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I ’m going to kill him!

Nic struggled to maintain his composure as anger simmered beneath the surface.

Frederick knew full well that Nic hadn’t sung in public for years.

Yet his foolish cousin had still allowed him to give the music box to Mrs. Burls, putting him in this precarious situation.

Now, everyone in the room was watching him, their eyes filled with expectation.

They could see it, too—the panic that had gripped him the moment the music began to play.

His mind raced as he tried to think of a way out, but nothing came. He had been caught completely off guard, thrust into a position he was unprepared for. His chest tightened as the reality of the moment sank in.

Keep calm, Hawthorne, he reminded himself sternly, using his title like a mantra. He needed to regain control, to not let his panic show any more than it already had. He couldn’t afford to give his audience any reason to doubt him—or, worse, to see through his carefully crafted disguise.

With a slow breath, Nic forced himself to steady. He had faced worse situations before and emerged unscathed. This was just another challenge—one he had to handle with the smooth precision that had gotten him out of so many tight spots in the past.

He cleared his throat and smiled the best he could under these awkward circumstances.

He aimed his attention at Mrs. Burls. “Oh, my dear friend, you catch me unawares. I haven’t sung since I first became sick a few weeks ago.

I daresay that if I sing now, all the mirrors in the house will crack and the dogs will howl. ”

Chuckles ripped through the air, setting Nic a little more at ease.

Mrs. Burls’ smile waned. His heart wrenched.

Blast it all, why did she have to look at him like that ?

Of course she didn’t know why he—Nic—had stopped singing in public, or why he’d vowed never to do so again.

But Frederick did…and Nic would indeed kill him, tonight!

“I understand,” Mrs. Burls said. “I didn’t realize the illness had affected you so.”

Another man in the room stepped forward—Mr. Jacobs, the town’s blacksmith.

Nic had observed him before and found him to be a decent, hardworking fellow, despite the hardships life had thrown his way.

Jacobs’ wife had passed away two years ago, leaving him to raise their seven-year-old daughter on his own.

The whole town knew he was seeking a wife, but unfortunately, his search had been fruitless so far.

To make matters worse, Jacobs had recently suffered a serious injury in his shop, taking a hard fall and badly injuring his knee.

Now he struggled to get around with crutches, and the injury had made it nearly impossible for him to keep up with the demanding work of a blacksmith.

The once-strong and capable man was now a shadow of his former self, limping through life with quiet determination, but clearly weighed down by his circumstances.

As Jacobs stepped forward now, Nic could see the strain in his movements, the awkward shuffle of his crutches.

There was a humility about the man that Nic admired, even in the face of such adversity.

While he stood there battling his own panic, Jacobs’ presence was a quiet reminder of how differently people handled their burdens.

“Mrs. Burls,” Jacobs said, “please permit me to sing the song for you. I know my voice won’t be as glorious as Mr. Woodland’s, but it would be my honor.”

Ice surged through Nic’s veins, freezing him in place as bitter memories from his past clawed their way to the surface.

His gut twisted painfully, and the acrid taste of bitterness coated his tongue, making him feel like he might gag.

This was exactly what had happened all those years ago—the last time he had been asked to sing in public.

Back then, it had been the sting of Lady Anna’s rejection that threw him off balance.

Hurt and angry, he’d allowed another man to sing in his place at a dinner social.

The disappointment in the room had been palpable, and people had looked down on him for shirking the task when they had asked specifically for him.

The humiliation of that night had burned deeply, a wound that never fully healed.

From that moment, he had vowed never to sing publicly again—never to let himself be so vulnerable, so exposed to judgment and failure.

But now, standing here, with all eyes on him, that familiar sense of panic surged. He would not let history repeat itself. This time, he would not be made a fool. The shame of that past incident had haunted him for too long, and he couldn’t allow it to control him any longer.

Yet time was slipping away. He could feel the moment threatening to pass him by, the weight of expectation heavy in the air.

If he didn’t gather the courage to act, to sing as he’d been asked, he knew he would regret it forever.

With every passing second, the window to reclaim his dignity and prove to himself that he could do this was closing.

Nic took a deep breath, forcing himself to stand taller. His heart pounded wildly, but he knew that if he didn’t seize this moment now, he would never forgive himself.

“I thank you, Mr. Jacobs,” Mrs. Burls said.

“But perhaps another time. I just remembered another person who loves this song as much as I.” Her gaze flew to Tabitha.

“Her mother was my favorite niece and used to sing it to Miss Tabitha when she was young.” She held out her hand toward Tabitha. “Would you sing it to me, my dear?”

As he observed Tabitha’s face, his heart softened.

She looked even more panicked than he had felt just moments ago.

The seconds dragged on, and tears filled her eyes, her chest rising and falling with deep, anxious breaths.

She seemed to brace herself, stepping closer to her great-aunt with an expression that made it clear she was struggling internally.

Nic remained silent, feeling the weight of her emotions.

The flicker of doubt, the fear of failing in front of others—it was all too familiar.

Her face was a canvas of shifting emotions: uncertainty, fear, and then, finally, resolve.

The color had drained from her cheeks, but despite her obvious distress, there was something undeniable in her gaze.

The determination shining through her watery eyes spoke volumes—she was going to do it, no matter how afraid she was.

He couldn’t help but admire the strength it took for her to press forward, even as her emotions threatened to overwhelm her. In that moment, his panic was overshadowed by a deep empathy for Tabitha. He understood now, more than ever, what it meant to face one’s fears.

“Yes, Aunt Clara.” Tabitha’s voice shook. “I shall sing the song for you as best as I can.” She cleared her voice and began the old Irish song.

Her voice trembled, filling the room with her quiet, hesitant notes.

Though her voice wasn’t terrible, it was clear how uncomfortable she was with all eyes upon her.

He could feel her distress, and it tugged at something deep inside him.

A surge of protectiveness came over him.

No one should have to endure that kind of torture.

She blinked back tears, her voice rasping with emotion, and that was all it took to spur Nic into action.

He cleared his throat softly and stepped toward her, picking up the song where she faltered.

His voice wavered at first, uncertain and rusty from years of neglect.

But as he continued, something clicked. The more he sang, the more his confidence grew.

His voice strengthened, deepened, returning to the rich, smooth timbre it had once been long ago.

Tabitha’s eyes widened in surprise as a tear slid down her cheek.

But within seconds, her expression shifted, relief washing over her like a wave.

A small smile tugged at her lips, and she straightened, regaining her composure.

When she opened her mouth to join him, the song flowed effortlessly.

Her gaze never left his, and together, their voices intertwined in perfect harmony.

Nic’s heart swelled with happiness. Tabitha’s voice was angelic, sweet and pure, and it matched his so perfectly that it felt like magic.

A few times, she even harmonized with him, her soft tones lifting the melody higher than he could have imagined.

It was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard, and he found that he couldn’t tear his gaze away from her—not even to glance at the old woman for whom the song was intended.

In that moment, there was nothing but the music and the connection between them, a shared joy that seemed to resonate in every note they sang together.

Nic’s heart was so full by the time the music box fell silent that he feared he might lose all control and pull Tabitha into his arms right then and there.

What’s wrong with me? He felt foolishly sentimental, yet none of it seemed to matter.

What mattered was the joy lighting up Tabitha’s face, her smile growing as they sang the final note together.

When she mouthed thank you to him, his heart melted completely.

Cheers and applause erupted in the room, snapping him back to reality.

For a moment, he had been lost in the music, and especially in her presence.

Now, as he turned his attention to the rest of the gathering, the scene unfolded before him.

Mrs. Burls clapped the loudest, tears streaming down her face, clearly touched.

Mrs. Stiles was wiping her eyes, as were several other guests.

Even the stoic townspeople had been moved by the duet.