Whispered Music (London Fairy Tales #2)(44)
Author: Rachel Van Dyken

Making love to his wife.

Chapter Twenty-seven

I remember my first performance. It was for the Czar of Russia. I was terrified, but so excited. My palms perspired as I touched the keys of the piano and set out to impress my father’s friend. It was the most terrifying time of my life. Yet, when I gaze into the eyes of my wife, a new terror takes hold, gripping my heart until it hurts to breathe. To lose her would be to lose myself. I cannot grasp, nor fathom the depths of my sorrow, if I were to no longer have her by my side. I would give up my music, my life, my very soul, to keep her.

—The Diary of Dominique Maksylov

By the time Isabelle returned to the carriage with Dominique, the sun was going down. It had been a dreadfully long day, but she hadn’t imagined it would be so fun. Dominique was showing a completely different side of himself. At one point she thought he was foxed. He was too carefree, he laughed often, and his smile was so beautiful it took her breath away. Surely there was some sort of explanation for his behavior? She wasn’t naive enough to believe it had to do with being in her presence, though she ached for it to be true. Men despised shopping as well as socializing, at least men like Dominique, but he seemed to enjoy walking into the village, talking with the local butcher and even the modiste as he explained exactly what type of dress he needed to be made for Isabelle, stating that she was to never wear the colors of a debutante again.

The ladies of the village noticed his charisma as well. The women shared their smiles too freely and found any number of excuses to reach out and touch Dominique. One of the ladies at the shop had the audacity to even claim she was concerned there was a rip in his jacket. Jealousy poured out of Isabelle until, in one final act of a day of poor choices—for she had shamelessly attached herself to his person publically all day—she even went as far as to kiss him in the middle of the village square.

“Feeling possessive?” Dominique asked, his lips forming a mischievous grin.

“No.” Isabelle brushed his hair out of his face. “Feeling happy.” And it was true, she was happy, though it was entirely possible that her happiness was being overshadowed by a sort of jealous rage she had never before experienced.

“Even better.” He winked.

As they sat across from one another and made their way home, Isabelle could not help the feeling of foreboding that took over. What if it was all a lie? Was Dominique truly reformed or would she put her heart even further out only to see it snatched away the minute he allowed the darkness that haunted him to seep back into his soul?

Dresses, gloves, hats—he did not even stop to ask if she wanted any of these things, rather he insisted that she add to her wardrobe. His way of repaying her, no doubt, for her kindness during his illness. But what she wanted, what she needed, was the very thing he hadn’t once offered since his recovery.

His heart.

Dominique had made it clear that he desired her, but that he too feared rejection. How was she to continue on in the same fashion, knowing that fear kept both of them from proclaiming what needed to be said? If she took the first step, if she were to be bold and confess her love, then she put her heart and what felt like her soul out into the open. Oh she had said it before, but after he was shot, she wasn’t even sure if he still remembered, or if he thought it was merely her emotions running high. If he did so, then he feared she would reject him and if her answer was less than perfect or if she paused in any way, would he begin to shout and act beastly, thinking she felt differently.

It was all too much. Her mind whirled with possibilities. She chewed her lip in thought, keeping her eyes downcast the entire way home. Clearly, Dominique was distracted, for he said nothing to her once they pulled up to the large estate. Instead, he jumped out of the carriage, offered his hand, and made some ridiculous excuse about seeing that Hunter hadn’t jumped headfirst from the balcony.

Bewildered and quite tired from spending the last of her energy arguing with herself the entire way home, Isabelle walked blindly into the castle, not bothering to look any direction but at the stairs as she slowly ascended to her bedroom.

Perhaps a nap would set her to rights? She stifled a yawn. Yes, a nap would be just the thing. Maybe her imagination would be at rest and she could wake up refreshed, ready to find out why her husband was in such a hurry to find Hunter.

****

Dominique watched his wife slowly walk up the stairs. Always the lady, she covered her mouth with the back of her hand to hide her yawn. She must be utterly exhausted, for she hadn’t said a word the entire ride home. Not that he could blame her, for the past few days had been anything but restful for the girl and he had gone and overwhelmed her with a shopping excursion. But it was necessary, for not only did he need her away from the estate, but he required her exact measurements to put final touches on the ball gown he had ordered for her.

Now, he just had to locate Hunter to make sure everything was set for that evening. Everything had to be perfect.

As expected, Hunter was indeed leaning over one of the balconies above the stairs; he was not, however, planning his own demise. Rather, he was helping one of the servants string up a slew of lanterns filled with candles.

“There you are.” Dominique took a deep breath and looked around the transformed entry leading into the ballroom at the bottom of the stairs. “Do you think you can manage to hurry?”

Hunter glared, his eyes burning with indignation. “Why yes, why don’t I just snap my fingers? Perhaps magical fairies will appear and decorate the entire house to your liking, considering what I’m doing isn’t enough.”

At that precise moment, one of the candles hit the corner of Hunter’s jacket lighting him on fire. The outburst caused quite a commotion as the man turned in circles and cursed before a nearby maid finally doused him with a bucket of water.

Dominique desperately tried to hold in his laughter; truly he wasn’t prone to laughing so much in one day. But the sight of his friend, drenched after a day of women’s work and decorating was too much.

A chuckle broke free and then another, before Dominique bent over in pure merriment as his laughter echoed off the walls. Hunter joined in. The maids, however, looked shocked for Dominique knew better than any that it had been years since such laughter had danced through the house.

Surely it hadn’t been as bad as all that, had it? His mind played tricks with him. Surely he had at least smiled! But as his gaze quickly darted to the shocked maids, he realized that yes, it had been that bad. If anything it had been worse. And he was to blame for all of it.