The next day passed in a blur as Rosalie once again trailed behind the duchess through a series of meetings. First with the butler, then the head florist, then the orchestra leader, who arrived express from Town. Rosalie helped the duchess organize her correspondence and the duchess gave her free rein to explore the art catalogs. She was shocked to learn the house boasted not one, but three Rubens. She was scandalized to find there was a recently acquired piece from Marguerite Gérard still wrapped in paper. If Rosalie truly had a say in Alcott’s curation, that would be the first piece taken out of storage.
Dinner was a long affair seated as she was between Sir Andrew and the marchioness. She would have loved nothing more than to retire to her room with a book, but the young ladies had other plans. Any moment not spent showcasing their talents was a moment wasted, so after dinner Rosalie found herself seated in the far corner of the music room, watching as Elizabeth played a piece from ‘The Marriage of Figaro’ on the piano. Next to the instrument, young Mariah sang in a pretty soprano.
As soon as the piece ended, the room clapped appreciatively. The girls made their bows and flitted aside to make way for the next exhibitor. Conversation hummed as a few people rose to refill their drinks. Before Rosalie could protest, Burke dropped into the chair next to her. “You’ve been busy this week, Miss Harrow.”
“As have you, sir,” she replied, hating the way her body leaned towards him. “How goes your sporting?”
“The birds are proving difficult to bag,” he said with a smirk.
“Perhaps they are wise to your strategy, sir. More caution is sometimes required.”
“Hmm, so is persistence,” he replied. “And a novel approach.”
Something in his tone had her turning her head sharply to take him in. He looked as handsome as ever…so handsome she wanted to curse the heavens. He was in a teasing mood again. She saw the grey storms roiling in his eyes.
“Do you play?” he said, gesturing to the piano.
“Only when forced…and nothing quite so grand as Beethoven or Boyce.”
His voice suddenly rose louder. “Well, of course, you must play, Miss Harrow.”
Half a dozen sets of eyes looked their way.
“Did you wish to exhibit, Miss Harrow?” called the countess.
“She’s just been telling me her skill is not quite so proficient as the Swindon songbirds, but we don’t stand on ceremony here,” Burke replied for her.
Rosalie sat frozen, too stunned to speak. She was going to kill him. The fire irons were near at hand. Those would surely do the job.
“Well, you must play, Miss Harrow,” came Blanche’s coo of encouragement.
“Yes,” Burke said, still smiling like an imp. “You surely must.”
Rosalie caught the eye of Renley, who was sitting by Lord James on the far sofa. He had a curious brow raised, eyes darting between her and Burke. It gave her an idea. She stood, brushing down the folds of her dress. “I would be more than happy to take my turn. And I have a treat for you, ladies. I too will be performing a duet…with Mr. Burke.”
His smile fell ever so slightly as all the young ladies cooed and clapped.
“Nothing better than a male accompaniment,” called the viscountess.
“I quite agree. We ladies cannot have all the fun,” Rosalie said over the sound of Mariah and Blanche twittering their excitement. “Come now, Mr. Burke, let’s put all your boasting to the test and showcase your musical talents.”
The storms in his eyes raged. But he stood and put a wide smile back on his face. “Your wish is my command, Miss Harrow.”
She led the way over to the piano, slipping her long white gloves off as she walked. “Well, Mr. Burke?” She lowered her voice. “You got us into this mess, do you have the talent to get us out of it again?”
“I can carry a tune,” he replied.
She considered the list of piano pieces she could play tolerably well. It was a frightfully short list. “Do you know O Waly, Waly?” He nodded and she breathed a sigh of relief. “Fine. I shall sing the first verse and you the second. I the third, and we will dare to harmonize in the fourth. Agreed?”
The storms in his eyes were still swirling. In the flickering of the candlelight, she could almost imagine they sparked with lightning. He was hatching another plan. “Lead on, Miss Harrow.”
She dropped onto the bench and took a deep breath, trying to control the shaking in her hands. Burke took up his position at her shoulder. From this angle, no one could tell how close he was, but Rosalie knew. She could feel him with every fibre of her being. She played the first few chords of the tune and licked her lips, readying herself to sing. Taking a breath, she sang out in a clear alto voice:
The water is wide, I cannot get o’er
And neither have I wings to fly
Give me a boat that will carry two
And both shall row, my love and I
The open top of the piano all but blocked her from view, which she appreciated. What she did not appreciate was the sudden feel of fingers brushing up her back, pausing at her neckline. Giving nothing away of his movements, Burke dared to let his fingertips trail up the line of her spine, sending heat shooting through her body. She barely kept her fingers on the keys as that warm hand found a perch on her shoulder, his thumb touching her bare skin. She bit her bottom lip to contain a moan as she played the few notes signaling the transition to the next verse.
Burke stepped closer until he was flush with her back, his hand still on her shoulder, that devilish thumb stroking small circles into her skin. She would die if anyone noticed. This was agony. Damn this man, for playing every game better than her. Pausing the movement of his thumb, Burke sang out in a deep voice:
O’down the meadows the other day
A-gath’ring flowers both fine and gay
A-gath’ring flowers both red and blue
I little thought what love can do
It was all Rosalie could do to keep playing as she was transported by the beauty of his voice. It was rich and melodic. As he finished, he gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. She nearly missed her own entrance as she dared to look up at him, anchored by his warm hand on her shoulder. The heat in his gaze sent desire pooling to her core. She wanted him…and he knew it. There was no denying this tension or that it was a mutual burning. She let her mask fall away, lowering her lashes and giving him a single look of longing.
His hand clenched on her shoulder as his body went still as stone. He might hold power over her, but she had power over him too. She turned away, a smile of satisfaction on her lips, as she sang out the next verse:
I leaned my back up against an oak
Thinking that he was a trusty tree
But first he bent in and then he broke
And so did my false love to thee
Heavens, what could have possessed her to pick this song? She swallowed her nerves as she met Burke’s gaze again, ready to try and sing the next verse with him. He gave her a reassuring nod and they did their best to blend their voices into a passable melody:
A ship there is, and she sails the seas
She’s laden deep, as deep can be
But no so deep, as the love I’m in
I know not if I sink or swim
As the last notes of the song faded away, Rosalie took her hands from the keys and peered around the piano. The room was utterly silent. All eyes were on them, and more than one lady was crying.
“That was Elinor’s favorite,” the duchess murmured. “Will you please finish it?”
Rosalie glanced up at Burke. He nodded, stepping back. His hand slipped from her shoulder and the loss of his warmth raised gooseflesh down her arms. Taking a breath, she stroked the keys back to life and sang the last verse alone:
O, love is handsome and love is fine
And love’s a jewel o while it is new
But when it is old, it groweth cold
And fades away, like a morning dew
A deep, aching heaviness settled in her heart as she finished. How true it was. Every word. She glanced up to see the crowd still watched her. Slowly, she stood. Burke stood next to her and offered out his hand. She took it, feeling his fingers close possessively around hers. He led her around the front of the piano and the pair bowed as the room broke into applause.
“Well done,” called the duke.
“That was beautiful,” Mariah cried.
“You have the voice of an angel, Mr. Burke,” said Blanche.
Even Lady Olivia begrudgingly clapped.
Burke led her back to her seat. She sat heavily, her soul still full of the lyrics to the old folk song. Her mother used to sing it while they sewed, while she brushed Rosalie’s hair. It was her anthem, full of the life lessons she wanted Rosalie to learn: love is fleeting, love is false, love is full of trials and suffering, it is confusing…and ultimately fades away.
“Did I pass your test, Miss Harrow?” Burke murmured once he was seated next to her.
She glanced up, noting the way the storms in his eyes seemed to have eased. Because of me, she mused. All ships need a port in the storm…but what about the storm itself? Who will comfort it? Who will protect it? Like Tempestas, goddess of storms, Rosalie need only extend her hand and she could calm him…or bring him to a rage…drop him to his knees.
But this will fade. It must fade. It always fades.
“Rosalie? Are you alright?”
Another jolt of want hit her core as he said the three syllables of her name. It was a song on his lips, an incantation…a summoning.
If I reach out my hand, he will take it.
She said the only honest thing that came to her mind. “I know not if I sink or swim.”
