Caught in a Cornish Scandal by Eleanor Webster (top novels of all time .txt) 📗

think it is for me like the moors are for you,’ he said, surprised by his own words and his own honesty.

The room felt very silent. It seemed for a moment as though it was just the two of them, as it had been at the peat-cutter’s hut. ‘You shared with me the magic of the moors. Let me share this. It is also magic,’ he said softly.

‘I’ll go to the opera,’ she said.

The opera house was full. Lady Wyburn and Lil stopped and chatted with everyone, but Sam steered Millie directly to his box.

‘See, hardly any social chit-chat,’ he said.

He realised how very much he wanted her to enjoy the activity and to find it magical, yet the very eagerness of this emotion felt odd. He was not used to caring so much about whether someone enjoyed an event. Moreover, he felt as though he was constantly wrong footed. The wild creature from the moors had morphed into a practical young woman and now an elegant beauty.

He watched as Millie leaned forward. Her interest was evident as she took in details of the orchestra pit and mill of people below. As was typical, she made no attempt to hide her interest or pretend a blasé sophistication.

After observing the crowd for several minutes, she turned back to him, her expression curious. ‘Tell me what it is that you like most about the opera.’

With anyone else, he would have answered glibly, providing some trite answer, but Millie demanded honesty.

He looked at the musicians tuning their instruments, their sounds still discordant. ‘I like the anticipation. I like the way the instruments sound dissonant now and then later they are harmonious.’

But it was more than that. He remembered going to his first opera after his mother’s death. He had been alone in his box and for the first time he had felt something. Since her death he had been numb. At school and with his father, he’d learned that emotion was a weakness, a flaw and a vulnerability. The numbness, the ability to function, had been a life skill. Indeed, it had become so ingrained in him, he’d forgotten how to feel.

He leaned towards her. ‘You know how you do not like chit-chat?’

She nodded.

‘After my mother died, throughout my adolescence, my whole life was chit-chat and pretence, even to myself. But when I am at the opera I am aware of emotion. I feel more alive...’ He paused.

She said nothing, as though comfortable with the silence, not needing to fill the quiet with words.

‘After my mother died,’ he continued, ‘I tried to talk to people. I remember talking to Cook, but it made her sad to see me sad. I tried to talk to my father, but it made him angry and made him see me as weak.’

‘I do not think it is weak to feel,’ Millie said softly. ‘I think my father and Tom both went to excess in the attempt not to feel.’

‘My mother would have agreed. She said the British aristocracy were emotionally constipated.’

‘She what?’ Millie gave a wonderful chortle of suppressed laughter.

‘We fear bad manners. We fear excess emotion. She loved her Greek and Latin scholars. She loved opera.’

He stopped, staring down at the crowds filling the pit. ‘In the end, she proved herself so very British.’

‘When she hid her illness.’ Her deep blue and intense gaze seemed to understand more than he could put into words.

‘Yes.’

‘We lie to save our loved ones’ pain. But the lie causes more pain. The Cornish peasants are much more honest. Perhaps is their heritage or the hardship of their lives.’

‘You have changed me,’ he said. ‘You have made me think about so many things. Like your friend Sally trying to educate her children. And my mother, so brilliant and yet forced to hide her brilliance. Even our politics are a pretence. More than a decade ago, we made it illegal for Britons to participate in the slave trade and yet it still happens. And we are still making money.’

‘I misjudged you when I first met you.’

He shook his head. ‘No, I had given money to schools and philanthropic societies. It made me feel virtuous, that I was doing more than just eating, drinking and playing. But I still judged things I did not understand. I thought the law was always right. I thought I was always right.’

‘And now?’

He leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. ‘I still believe in the law, but I think the law can be improved.’

From the first moment the orchestra played, Millie was entranced. It was magic. She forgot about the crowded theatre, the gossip, the smells. She was unaware of Lady Wyburn, Lil and even Sam. The music vibrated through her, giving her soul wings, making her feel as though she understood or had glimpsed some eternal mystery.

It was, she thought, like those moments when the sea and the sky took on a splendour that seemed beyond the beauty of earth.

For the first time, she could understand London’s appeal. To hear something like this was remarkable. To have such a multitude of instruments—cellos, violins, flutes—playing together. Moreover, it was not only music. It was movement, dance and song. It was like entering a separate world of golden light, music and magic—Oberon’s palace, peopled with faeries.

Chapter Sixteen

Sam sat in front of his pianoforte. He should go to bed. He had told Banks to retire, but the man was likely waiting up with a sad expression. Banks did not trust him with the proper maintenance of his jackets or cravats.

Sam felt tired, but he couldn’t go to bed quite yet. Usually, the opera both thrilled and calmed him, leaving his soul feeling freshly laundered. He’d enjoyed every second, but he also felt a heady excitement, which precluded sleep. He remembered the way Millie had held her breath during certain arias, releasing it with that breathy gasp. He remembered how she’d leant forward, propping her elbows against the edge of the box and cupping her chin.

Much