him. If she tried to follow, she would likely slip and fall in her light leather shoes, not to mention freeze in her thin wool jacket and lace-trimmed shirtwaist.
Already shivering, she shut the door, headed for the nearest fire and heard the music recommence. It was a cello this time, an instrument Estelle hadn’t mastered as well as she liked.
The cellist playing, however, had mastered it.
“Florian.” Catherine sprinted for the music room door as though the corridor were a tennis court and she needed to get to the ball.
She yanked open the door. The music stuttered to a halt. Estelle spun around on the piano stool to glare at Catherine. And three gentlemen stood, two with instruments and bows in hand. The third held nothing but a top hat.
No wonder Lord Tristram had managed to disappear so quickly. He hadn’t left the house at all.
She closed the door and leaned against it to support her suddenly wobbly legs.
“Don’t tell us to stop.” Estelle widened her eyes in entreaty. “This piece was just coming together.”
“Your sister is a wonderful composer, Lady Bisterne.” Florian gave Estelle a look of pure devotion.
“Estelle, a composer?” Catherine shook her head. She raised her hand to rub the taut muscles in her neck and remembered the rings she still clutched. “I’d like to hear it.”
“We were just about to play it for Lord Tristram.” Estelle faced the piano and rested her hands on the keyboard. “I call this ‘Praise.’”
Praise, indeed. For the next ten minutes, the music rised to the heavens, a beautiful reminder that Catherine had spent too little time in praise over the past five years. Or perhaps in her life. Though far from perfect, with the men having just learned the piece, the instruments delivered the tune into her heart.
When the last note vanished from the room, the five of them remained silent, everyone seeming to hold his or her breath.
The chime of the doorbell broke the stillness. The three musicians exchanged smiles of congratulations. On the far side of the room, Lord Tristram bowed to Estelle. “A reminder of what so rarely falls from our lips.”
“If we had a poet who could write lyrics...” Florian began.
“And a voice capable of singing them...” Ambrose added.
“We could make a fortune singing this for—”
“Do not,” Catherine growled, “encourage her. One scandal in the family is more than enough.”
And there it was—a reminder of her elopement with Edwin and the missing jewels. Exactly what Lord Tristram did not need.
To distract them all, Catherine rested her hand on Estelle’s shoulder. “I’ll make a bargain with you, baby sister. If you promise to attend all the social events Mama wishes you to attend, I will see to it you may practice as much as you like.”
“With Mr. Wolfe and Mr. Baston-Ward?” Estelle looked up with shining eyes. “Truly?”
“Yes, truly. But do, please, for propriety’s sake, ask Sapphire or one of the other maids to join you in the future.” Catherine squeezed the delicate bones beneath her hand. “A deal?”
“A deal.” Estelle shot to her feet and enveloped Catherine in an embrace. “I don’t care what anyone says about you. You always were the best sister a girl could have.”
“Wait until the holiday season of parties is over before you make those kinds of declarations.” Her tone was stern, but her heart swelled.
Then Lord Tristram strode up to them, and the rings seemed to catch fire inside her fist. Slowly, painfully, she forced her fingers open and held out her hand, the rings gleaming in the snowy light. “You forgot these.”
“Thank you.” He removed the rings from her palm without touching her.”
Catherine lifted her chin. “To be frank, I’m happy you’re taking away my last reminder of a man—I do apologize, Florian, but the truth here is necessary—for whom I was a good and faithful wife, though he broke nearly every one of our vows. I no longer want a reminder of
Already shivering, she shut the door, headed for the nearest fire and heard the music recommence. It was a cello this time, an instrument Estelle hadn’t mastered as well as she liked.
The cellist playing, however, had mastered it.
“Florian.” Catherine sprinted for the music room door as though the corridor were a tennis court and she needed to get to the ball.
She yanked open the door. The music stuttered to a halt. Estelle spun around on the piano stool to glare at Catherine. And three gentlemen stood, two with instruments and bows in hand. The third held nothing but a top hat.
No wonder Lord Tristram had managed to disappear so quickly. He hadn’t left the house at all.
She closed the door and leaned against it to support her suddenly wobbly legs.
“Don’t tell us to stop.” Estelle widened her eyes in entreaty. “This piece was just coming together.”
“Your sister is a wonderful composer, Lady Bisterne.” Florian gave Estelle a look of pure devotion.
“Estelle, a composer?” Catherine shook her head. She raised her hand to rub the taut muscles in her neck and remembered the rings she still clutched. “I’d like to hear it.”
“We were just about to play it for Lord Tristram.” Estelle faced the piano and rested her hands on the keyboard. “I call this ‘Praise.’”
Praise, indeed. For the next ten minutes, the music rised to the heavens, a beautiful reminder that Catherine had spent too little time in praise over the past five years. Or perhaps in her life. Though far from perfect, with the men having just learned the piece, the instruments delivered the tune into her heart.
When the last note vanished from the room, the five of them remained silent, everyone seeming to hold his or her breath.
The chime of the doorbell broke the stillness. The three musicians exchanged smiles of congratulations. On the far side of the room, Lord Tristram bowed to Estelle. “A reminder of what so rarely falls from our lips.”
“If we had a poet who could write lyrics...” Florian began.
“And a voice capable of singing them...” Ambrose added.
“We could make a fortune singing this for—”
“Do not,” Catherine growled, “encourage her. One scandal in the family is more than enough.”
And there it was—a reminder of her elopement with Edwin and the missing jewels. Exactly what Lord Tristram did not need.
To distract them all, Catherine rested her hand on Estelle’s shoulder. “I’ll make a bargain with you, baby sister. If you promise to attend all the social events Mama wishes you to attend, I will see to it you may practice as much as you like.”
“With Mr. Wolfe and Mr. Baston-Ward?” Estelle looked up with shining eyes. “Truly?”
“Yes, truly. But do, please, for propriety’s sake, ask Sapphire or one of the other maids to join you in the future.” Catherine squeezed the delicate bones beneath her hand. “A deal?”
“A deal.” Estelle shot to her feet and enveloped Catherine in an embrace. “I don’t care what anyone says about you. You always were the best sister a girl could have.”
“Wait until the holiday season of parties is over before you make those kinds of declarations.” Her tone was stern, but her heart swelled.
Then Lord Tristram strode up to them, and the rings seemed to catch fire inside her fist. Slowly, painfully, she forced her fingers open and held out her hand, the rings gleaming in the snowy light. “You forgot these.”
“Thank you.” He removed the rings from her palm without touching her.”
Catherine lifted her chin. “To be frank, I’m happy you’re taking away my last reminder of a man—I do apologize, Florian, but the truth here is necessary—for whom I was a good and faithful wife, though he broke nearly every one of our vows. I no longer want a reminder of
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