Ophelia visited Nathan, her presence as brisk and bright as ever, bringing with her a breath of freshness that seemed to chase away the solemn stillness of Blackthorn's halls.
— "There is no reason to delay now. You shall invite me to dance at the next ball, but it must not come as a total surprise. We must promenade together several times first, like old lovers long parted — awkward at first, then gradually showing the world we belong to one another. Or is that far too sentimental? Perhaps I should find you a rival instead? Ah!... Nathan, are you listening?"
The Duke, walking hand-in-hand with Ophelia through his gardens, was lost in thought. The gravel crunched faintly beneath their steps, and the scent of flowers drifted on the breeze. His gaze lingered absently on the ivy climbing the old stone walls, as though searching for some answers there. He startled back to the present when she chided him gently, her tone light yet edged with reproach.
— "Forgive me, I was pondering deeply and caught nothing of your words. Please, repeat them — I am all attention."
A sigh of mild exasperation escaped her, followed by the repetition of her words.
— "Very well, we shall proceed as you advise."
— "Are you weary, Nathan? From my plan? If you find it so wearisome, we might as well forget it all and marry quietly, as you once suggested."
Her words, spoken with a sudden softness, struck him at once. The faintest shadow of disappointment flickered across her face, as though she already expected him to refuse.
— "No, no, Ophelia. We agreed to this course. I know it pleases you, and there is wisdom in it. You have devised a most excellent plan."
Her face lit with joy.
— "Do you truly think so? I am delighted!" She squeezed his arm warmly.
— "Moreover," he continued, "I have resolved to take things further. You asked me to encourage Young Lord Carlston. Admittedly, my efforts have met with mixed success, but I have broken the icy barrier between us — honestly!"
Ophelia raised an eyebrow inquiringly.
— "It sounded rather grandiose. Perhaps not an icy barrier. But, to my own surprise, at the recent races…" The Duke recounted how the Young Lord had impressed him, then how Lord Carlston had invited him to breakfast, and how Nathan had, for the first time in years, mounted a horse again thanks to the young lord's encouragement.
— "Truth be told, I was terrified. Yet I could not afford to lose face before some boy. On Thursday, we had our second riding lesson. And it turns out the young lord delights not only in dancing but also in piano. Alas, his father abhors noise, and so the boy has been separated from his beloved instrument for five years or more. I recalled your words, your counsel — and wished to repay his kindness. Hence, I invited him to play at my home. May I hope, at least now, to have gained your acknowledgement for such mature behaviour?" the Duke said with a smile.
— "Nathan, surely you jest?"
The Duke tensed.
— "Ophelia, what sort of reaction is that?"
She softened, her smile warming as she looked at him.
— "Forgive me. Truthfully, I am rather shocked. You two were so distant before, and now you invite him home. I have known you far too long, Nathan, and I remember well how you despise strangers roaming your estate. You always said these walls were your refuge from the world, and yet here you are, opening them of your own accord. In any case, I am glad you have matured, and at last ceased tormenting the young ones with your aloofness. But…"
From her face alone, one could tell she was struggling to find the right words.
— "But?"
— "But… I never would've thought you'd get back on a horse!"
Ophelia gave him a playful nudge as they walked arm in arm, then quickly changed the subject.
***
The Duke had made the necessary arrangements well in advance. Both pianos — the grand one in the main hall and the more modest instrument in his late mother's favourite room — had been cleaned and finely tuned. He did not know which would best suit the Young Lord's taste, and it mattered to him that the choice be offered.
He'd also sent the staff away until nine that evening. Nathaniel suspected that any lingering presence, however discreet, would unsettle his guest. And so he had done everything he could think of to make the boy feel at ease — a challenge, considering that the Duke himself was deeply uneasy.
It was, after all, a rare occasion. The Blackthorn estate seldom welcomed guests. The Duke had Ophelia and Emily as friends he would care to invite, and as for lovers — well, caution had long dictated that he keep such matters far from home. Thus, he found himself unpracticed in the rituals of hospitality — and painfully aware of it.
A knock interrupted his train of thought. He glanced at the clock. So soon already?
— "Do come in," he called, doing his best to keep his voice composed.
Alex entered, followed by the butler, who was swiftly dismissed with a nod.
— "Good morning, Young Lord," the Duke said gently. "Please, come in. How are you feeling today?"
— "All right, thank you," came the restrained reply, eyes lowered.
Nathaniel noted the stiffness in Alex's posture, the guarded tone. The boy seemed still wary.
The Duke then offered Alex his choice of two pianos, before setting out for his walk.
As he walked the familiar paths of the estate, Nathaniel found himself glancing back — not directly, of course, but sideways, pretending to examine the land. He saw no figure at the window. That, oddly, disappointed him.
Time passed. The sun softened, sliding into gold, spilling its warmth over the fields. The long shadows of the cedars stretched across the paths, and the hush of evening began to settle. The Duke, though usually at ease in his solitude, now found it restless. For the first time in recent memory, he wished for company.
His thoughts wandered — toward Alex, and further back. Faces from the past surfaced unbidden. Painful memories, many of which he had long tried to bury. And then, Louis. That chapter remained unresolved, raw in ways he seldom allowed himself to admit.
He checked his watch. Eight o'clock.
I have grown older, and I carry far too many ghosts with me.
He turned back toward the house — and then, just as he passed the rose hedges, he heard it.
Music.
At first, he thought it was a trick of the wind. But no — the windows upstairs were open, and from within spilled a sound both delicate and aching. He stopped short, breath catching.
He's playing.
The Duke moved quietly to a bench in the garden, just out of sight. There he sat, shielded by the roses, and listened.
The sound was… exquisite. Raw in its sincerity. The boy surely enjoyed himself, relishing a pastime long forgotten. Nathaniel closed his eyes.
So he truly can play.
And then, suddenly, Nathan missed his mother. She would have loved this. She would have smiled and nodded and said:
You see, my dear — music finds a way back to those who need it most.
Eventually, the melody ceased. Nathan waited, unwilling to startle the boy, unsure whether he had already been noticed. Then, at last, he rose, composed himself, and walked quietly to the house.
He knocked.
There was a strange pause. Then, "Come in."
The Duke entered with a soft smile.
— "How did you find the instrument?" he asked. "I hope you enjoyed it."
Alex looked startled, perhaps even unsettled.
— "I must confess," Nathan added, "I returned early. I heard the last fifteen minutes of your playing. Forgive me. I hope I didn't spoil the moment. But I must tell you — I was astonished. You play beautifully. I do hope, one day — with your consent — I might hear you again."
The boy blushed fiercely, gaze flickering away. Then he said his farewells swiftly, citing a headache, and bowed, as if hoping the gesture might conceal whatever expression now blossomed across his face.
When the Duke returned to the room, he sat — not at the piano, but with his back to it — and observed the space as though it might yield answers.
Why did he look so pale? Did I frighten him? Or offended?
His eyes drifted across the room and landed on the small blue closed velvet box.
He rose abruptly and crossed the floor. The ring inside belonged to his mother. He had found it weeks ago, intending to offer it to Ophelia — a part of their wedding plan.
He opened the lid, gazing down at the heirloom.
And then, a stray unwelcome thought came to his head.
How lovely it would be to give this ring to someone I truly…
He slammed the box shut.
Ophelia is that person. And I truly adore her. Who else could it be?
Shame prickled beneath his skin. He set the box aside and left the room, as though it might silence what had already stirred.