The Making of a Gentleman by Shana Galen Page B

trying to communicate with Miss Bennett!” Sarah said in a hushed whisper.
    Armand ignored her.
    Armand showed the woman his hands again then turned them down and pretended to play the instrument she had played earlier. He glanced into her eyes, saw she had seen his movements, and waited. What would she do now? Would she make the music again?
    The room was silent; even the footmen had frozen with their plates of cheese and nuts held aloft. Finally, Miss Bennett looked away, toward Julien. “He wants me to play again.”
    Armand felt like smiling. She had understood! Good. Now she would play again.
    Immediately.
    But she remained seated, her gaze on his brother. “Do you think I should?”
    Recognizing her interrogative tone, Armand turned to Julien. Not surprisingly, he found Julien watching him thoughtfully. Armand raised his eyebrows at Julien in a gesture of impatience, and Julien actually smiled. “If you don’t mind playing, Miss Bennett, I don’t see why we shouldn’t enjoy some music after dinner.” He turned to the frozen footmen. “But first, the last course.”
    Armand sighed and thrust back in his chair. Why must he be forced to wait? He refused the cheese and nuts and glared at his brother in an effort to make him eat more quickly. His efforts were not rewarded. Julien’s movements actually seemed to slow down.
    Finally, after an eternity, the family adjourned to the drawing room, Armand leading the way with his mother beside him. He was vaguely aware he should take her arm, as Julien took Sarah’s, but the discomfort of her touch was not worth obeying The Rule.
    They reached the drawing room, and Armand would have arrowed for the instrument, but his mother caught his elbow and tugged him over to the couch. “Sit here. You should be able to hear very well beside me. And”—she gave him a pointed look—“I have missed your company.” She took her place beside him and patted his arm. To his annoyance, Armand had to crane his head to see the yellow-haired woman and the instrument—pi… something.
    Think! Idiot! Word!
    In a flash, it came to him—pianoforte!
    The woman went directly to it.
    “Is there anything you’d like to hear?” the woman asked, looking at each of them in turn. Armand did not understand the question, but he nodded at the pianoforte to encourage her to begin.
    “Why don’t you play the piece you began this afternoon? Obviously, Armand enjoyed it,” Sarah said.
    Miss Bennett nodded and raised her hands. Seconds later, Armand was once again captured. Almost involuntarily, he closed his eyes and allowed the music to take him away. The music made him believe there was a time when he had been an innocent child, a time when he had been happy, a time when prison was a word and not his life. When he heard the music, he could almost forget the years he had spent crammed in a cell and all but left for dead. He could pretend they had never happened.
    The music slowed and paused, and Armand opened his eyes again. Around him, everyone smacked their hands together. He frowned at the sound they made and was about to rise to make her play again, but her hands lowered, and a new song began. From the first notes, the song was familiar to Armand. He could not say how he knew it or when he had learned it, but he found himself anticipating the notes before the woman played them.
    His eyes met Julien’s, and it was obvious his brother knew the song. Was it something they had learned as children? Armand stood, needing to move nearer to the pianoforte, to the source of the music. Seeming to sense his need, his mother released him. Armand edged forward, and the yellow-haired woman watched him as he came closer. Her sky blue eyes locked on him, and she offered a small smile. She did not seem afraid, but Armand could sense his brother moving nearer. He was always aware of anyone behind him. And though he trusted the people in this room, he would never relax with his back unprotected.
    The song