This was what she’d been telling herself for days now, ever since she’d arrived at her aunt’s and the reality of her situation had become clear. Mr. Benedict was her one chance to escape. To have a family of her own and a life that wasn’t under her aunt’s thumb.
She’d managed to forget all that in the safe harmony of Miss Grayson’s but being back with her aunt brought with it a stark reality. Being here today and dealing with unwanted childhood memories made that reality that much clearer.
She had been miserable as a child, but she did not wish that for her future. Marriage offered a way out. Her salvation. Her aunt would not pick a cruel man, and by all accounts he was a pleasant fellow.
And yes, she’d asked around. Delilah had met him a few times over the years and she’d said he’d seemed...nice.
On the old side, perhaps, but nice.
Older she could deal with. Nice was what mattered.
And if her nice salvation required that she be able to entertain and perform, why then she would do it. She straightened her shoulders and stiffened her spine. “All right, I am ready,” she said when they came to a stop. “Tell me where to begin.”
He let her arm go and turned to look at her as her chaperone found a seat nearby on a log and began to crochet. Damian looked too and then tugged her further away. So far they bordered on being out of sight as well as out of earshot.
He placed his hands on her shoulders. “First of all, this needs to go.”
She frowned. “What?”
“This…” He shook her shoulders gently and her whole body twisted and turned. “Why are you so stiff? It’s unnatural.” He pulled back to give her a meaningful look. “Tell me honestly, are you made of wood?”
A small laugh escaped before she could stop it. “I am determined, that’s all.”
“I see.” He eyed her curiously. “Well, you look rather like a soldier heading into battle, and that is not at all the right attitude for this occasion.”
“And what occasion is that?”
“My first opportunity to hear you sing.”
Her throat closed up entirely. She couldn’t have let out a squeak. Her eyes went wide and his did, too.
“What is it?” he asked.
She gave her head a little shake, but she knew her panic must have been written clearly across her face. She wasn’t certain how she’d thought he’d begin with her voice but she’d let herself hope they would ease into this. Her teacher at Miss Grayson’s had spent nearly a month just working on breathing exercises. Wasn’t that where he was supposed to start?
His brows came down as he crossed his arms. “You don’t wish to sing.”
She shook her head frantically.
“Why not?”
She had to swallow three times before she could get the words out. “Because I can’t.”
He frowned. “Of course you can. You sang carols along with all the rest of us as a child. I don’t recall a particularly lovely voice but I’m certain I would have remembered if you couldn’t even carry a tune.”
She shook her head again. But that was then, didn’t he see? That was back when singing had just been singing. That was before music lessons had become her own personal form of torture.
She shook her head yet again, so hard her teeth were rattling as she kept her lips pinched tightly together.
He stared at her in surprise as she kept her mouth mutinously shut. The stalemate might have gone on forever if he didn’t cave first. “Perhaps we should start with something simple. A hymn, perhaps?”
She glowered at him and his look of optimism.
“You cannot tell me you do not sing at church.”
She made a hmph noise while keeping her mouth shut.
He sighed and crossed his arms. “I thought you were serious about this.”
The gentle rebuke had her resolve fading fast. He was right. She’d been determined just a moment ago to make a go of this.
But that was before he’d suggested she sing. The mere thought made her throat feel tight and croaky like a frog. One bad memory after another reared up until she was shaking.
There was nothing more humiliating than her great aunt’s displeasure when she failed to hit the right note.
Whatever he saw on her face, Damian relented with another sigh. “All right, let’s take this even slower then, hmm?”
She nodded, finally able to take a deep breath. “Perhaps we should try another instrument. I heard the harp was not so difficult to….” Her voice trailed off pathetically at his knowing look.
That was right. She’d nearly forgotten. He’d heard her attempts with the harp. The poor instrument had barely survived the ordeal. “That harp wasn’t tuned correctly,” she muttered.
Though who she was trying to fool was anyone’s guess.
All at once, a wave of bitterness had her scuffing her toes into the dirt at her feet. “Silly music. If I don’t marry because of a ridiculous harp, I’ll...I’ll…” She blew out a long exhale in lieu of a threat.
They both knew it was baseless anyhow. If she did not marry, she would have no power, no leverage, no status...no nothing.
“Silly music,” she muttered again, mostly because it felt good to say.
He was watching her closely, an odd mix of sympathy and determination on his face. “You don't have to take your displeasure out on music, you know. Music has no ill-will toward you.”
She arched her brows. “You think not? If music were a person, she would be my worst nemesis.”
“She, eh?” He moved closer and for a moment she thought he would try that trick again, pulling her into his arms to listen to some inaudible music. Her heart kicked in her chest but she couldn’t quite tell if it was excitement or anxiety at the thought.
“Perhaps that is your problem,” he continued.
“I do not have a
