Lady Helen Finds Her Song Page 8

  “A surprise?”

  Fanny bumped her shoulder into the captain’s arm. “Oh, how very thoughtful of you to come all this way to collect our dear Helen, Captain.” She batted her eyes and tipped her head, lifting her too-perfect lips in a too-perfect smile.

  Helen felt a surge of heat roll through her stomach. How dare Fanny flirt with Captain Rhodes!

  “And just at the right time too. I’m afraid dear Helen is starting to develop a tolerance for the barbaric native customs. Why, she was admiring the silly demonstration in the courtyard just now.”

  Helen’s stomach sank. Fanny made her sound like a fool. What would Captain Rhodes think? She looked down at the dusty road beneath her feet and wished herself miles away.

  “The heathens,” Fanny continued. “Have you ever seen such a boorish display, I ask you?”

  “I admit, Miss Cavendish, I have rarely witnessed an exhibition quite like the Mohamedan prayer.”

  Helen felt her stomach drop further. Tears pressed against the backs of her eyes, but they were not the tears of awe she’d felt before. She was ashamed and humiliated in front of the one person she’d hoped would understand. She didn’t know why the captain’s opinion had come to matter so much, but the thought of disappointing him was more than she could bear. She moved to pull her hand from his arm, but he held it tightly in place.

  “The devotion shown by the faithful worshipers is beyond anything I have seen in my lifetime. It is inspiring to say the least. You have no doubt taken a page from Lady Helen’s book and come to appreciate the sincerity of the ritual.”

  Helen raised her head and blinked. Had she understood correctly?

  Captain Rhodes held Helen’s gaze as he spoke. “A person with beauty in her heart is able to appreciate beauty in the world around her. Luckily for us both, Lady Helen is precisely that type of person. If you will excuse us, Miss Cavendish. We must be leaving.”

  Helen barely heard Fanny’s stammering words as Captain Rhodes led her to the waiting carriage and held her hand as she climbed inside. He followed, sitting across from her and reaching out to offer her a handkerchief.

  Helen took it and dabbed at her eyes. “Thank you, Captain Rhodes. I . . . I did not . . .” Her voice caught, and she looked down at the handkerchief, folding it carefully in her lap.

  “My lady, there is no need to thank me.” He pulled on her hand until she raised her eyes. “You were moved by the prayer. I saw it in your face. The ability to feel something, to want to understand people whose beliefs differ from yours, should never be taken for granted. It is what makes you special. Do not allow a person so shallow to tell you that your feelings are unimportant.”

  Helen squeezed his fingers, not trusting herself to speak. But she was coming to find that, with Captain Rhodes, words were not necessary.

  Chapter 9

  Michael studied their joined hands. Lady Helen’s white lace glove looked so petite and feminine in his large grip. A small pearl button was fastened at her wrist. He had never seen such delicate fingers, and his chest grew warm as he thought of what a privilege it was to sit quietly in a carriage holding this lovely young woman’s hand. He wondered if he would ever again have the opportunity.

  Lady Helen’s face was turned downward. Her bonnet blocked his view of her eyes, but he could see that her lips were pulled tight. She ran her finger slowly over his handkerchief, which lay on her lap. Spots of gray against the white of the fabric showed evidence of her tears, and the warmth in his chest tightened as he thought of the spiteful Miss Cavendish and her attempt to show Lady Helen in the worst possible light. The pouting ninny really had no idea that what she considered to be faults, sure to turn him against Lady Helen, were actually the very things that most appealed to him.

  Her interest in the native society was a welcome change from other British women in the colony. Most, like Fanny Cavendish, wanted nothing to do with the world around them. They went about simply pretending it didn’t exist, content to live as if they were still in England, not experiencing India. He worried that this attitude of intolerance would cause the gulf between the British and the natives to grow too wide, leaving room for discontent and even rebellion.

  That was why Lady Helen and her enthusiasm were such a breath of fresh air. He wanted to show her everything this country had to offer, from exotic animals to hidden temples to colorful festivals. He was certain she would be enthralled by it all.

  When he’d arrived at Taylor’s Emporium, he’d spotted Lady Helen right away, but Fanny Cavendish’s tantrum made approaching the party awkward, and he’d waited for a better opportunity. Michael had seen her apologize to the shopkeeper and hurry after her friend, but before he could follow, he’d encountered Lord Minto and the countess choosing linens, so he stopped to exchange pleasantries. He made his escape a few moments later and searched the bazaar until he’d spotted the young ladies on the road near the mosque. Lady Helen had watched the prayer with a soft expression, and from his vantage point, he’d seen tears in her eyes as she pressed her fingertips to her mouth.

  Fanny had jerked her away, and though he was not close enough to hear, he could tell she was berating Lady Helen for her reaction. Seeing Lady Helen’s shoulders droop as Fanny marched her toward the carriage had lit a spark of anger inside him. The idea that a spoiled, ignorant person would cause a young lady he cared for to feel ashamed for her goodness was more than he was willing to tolerate, and it was with great restraint that he had kept from telling the blonde-haired half-wit exactly what he thought of her.

  Glancing out the small carriage window, Michael could see that they were nearing Chowringhee. “My lady.” He spoke in a quiet voice, not wishing to jar her from her thoughts.

  Helen raised her face, and her gaze sent a jolt through him. Would it always be so when her eyes met his?

  His collar felt tight, and he wondered if his face had reddened. “We are nearing your home.”

  She pulled her hand from his and clasped it with the other in her lap. “She really is terrible, isn’t she?” One corner of her mouth pulled to the side.

  He nodded his head once. “Thoroughly.”

  “I do not know why I care for her opinion at all. She only wished me to go to the emporium in order to ensure that I wore an uglier gown to the Governor-General’s ball than she.” She turned her gaze out the window. “She knows very well it does not matter what gown each of us wears; she will capture everyone’s attention regardless.”

  “My lady, you are every bit as lovely. In fact, much more so than—”

  Helen looked back to him, blinking and shaking her head. “Oh, Captain, I am not asking for a compliment. I did not mean for my words to come out that way.”

  “Then please tell me why you think Miss Cavendish will be the lady sought after at the ball.” Michael had certainly never had so frank a conversation with a young woman and was at a loss as to what he should say.

  “Because she is Fanny. Beautiful, a hopeless flirt. She always knows precisely what to say and how to tilt her head and bat her eyes. It would not matter if she were to wear a flour sack to the ball. Gentlemen would still want to be near her.” She shrugged a shoulder and smiled shyly. “I, on the other hand, can never think of anything intelligent to say, and I turn into a complete featherhead when I speak to people.”

  “You are not a featherhead right now.” It took every bit of his self-control to not allow his amusement to show on his face. Her brows were pulled together, her eyes turned downward.

  “You are right.” She tipped her head, and her eyes grew wide as if the realization surprised her. “But, you know, you are very pleasant to talk to. You set me at ease, Captain.”

  “I am glad of it.”

  “And will you attend Lord Minto’s ball, sir?”

  Michael hesitated. The idea of going to the Governor-General’s ball turned his stomach hard. He studied her face. Her eyes were wide with a hopefulness that he could never in a thousand years turn to disappointment. “I
will if you wish me to.”

  “You hardly sound eager, Captain. Do you not enjoy a ball?”

  The thought of limping into a room full of dancing people, of gentlemen dancing with Lady Helen when he himself— “No, not particularly.”

  She raised a brow. “I take it you cannot endure the company of happy people or fine music. Or perhaps it is the abundance of delicious food that drives you away.”

  “I just . . . do not care for a ball.”

  Lady Helen drew her head back, and a smile grew on her face. “I know what it is! All of the beautiful ladies throwing themselves at your feet. It must be tiresome.”

  Michael allowed himself a smile at her lighthearted banter. “What makes you think ladies throw themselves at my feet?”

  She shrugged again, and he noticed how bright her eyes had become. Did she have any idea how captivating they were? His heart stuttered when he realized he was the cause of her good cheer, that somehow he’d managed to raise her spirits.

  “Because you are a handsome captain with broad shoulders and thick hair. You stand straight, and you are extremely kind.” Her eyes twinkled. “And let us not forget, you have a monkey for a pet. Such a combination is more than any woman can resist.”

  “Lady Helen, are you teasing me? I do not think I have ever been teased in my life.”

  “Then you obviously have no brothers and sisters, Captain.”

  The carriage halted in front of the general’s mansion.

  “It is true; I do not.”

  “Sibling teasing is not always kind.” Her eyes dimmed slightly, and she looked away for an instant then returned her gaze to his. She folded the handkerchief and held it toward him. “Thank you.”

  He took it, pushing it into his jacket pocket. The driver opened the door, and Michael leaned forward to climb down before her.

  She placed her hand on his arm, stopping him. “I was teasing, but I assure you I was not being unkind. I did mean what I said, Captain. You are all those things, and I am fortunate indeed that you are my friend.” Her eyes had regained their light.

  Michael’s collar had again grown too narrow. “As am I.” He stepped out of the carriage and turned, taking her hand to assist her in alighting.

  “And I do hope you will attend the ball.” Her eyes met his again. Were they not the most perfect blue?

  “I would not miss it, my lady.”

  Lady Helen kept hold on his hand, pulling him forward. “Come, then, Captain. Shall we see what surprise awaits?”

  He followed her up the stairs to the main doors, trying not to wince with every other step. Stairs were particularly difficult for his leg, and when he was alone, he took them much slower, usually one at a time.

  She hurried through the doorway, releasing his hand as she looked around the entry hall. “Mamá? Jim?”

  “I believe you will find them in the drawing room.” Michael found that the excitement of her impending surprise made him feel like a child on Christmas morning. He clasped his hands behind his back and nodded toward the doorway behind her.

  She glanced at him, pulling her brows together as she removed her bonnet and gloves and handed them to a waiting servant. She waited for Michael to do the same, and then she moved toward the drawing room.

  Michael stepped quickly behind her. He did not want to miss her expression when she saw the—

  Lady Helen’s gaze landed on the pianoforte, and she gasped. She clasped her hands beneath her chin. “I cannot believe it,” she breathed. “I cannot believe it,” she said in a louder voice. She turned, only now noticing the general and Lady Patricia inside the doorway beside Michael. “Mamá! Jim! What a surprise! Oh, thank you. Thank you.” She rushed forward to embrace her mother and then the general.

  Jim smiled broadly. “The thanks goes to Captain Rhodes for locating the instrument in the Barrackapore station and arranging to have it delivered.”

  Lady Helen turned toward Michael. “Oh, thank you, Captain!” She clasped his shoulders and then stopped, seeming to remember herself before she embraced him and stepped back. She patted his arms and dipped in a curtsey.

  The clumsy motion was so decidedly charming that he could not help but grin.

  “I am just so delighted, I—” She clapped her hands and turned, spreading her arm to include her parents in the circle. “Shall I play for you?”

  “I should hope so,” General Stackhouse said. “Blasted waste of blunt otherwise.”

  Lady Patricia swatted him but smiled, overlooking his language. “We should love it, my dear.”

  Lady Helen hurried to the pianoforte. She sat on the bench and placed her fingers on the keys, breathing in deeply and then out slowly. She stilled for a moment and then began to play.

  The music was beautiful, but it was the musician that held Michael spellbound.

  As her fingers moved over the keys, Lady Helen swayed with the tune. Her eyes closed during soft notes, her brows lifted when the music slowed. Her wrists rose gracefully and lowered into place. He never would have imagined a piece of music could be so enthralling.

  The song ended; Lady Helen held the final chord then slowly lifted her hands from the keys.

  Michael blinked; a part of his mind realized the general had spoken. He shook his head slightly, turning toward his commanding officer. “Excuse me, sir?”

  The general’s brow ticked, and he tipped his head back slightly. “Perhaps, Captain, you would show Helen the music pages?” He flicked his gaze toward a box on the table near the instrument.

  “Of course, sir.” Michael thought General Stackhouse regarded him a little too closely, and he made a note to keep his feelings for Lady Helen from showing. He had been staring at her like a lovestruck moon calf, and the general had surely seen it. He did not imagine the shrewd man missed much, and he was undoubtedly even more aware of events taking place in his own household.

  Crossing to the table, Michael lifted the box and offered it to Lady Helen. She scooted back on the bench to rest it on her legs then opened the lid. “Oh, this is splendid.” She lifted pages out, looking each one over. Her smile grew. “Vivaldi, Bach, Mozart—all of my favorites.” She looked up at Michael and then moved to one edge of the bench, patting the space beside her.

  Michael sat, sliding his knees beneath the instrument.

  Helen pulled out another page of music and sighed. “Truly, Captain, you do not know how very much this means to me. I am lucky to be so loved.”

  Michael’s heart and stomach crashed together. Had he been so obvious? What must she think? He felt the blood drain from his face, and he searched his mind for something to say.

  She placed the music onto the rack and glanced to where her mother and the general had taken a seat on a chaise across the room. “I am so happy that my mother found Jim.”

  His shoulders relaxed, and he blew out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Of course. Her parents. She meant she was loved by her parents. He needed to rein in his irrational thoughts.

  “My own father was much less . . . involved.” Her fingers played absently on the keys while she spoke. “He was very busy with parliament and the estate, you know.” Helen glanced at him, and the music stopped. “Are you well, Captain? You look a bit pale.”

  He coughed through his dry throat. “Very well, thank you.”

  “I am glad.” She smiled and continued playing a melody as her gaze moved to her parents and then down to her hands.

  “If you will forgive my ignorance, my lady—I am not an expert in the least—but it does not sound as though you are playing Beethoven’s ‘Moonlight Sonata.’” He motioned to the music she had placed on the rack. “Although I am sure you know the music better than I.”

  She blushed and looked down at her fingers. “I am going to tell you a secret, Captain, because you shared something very personal with me. And because I know you will not laugh at me even when I’m ridiculous.”

  “I never would.”

  Helen nodded and glanced acro
ss the room before lowering her voice. “This is Jim’s song.”

  “Jim’s . . . ?”

  She lifted her eyes to his and lowered them again. “I told you it is ridiculous, but ever since I was a child, I have thought everybody has a song. I hear it sometimes in my head when I am with a person.” She continued to play the melody, and Michael heard a marching beat beneath low, warm tones. The melody was not lighthearted but still had a feeling of contentment to it.

  “It is . . . nice.”

  “I sound foolish, don’t I?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Well, I should tell you this was not always Jim’s song.”

  “No?”

  She shook her head, and the song changed. The melody retained its original tune, but the chords were minor—discordant and much harsher sounding. “I was afraid of Jim when I met him.” Lady Helen’s voice was low. She continued to play, and the song evolved into the pleasant one she had started with. “Jim’s song changed.”

  “And what brought about the change? Was it the person that transformed or your feelings toward him?” Michael asked.

  She stopped playing and looked at him for a moment with her eyes squinted. “I believe both.” She placed her hands back on the keys and began a staccato rhythm with precise notes and scales. “This was my mother’s song.” Helen said. She continued to play the clippy tune, and Michael wondered at the lack of warmth in the song. He did not know Lady Patricia at all. Was she a compassionate mother? A moment later, the tune changed, or rather the melody stayed the same, but it slowed, deepening into something much softer.

  “Mamá’s song changed when she met Jim.”

  Michael watched her, fascinated. With her music, Lady Helen had revealed so much about herself. “And the rest of your family. Do they have songs?”

  She glanced at him from the side of her eye and changed the tune again. The song was loud and the melody fast; low notes rumbled beneath a steady beat. “My father.” A higher, shrill-sounding song took its place with harsh notes and a swift rhythm. “My sisters.” The song changed to a low, slow tune with a rough sound—strong notes against an agitated drumming. “My brother,” she nearly whispered.