantly, as it was the only thing I asked of him, and I asked it incessantly.”