Page 33

H elene dried her perspiring skin and tried to hold a passé balance, lifting her arms in the fifth position. Before she reached the count of ten, her supporting leg gave way, and she wobbled. Panting, she held her knees. Her gaze went to the door again. William would come. How silly of her to be as knotted and twisted as an old oak. Just because he hadn’t returned last night didn’t mean he would abandon her.

Steps on the landing made her heart race. She knew her lovable tyrant would come! Releasing her barre, Helene ran to the entrance. Before her visitor could twirl the key, she flung the door open.

She found herself staring at a startled Baines.

William’s valet gazed at her, his hand lifted mid-knock.

“Baines. It’s you. Would you like to come in? I’m out of the blend you prefer, but I can heat water for a cup. Oh, and you don’t have to grumble that you can’t find a place for His Grace’s clothing. I finally made up my mind to let go of my old costumes.”

He cleared his throat. “Miss Beaumont, I have distressing news to impart.”

Helene gasped. “Is William all right?”

“His Grace is in perfect health, but he received a message from his mother last night. The Dowager Duchess is very sick. She is in Brighton and —”

“The poor lady, I’m so sorry to hear of it.” Helene went straight to her armoire. “I can pack a suitcase in five minutes. Is His Grace arriving soon? Is he terribly worried?”

Though his mother had left him, Helene sensed William still loved her dearly. This could be a chance for them to reunite. After tugging a canvas bag open, she started pulling clothes from her drawers. She would have to send word to the theater, but they would understand. Brighton was close, and she had an understudy for such emergencies.

“Miss Beaumont?”

“Baines, can you please help me with this bonnet? I cannot reach the shelf.”

“Miss Beaumont, His Grace already left. He traveled last night. He requested me to stay in London and see to your wishes. Here is a message from him.”

The bag fell from her grip, and she ambled to Baines. She caught the paper with trembling hands, her breath hitching as she unfolded it.

Did he leave without her?

William’s elegant scrawl explained that his mother was gravely ill, and he didn’t know how long he might be away. He had ended the sentence with double bars. In music notation, the symbol meant the end of a piece.

The end of their music?

No, it couldn’t be. He wouldn’t end things like this. Helene fought to fill her lungs. Did the little room lack air, or was it her chest that hurt? William’s mother was ill, possibly dying, and he didn’t need her. Of course not. Who would need La Sylphide in times of grief?

Baines shifted his weight, his gaze gentle. "Miss Beaumont, can I do something for you? Did you have breakfast? You are quite pale.”

Helene shook her head, and her eyes drifted to the piano, the witness of nights filled with music and sighed secrets. She touched the lacquered surface, her fingers tracing its smooth lines.

“It is marvelous, isn’t it?” she whispered, her voice trembling. “William—His Grace—gave it to me.”

The valet glanced away, clearly uncomfortable.

She closed her eyes, the echo of their duets still alive in her soul. But the music had changed… Instead of the lively andante or the passionate allegro, she listened to woodwinds whispering sadly as if they had arrived at the coda, the notes slowly dying away in a mournful adagio.

Helene wiped her tears, forcing herself to breathe. Look at her. His mother was ill, and she was selfishly wishing for a song. She had to be stronger for him. Everything would be alright, she was certain it would. His mother would recover, and William would soon be back in London.

With a deep breath, she forced a smile. “Please, make sure His Grace knows I prayed for the Dowager Duchess’ health.”