Page 7 of Revisit the Past (Society of Swans #3)

F ervent chatter and bustling commotion greeted Caleb and Wrighthall as the Eldmars’ butler announced them into the music room. Everywhere Caleb’s eye turned, something glittered, from the perfectly spherical floral arrangements nestled within tall, porcelain vases—themselves gilded with a keen eye toward moderation between tastefulness and extravagance—to the twinkling chandelier above.

Yet none shone so bright as the young lady who stood at the front of the room near the raised platform, frowning in concentration. The corner of Caleb’s mouth tugged up in a smile as he watched her flip through her sheet music. If he’d been a betting man, he would wager that Miss Abbott had prepared pieces for pianoforte, harp, and voice. She had made herself a great proficient at all three.

The smile evaporated in an instant when a man appeared from the corner of Caleb’s vision and strode with blond head held high, propelled by self-assurance, straight toward Miss Abbott.

He was too far to hear any of their conversation or attempt the imperfect art of reading their lips. Yet he recognized well enough those civil stances, the chivalrous gesturing on the part of the gentleman, and the cultivated blankness of the lady’s expression in response, as well as the protective monitoring of her father and aunt from a safe distance.

“Careful, my friend, or you shall be accused of gawking at best and glowering at worst,” said Caleb’s friend to his right. Chuckling, Wrighthall clapped a hand upon his shoulder and squeezed, forcing Caleb to turn. “If you must, you may resume your observations after you have dealt with—”

“Lord Murfield, Lord Wrighthall! Welcome to our little evening of musical fun!”

They turned to the overly amiable voice of Viscountess Eldmar. The older woman approached with what struck Caleb as a rather determined smile. Faint shadows cast by the dozens of flickering candles suspended in the air above them deepened the lines around her mouth and at the corners of her eyes in a way that went beyond charm or motherliness.

“How very good of you both to join us,” said Lady Eldmar as she paused before the gentlemen and sent a sharp glance at something over her shoulder.

Dutifully, Miss Mercy Reeve slipped out from behind her mother and curtsied to Caleb and Wrighthall. Lady Eldmar placed a dainty hand upon her daughter’s shoulder. No, Caleb realized after stealing a closer glance, her hand did not quite make contact with Miss Reeve.

“I hope you remember my youngest child, Mercy. You may not have heard, but her sister, Felicity, has recently been happily settled with a fortuitous match that I myself arranged. She is Mrs. Wheadon now. Surely, our dear Mercy will be following suit very soon!”

“Many congratulations to your family, and all my prayers for your ever-growing joys,” Caleb said with a smile. Wrighthall, more distantly connected to the evening’s hosts, nodded his agreement.

Seemingly pleased with their simple platitude, the viscountess continued with an increased air of confidence, narrow chin jutted up.

“You have arrived at precisely the right moment for my talented daughter to open the night. Would you not consider that to be fate, Lord Murfield? Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Webb, I was beginning to fear we would be compelled to begin without you!”

With Farewells to Caleb and Wrighthall, Lady Eldmar ushered in the newest arrivals. Whether she had forgotten to drag along her daughter or had intentionally left her to converse with two eligible gentlemen, Miss Reeve did not seem to mind. Nor could Caleb blame her when he saw the crimson coloring the poor girl’s face.

“I pray you will forgive my mother’s…forwardness. She is merely eager to recommend me after orchestrating, in her own eyes, my sister’s recent success. I will inform her that she must leave you both be,” Miss Reeve said with a sigh.

She glanced about at the various members of the ton , who thankfully appeared too distracted with finishing their conversations and refreshments to take heed of the viscountess’s desperate indiscretion.

“Surely, she is eager to recommend you because your accomplishments merit it,” Caleb offered, more out of a sense of politeness and a desire to spare a young lady from the embarrassment of having an audaciously marriage-minded mother. He recalled, however vaguely, from past conversations with Miss Abbott about her beloved friends and their charming community in Bainbridge, that the Reeve twins had never shared a particularly close or caring bond with their parents.

Miss Reeve gave her a smile that tightened at the corners, perhaps apprehensive. Her eyes darted to Lady Eldmar and followed along for a moment as her mother strode toward the platform.

“I trust you will understand if I do not wish to…”

Caleb shook his head quickly. “Not in the least. I would not leap at the opportunity to court anyone who had harmed one of my friends, either.”

The lady’s dark eyes widened. “That is not what I—”

“Welcome, beloved friends, to our evening of exquisite musical entertainment!” Lady Eldmar’s voice, bordering on shrill, cut easily across the chatter in the room. Miss Reeve excused herself and hurried to the front of the room, sending an apologetic glance over her shoulder.

To Caleb’s dismay, their position near the door rendered it impossible to secure seats with a prominent view of Miss Abbott. He and Wrighthall were compelled to take chairs in the second-to-last row toward the end. The principal performers, Miss Abbott included, occupied the row nearest the small stage.

Just as Caleb quietly exhaled his disappointment at being unable to see even the back of her head around all the others, a sliver of space cleared. His heart jumped. Miss Abbott’s stare arrested him even from across a room full of people.

Why she should be staring at him, Caleb could not guess. Since his visit with his maps and paintings almost a week and a half past, they had only encountered each other once in passing at Covent Garden during intermission and could only speak of the drama that had unfolded thus far on the stage.

Then again, perhaps there was nothing to be said of the drama that had almost swept them away, more than once, in the drawing room. Perhaps the drama existed entirely within Caleb’s mind. If so, why was Miss Abbott still looking at him with that inscrutable intensity?

“What have you done to her?” Wrighthall whispered in Caleb’s ear, a perplexed brow arched high. “I thought you said you appeared to be making progress when you last spoke properly.”

“We were. We are,” Caleb insisted under his breath as Miss Reeve took her place at the pianoforte. “But the drawing room business… What if she has found it to be unsavory upon reflection?”

Wrighthall almost rolled his eyes. “The pair of you spend too much time in reflection. Don’t you think it rather makes a mess of things that should be quite simple?”

“Ah, and are you an expert on such matters?” Caleb retorted in a hiss.

The first chords of Miss Reeve’s piece resounded through the music room, silencing the two gentlemen’s childish bickering. Caleb could only wrinkle his nose at his friend as he shrugged a shoulder in feigned ignorance of the accusatory question.

As the performances continued—including one on the pianoforte by Miss Abbott, one he’d heard her play before—Caleb felt his mind being drawn away from Wrighthall’s playful, truthful jab. He gave himself to making mental notes on the pieces chosen and which he liked best should he have the opportunity to share them with Miss Abbott later. As with all else, sharing discussions of music with her was nothing short of a perfect union between insightful and delightful.

Caleb sat up straighter when he noticed Miss Abbott rising again and watched as she joined Miss Gardiner on the platform for the first duet. The latter perched atop the pianoforte bench while the former approached the edge of the stage.

Assured of his safety in the back of the room, he allowed himself a real smile as Miss Abbott signaled for her accompanist to begin with an expression so gentle, it pierced Caleb’s heart even from this distance. When Miss Gardiner did not begin, her hands hovering over the keys, eyes wide, Miss Abbott gave another nod and a subtle motion to inhale.

It was a small, natural thing for Miss Abbott to do, yet it made a world of difference in her friend’s confidence. Miss Gardiner played in a manner as tender as her nature and no less skillfully than any of the others who had displayed their talents thus far.

Yet it was not until Miss Abbott began to sing that time stopped for Caleb. Her voice, a crystal clear, resonant soprano, soared through the room, then faded to a delicate, precisely controlled whisper, then leapt triumphantly. She infused every word, every breath, every expression with a feeling that elevated Caleb’s spirits to a degree no music had ever done before. The muscles in his face went lax with wonder.

So much had changed. Miss Abbott, already so perfect in his memory, had grown more beautiful and more kind-hearted, had further sharpened her mind and refined her accomplishments. Only she could make it possible to improve upon perfection.

Caleb continued to stare as the duet finished to polite applause, Miss Abbott’s face aglow with graceful pride at a successful performance. He barely registered the tap on his shoulder.

“Move along, my friend, if you do not wish to develop a cramp in your legs,” said Wrighthall with another, more insistent tap.

Blinking as if waking from a mystical dream, Caleb realized that an intermission must have been called during his daze. Half the guests had already found their feet, eager to stretch or fetch refreshments, Wrighthall included.

“Ah, here comes Miss Abbott,” the baron added, chuckling as Caleb jumped up, suddenly wide awake.

“Lord Murfield, Lord Wrighthall, good evening. I trust you are enjoying the entertainment?” asked Miss Abbott as she approached their end of the row along the wall.

“Very much so, indeed. A job well done to both you and Miss Gardiner,” Wrighthall answered warmly. “But I shall leave Murfield to tell you more. I am in great need of a cup of tea before we resume.”

With that, Wrighthall left Caleb and Miss Abbott alone—at least as alone as they could be in a room full of people. In fact, in the corner as they were, Caleb hardly noticed anyone else and hardly cared if anyone noticed them.

“What say you, Lord Murfield? Do you agree with Lord Wrighthall?”

Her eyelashes fluttered, chin lifting up ever so slightly in anticipation of his answer. The chandelier above cast shades upon her green eyes that even the great masters could never hope to preserve in oils or watercolor. Her pale skin and round features caught their golden light and subtle shadows, reflecting them back. Warmth flooded Caleb’s chest.

“Not entirely.”

Miss Abbott’s neat brows twitched. “I am grieved to hear you say so, particularly for Ellen. She was plagued by dreadful nerves and practiced tirelessly—”

Caleb chuckled as that warmth wrapped around his entire being. The lady fell silent.

“I only meant his praise was not strong enough. It was the most sublime, moving performance I have had the privilege of witnessing, Miss Abbott. You sang wonderfully.”

She tore her defiant gaze away. “Now you are just being hyperbolic, sir. Besides—”

“Miss Gardiner played wonderfully as well. I commend her dedication and bravery, truly,” Caleb said quickly. Miss Abbott’s eyes snapped up to meet his once more, perhaps surprised that he had read her thoughts.

“That is very kind of you. Will you allow me to repeat your words to her? We all experience anxiety on such occasions, but it drives poor Ellen mad. She needs encouragement more than most.”

Caleb nodded, unable to speak for the awe gripping his soul. For the first time, he did not care what his smile might reveal. He would not deny it if pressed. He loved the way she loved her friends.

“So…” Miss Abbott continued slowly, breathing a little quicker, as if flustered. “You really think we…I did well?”

Caleb nodded again. This time, the words came easily. “Without a doubt. I meant every word. You have clearly continued to practice and it does you credit—unlike my laughable painting skills. I have always greatly admired your dedication, you know.”

Pride returned to her gaze, a smile widening across her face. “I have always appreciated your admiration. Not everyone notices the effort I put forth, though of course I do not do it for praise.”

“It is not a fault to desire praise when one is as deserving of it as you are,” Caleb replied quietly and honestly.

Did his eyes deceive him or had a tinge of color risen to the lady’s cheeks? She glanced down. “Thank you. Perhaps I might return your kindness by inviting you to join me at Vauxhall at the end of the week?”

For a strange moment, Caleb wondered if something had gone dreadfully wrong. Did his ears now deceive him as well?

“Truly?” was all he could muster, his throat suddenly dry, as if only her answer would quench the thirst.

Miss Abbott raised her head once more, a little higher this time. “There is some reading material I have been enjoying of late that I wish to discuss with you. None of my other friends or family take the same interest in sermons, no matter how much I try to convince them that not all such writings are as dreadful as Fordyce’s.”

“Of course—”

Before Caleb could finish his response, a silky, pink blur raced past them toward the door. Without a word, Caleb and Miss Abbott exchanged concerned glances and followed together as Miss Clara quit the music room. Thinking quickly, Miss Abbott managed to catch her aunt’s eye as they reached the door and waved for her to accompany them into the dimly lit hall.

Miss Clara spun around with a piercing squeak when she heard footsteps behind her.

“Isabel, is that you? Oh, thank goodness, dear Isabel!”

Even the few candles illuminating the empty hall could not hide the tears spilling down the younger girl’s face. Her lower lip trembled with the effort of keeping her sobs contained as she nearly threw herself into Miss Abbott’s arms. Caleb and Lady Ainsworth lingered a few steps back, watching with growing alarm.

“Whatever is the matter, darling?” Miss Abbott inquired in a soothing tone.

She wrapped an arm around her friend’s shoulders and guided her farther into the privacy of the shadows just as Miss Gardiner appeared in the doorway, a hand pressed to her chest. In a rare, unladylike display, she ran to her sister and Miss Abbott.

“It is the most terrible news! I just heard from Mama!” Miss Gardiner cried. She took Miss Clara in her arms and, with some difficulty, tucked the slightly taller girl’s head against her bosom.

“Heard what?” Miss Abbott demanded.

“While we were waiting for the music to resume, I made mention to Nicholas that last night, I had a dream about Dreamer, of all things. And he thought it a fine opportunity to inform me that he’d sold my Dreamer last week!”

Red splotches erupted across Miss Clara’s face. Her small hands gripped Miss Abbott’s arms in desperation. “Without warning, without allowing me a chance to say goodbye! And Ellen’s Priscilla now has a buyer as well. What sort of brother sells his sisters’ most beloved horses without so much as a hint of remorse? Only the cruelest, most wretched sort!”

“Oh, Clara…”

Without another word, Miss Abbott pulled both her friends into a comforting embrace. Silently, Miss Gardiner rubbed small circles against Miss Clara’s back, her expression pale and forlorn.

“You poor, poor creature,” Miss Abbott whispered against Miss Clara’s hair, eyes closed and mouth a pained frown. “And poor Dreamer, too. I am sure your faithful mare will miss you immensely. None of you deserve such treatment. It is cruel and wretched, indeed.”

Caleb’s hands tightened into fists at his sides. Lady Ainsworth lowered her head and shook it.

The cold, angry undertone in Miss Abbott’s voice would have made Caleb shudder had it not been so justified. There was only one reason for a man to resort to selling his family’s belongings, especially those of innocent sisters in his safe-keeping. Caleb did not recall many specific details about the Gardiner family, yet he was sure he would remember any indication of such a severity in the brother’s spending habits.

Still, issues in the ledgers could be kept from the light for years, decades even, before the cracks began to reveal themselves. It was the tragic fate that increased every family’s dread with the arrival of each new generation. There was always more to protect—and lose.

A footman from within the music room was soon dispatched to inform them of the music’s imminent continuation, which the dowager countess intercepted. As she offered a vague explanation and apologies to the hostess with promises of their swift return, Miss Abbott continued to hold the distressed girl, swiping at her tears with a handkerchief. Assured of her sister’s care, Miss Gardiner excused herself to assist their sniffling mother, who appeared almost as distressed as her younger daughter.

“There, there,” Miss Abbott cooed patiently. “How I desperately wish I could return Dreamer to you—or better yet, return to an earlier point in time and somehow prevent Mr. Gardiner from doing such a thing by any means necessary…”

She paused, hooking a finger under Miss Clara’s chin. The other lady gave a watery smile and huffed out a chuckle between gulping whimpers. Caleb almost shuddered again.

Mr. Gardiner had no clue how grateful he should have been that no one had yet discovered the means to traverse time, for Caleb believed Miss Abbott would very well keep her word.

“But since I doubt either of those courses are possible, I promise to aid you, and Ellen of course, in any way that may be useful. Even if it is merely to be your personal handkerchief attendant.”

Miss Clara giggled as Miss Abbott dutifully dabbed at more tears with a smile that spoke of nothing but her love and concern for her friend. Soon, Miss Clara grew somber again and let her head fall heavily onto her friend’s palm, pressing her cheek into the smooth fabric of the handkerchief.

“I love Dreamer, Isabel. How am I to bear it? How am I to return to Bainbridge and look out my window at the pasture, knowing she will not be there? How am I ever to have any enjoyment in riding again, knowing there is no other horse more suited to me?”

“Dear, sweet Clara,” Miss Abbott murmured, pulling the other lady into her arms once more. “You are never to forget, Miss Clara Gardiner, that I shall always be here to laugh with you during the good days and lift you up during the bad. The same is true of the other girls. Whatever you bear, you do not bear it alone. Let that be of some comfort to you. Though it is never easy to hear and even harder to accept, time must do all the rest. Your only responsibility now, my dear, is to allow it.” Miss Abbott whispered so quietly, Caleb almost did not hear.

Part of him felt he should not have. Yet the greater part of him somehow knew that he’d needed to hear it. Almost as if her words had been meant for him.

“Thank you, Isabel, truly,” Miss Clara replied, sniffling. “Can you believe it? All these theatrics for a horse! You must think me terribly silly.”

Miss Abbott chuckled and shook her head. “Not in the least. You love deeply and feel loss deeply. There is never any shame in that. And you already ask so little of anyone, always searching for ways to make those around you happier by any margin, no matter how small, because to you, it is always worth it. It pains me to see any hardship befall you.”

After a few more sniffles and calm reassurances from Miss Abbott, Miss Clara declared herself recovered enough to return to the music room. Caleb and Miss Abbott followed more slowly, watching the normally sprightly girl retreat down the hall with head lowered, Lady Ainsworth behind them.

“You spoke very kindly and wisely,” he said, breaking the melancholy silence.

“I worry for them both,” Miss Abbott admitted without removing her eyes from the music room door.

“Do you know his club? Perhaps I might have a chat with that gentleman…”

Miss Abbott turned sharply to look at Caleb. Her brows shot up in surprise before lowering back to the realm of reality.

“That is extremely gallant of you, my lord, and it will bring some cheer to Clara to hear of it, but you know it would not be seemly. Though I wish that were not the case, in this instance.”

“I must insist that you inform me immediately if there is any way I might be of service to those ladies.”

Miss Abbott gave a small smile, fond and bittersweet, and nodded.

“You did well by your friend. I admire you for it.”

“Thank you, but it is only what I would do for anyone I love,” Miss Abbott answered quietly, pausing in the doorway.

Her gaze remained fixed on Caleb, steady. He’d seen this look before. He would know it anywhere by the wave of bliss that drowned his heart.

Love.

Could it be? Could there possibly be hope for the dream Caleb had buried alongside his brother? Or had he merely slipped into the dream again, that torturous one where Caleb and Isabel had never needed to become Lord Murfield and Miss Abbott?

Miss Abbott blinked, slowly, her long lashes catching the light of the chandelier. For some reason, in Caleb’s dreams, she never blinked.

She was real. This was real. It was becoming more real with every passing moment, sending them spinning toward a horizon they could not see beyond.

Lady Ainsworth’s light cough reminded them of where they were. Luckily, an unfamiliar young lady on the harp kept the audience’s focus away from the trio as they took seats in the back of the room.

The feeling of lightness that had been filling Caleb’s limbs did not dissipate, exactly, as if disappointed, but instead paused, waiting. All at once, he was certain. The time had come to tell her why he had really left. He would tell her everything from now on, if he might be granted the privilege.

Yes, Caleb did wish to tell her, but not tonight. She had given over enough of her evening to supporting Miss Clara and deserved to enjoy the rest of it. As they listened to the angelic melody of the harp, his ease and optimism increased.

Miss Abbott had proved beyond a shadow of a doubt tonight what Caleb should have always known. He need never have suffered through his grief and unexpected responsibilities alone. She would not have been ashamed of him. And she deserved the truth.

Perhaps, despite his best attempts to avoid it, sharing the most sorrowful secret in Caleb’s heart was the way for them to bridge the gap he had forced between them once and for all.