Page 34 of Brilliance (Diamonds of the First Water #5)

B rilliance was pleased with the progress in the garden behind her home on King Street. There was a wickerwork dining set on the terrace and a double-wide swing under the apple tree. She had personally planted flowers and been advised to put in bulbs the upcoming autumn for the following year.

That day, while Vincent was in the House of Lords, she directed a footman in the hanging of lanterns now that the weather was warm enough to be outside in the evening. For she had kept a secret from her husband, which she intended to tell him that night over a garden dinner.

As the hours ticked slowly by, she was tingling with excitement. Thus, when he came in the door, she ran to him. He dropped a package on the tile a second before Brilliance launched herself at his tall, sturdy form.

“Good day, Husband.”

“What have you done?” he asked, sweeping his arms around her.

“Whatever do you mean?” she asked.

“Whenever you purchase new furnishings or hire painters and wallpaper hangers to redecorate a room, you greet me in such a good mood.”

She hadn’t realized that was the case, and it made her smile. Before she could even tell him about the new lanterns, however, his mouth came down on hers. With their usual passion, his hands sought her soft flesh, grabbing hold, while she melted against him.

How blissful was their marriage , she thought. Thank goodness she hadn’t ended up with Lord Redley.

When Vincent lifted his head, she leaned back in his arms. “Did I ever tell you my former beau, Lord Redley, apologized to me? He was at one of the earliest concerts when Mr. Castern began giving you credit. Apparently, there were some disgruntled audience members who —”

“Did he pay you a visit?” Her husband’s eyebrows had drawn together.

“Who? Mr. Castern?” she teased. “Oh, you mean Lord Redley. You are jealous. How sweet!” Resting her cheek on his chest, she added, “It was before we married. He sent me a short missive of apology and asked to come calling.” She felt him stiffen. “I declined, but I was glad that he and his aunt and all the world learned the truth about your music.”

His hand cradled the back of her head, his fingers gently massaging her scalp. This familiar action usually ruined her coiffure but was well worth it.

She sighed forgetting they were still in the foyer.

“Speaking of my music, I have a surprise to share,” he said.

She reared back so she could look into his gray-green eyes.

“Did you lose your spectacles?” she asked since he wasn’t wearing them.

“What? No, of course not. I have never lost them, in fact.”

“I have something to share, too,” she said. “I thought to do so over dinner. But you’ll need your eyeglasses.”

“Very well. I will save my surprise for then, too.” He retrieved a package off the foyer floor.

An hour later, after changing for dinner, they were in their garden, sipping wine on the mild May evening. Before them was a wide glass cloche, and under it, a plate of brie and toast points along with slender rhubarb stalks drizzled in honey.

Normally served last, this savory and sweet selection took the edge off Brilliance’s appetite before she partook of their cook’s rich dinner. She’d found the practice saved her from eating too much and also kept her head clear while drinking burgundy before their meal. Elsewise, the rich wine muddied her thoughts, not to mention making her silly. Neither of which she wanted as a married lady.

A married lady. Vincent’s viscountess! The notion still infused her with a mixture of disbelief and gratitude.

“I knew your surprise had something to do with decorating,” Vincent said upon seeing the overall charming effect of the lanterns hanging in the apple tree and around their garden wall. “I love what you have done.”

“That is not the surprise,” Brilliance protested. “Will you show me yours now?” He had brought the same mysterious package outside.

“No. You know my personal philosophy on such matters — ladies come first.” Vincent sent her a look that had her cheeks warming. “In bed or at the dining table. Preferably on the table,” he added, leaning over to nuzzle her neck.

“Vincent!” she admonished before allowing him better access. Eventually, she said, “I will be forced to move to the other side if you do not behave.”

“Then show me your surprise, my muse. And I will show you mine.”

She liked when he called her that. Lately, he had been composing most evenings with her nearby. As good as his word, he had made a place for her in his conservatory. She had a well- lit area with a wingback chair, a footstool, and even a separate writing desk.

It was the last she had mostly used these past months while her husband played and scribbled notes down on blank sheet music. She was so pleased he was writing it all down for posterity and the public.

Leaning over, she reached under the table. Hidden on another chair was a small book, leatherbound with gold lettering on the spine. This, she withdrew and placed in front of Vincent.

He stared at it, picked it up, and read aloud the words on the spine.

“Hewitt. The City Beneath the Earth .” He glanced at her, appearing confounded, but then understanding dawned. “Brilliance Hewitt, not Vincent!” He opened it. “Yes!” he exclaimed, turning past the title page to the next one that had the book title and her name.

“Dedicated to my husband with love,” he read, scrawled as neatly as she could under her printed name.

“I wasn’t sure whether to use my new family name or my new titled name, but then I thought —”

He leaned over and kissed her. “This is fabulous. I am so proud of you.”

“You haven’t read it yet. It may be awful.” But she was pleased nonetheless by her accomplishment. She might not be able to paint or fish, but she was a published author. And that was something.

“Even if it is monstrously dreadful, I shall love it,” Vincent promised, deflating her slightly, until he added, “Regardless, I am proud of you for bringing your story out into the open.” He shook his head. “And all this time, I thought you were writing letters.”

“I wanted to keep it from you until I was certain I could finish an entire novel. When I took it to a publisher, they liked it. Or perhaps they liked my lineage. In any case, at the moment, this is the only copy.”

“I shall order one for everyone I know,” he vowed.

While she sipped her wine, he perused the pages, slowly skimming and turning, occasionally making a noise of approval. Then she could wait no longer.

“What have you to share?”

He closed her slender tome. “Nothing nearly so exciting, I assure you.”

Pulling the brown paper bundle from the center of the table, he handed it to her.

“You may do the honors of —”

Before he could finish, she began to rip the folded edge. When she tore the wrapping quickly, he chuckled. “I thought you only opened packages in such a wild fashion at Christmas time. I see now it is a habit.”

Ignoring him, Brilliance didn’t slow down until she had uncovered a much larger leather book than her own.

“ The Collected Compositions of Lord Vincent Hewitt, Vol I ,” she read. “Vol I?” Flipping through it, she started to read the titles. And then she got to the sonata he had written for her.

“For my own beloved Brilliance, whose essence cannot truly be captured in music although I shall attempt to do so for the rest of my days.”

Closing it with a thump, she leaned over and put her arms around him. “I thought the individual, printed sheet music was impressive, but seeing it like this, as a collection, is splendid.”

He shrugged, looking pleased.

“I will order copies for everyone I know,” she promised, echoing his words.

“There is something else,” he added. “I have booked a concert hall for next month. The manager contacted me, and I —”

Jumping from her seat, Brilliance plopped herself upon his lap.

“I am thrilled. We’ll fill opening night’s seats with all our family and friends.”

“I guess that is one way to ensure I don’t open and close on the same night.”

“Preposterous!” she said. “Everyone in London will be clamoring to hear my talented husband, the true composer of some of the most beautiful music of our time.”

“Some of?” he teased. “I suppose I am not Bach.”

“You are my Bach,” she promised with a laugh. “And on opening night, will you stand center stage and gesture up to me in our box, introducing your beloved wife, the unknown author?”

He cradled her face, his tone growing serious. “Actually, I do intend to sing the praises of my precious muse.”

His sage-colored eyes captured her. “Brilliance, I am not speaking in jest. By naming my greatest work —”

“So far,” she interjected. “‘Essence of Brilliance’ is only your best so far .”

“Will you hush and let me tell you how much I adore you?” he demanded. “You are my savior, in fact, my greatest patron. Without you ...” His voice choked.

“Without me,” she said, “you would still be a great composer. Although I recommend you do not sing on opening night, neither my praises nor any other tune. I have heard you in the bathtub, my love, and you are no better a singer than Lady Georgiana.”

Her teasing laughter filled the night air until he stopped it with another perfect kiss.

Finis