5:30 pm
Myles knocked once on the door, then let himself into her house. "Sweetheart?"
"I'm upstairs, love. I'll be right down."
He grinned. "You mean I can't just come up and get a much-needed kiss?"
Her laughter floated down the stairs. "You just be patient for a second, and I'll be more than happy to oblige you with that kiss."
"Spoilsport."
"Well, you can tell me in a minute if it was worth the wait." She smoothed her hair back one more time, added another spritz of hair-spray, then picked up a small bottle of cologne and sprayed it lightly behind her ears and on her neck. It was his favorite, a light jasmine scent that tantalized without overpowering. She gave herself a final glance in the mirror, and thought, Margaret Effingham, prepare to do battle. I don't know yet what you hold over him every year, but I will find a way to release him. And Sam's right behind me on this, so you haven't got a chance.
She stepped out of her bedroom, heart pounding. The last time she'd seen him in a tux was the night he'd proposed to her, and she'd been breathless at the sight of him and the setting he'd created. Tonight, it was her turn.
He was turned around, facing away from her, absently thumbing through a magazine she'd left on the kitchen counter. She reached the top of the stairs, purposely creaking the step she'd been meaning to have repaired for months.
Myles turned, and the look on his face made all her efforts worthwhile. Every minute of those two hours' getting ready had paid off.
He forgot to breathe; she was stunning. Her silver-white dress, straight and sophisticated, accentuated both her height and her slender body. Wide rows of silver beads crisscrossed the bodice and swept around her waist. A matching jacket completed the ensemble, the beadwork similar to the dress. At her throat and ears were emeralds and diamonds, a simple design that complemented her perfectly.
Her black hair was swept up in a classic twist, held back in a sparkling clip. Two single tendrils, curled into soft spirals, framed her delicate features and completed the sight.
"Well?" she asked softly as she reached him, smiling as she saw the answer already in his eyes. "Worth the wait?"
He nodded silently, still holding his breath. After a moment, he let it out and signed WOW to her. As she smiled brightly, he found his voice again, just barely. "Most definitely."
"Good," she replied. "I was under strict orders from your twin to make sure every coherent thought left your mind when you first saw me tonight. I guess it worked." He nodded mutely, and she drew him toward her and gave him a lingering kiss. When they parted, she rubbed a touch of lipstick from his mouth, and smiled up at him again. "Are you recovered enough to drive, or shall I?"
Now he smiled down at her. "You're not getting to drive the Jag that easily, sweetheart. Besides, you know it's totally uncouth for us to show up at a high-society bash with you driving."
She sighed, but her smile remained bright. "It was worth a shot. So, do you want to tell me what's going on here, before you get behind the wheel, or tell me in the car so you have something to hold onto while you vent?"
Myles glanced at his watch. "I'd better tell you when we get there. We're running late."
Just outside of the Effingham Estate
Falls Church, Virginia
6:00 pm
"Oh, my…" Her eyes got wide as they pulled into the circular driveway.
The "townhouse" was a huge plantation-style mansion, set against a backdrop of birch and blue spruce. White columns drew the eye upward to the balcony that wrapped around the second floor, where simple white lights accented the view. Lush topiaries, cedar with red ribbons, flanked the double doors on the spacious front steps. Red candles in brass hurricane lamps adorned each window. It was hardly unpretentious, but the effect came mostly from the house itself.
Elizabeth drew in a breath. "Okay; go back a generation, and your family has mine beat by a mile. This is what Sam calls a 'townhouse'?"
He chuckled, a little nervously. "No, this is what my grandmother calls a townhouse. Never let it be said that the Effinghams let themselves be outdone by anyone."
He'd grown steadily more tense as they drove the 10 miles to Falls Church. Elizabeth could feel it in the way he'd gripped her hand, finally giving up and just gripping the steering wheel, his knuckles almost white. Now she turned to him and faced him squarely.
"All right, let's have it, love. What exactly are you so wound up about? Tara's told me that you are an absolute grouch from Thanksgiving to Christmas, and I suspect it has something to do with this party."
Myles sighed, leaning back in the leather seat. "It has everything to do with this party, and with my grandmother. This isn't an invitation; it's a command performance, barring nothing less than an imminent threat to national security, and I'd better have sufficient evidence to back that up."
She smiled. "You mean, like, something blowing up on the news and images of you walking around, looking crisp and nearly burnt, in the background?"
He couldn't help but laugh. "Something like that."
"So what's so all-fired important that you have to be here?"
Another sigh. "It's something I used to love, and has just… well…" He gripped the steering wheel again, as if he needed to brace himself to actually say the words. "My grandfather, along with his business talents, was also a musician. He played with the Boston Symphony for several years, in the first chair violin spot. Being who he was, he of course had to have the finest instrument he could possibly find. So, he found and purchased a Stradivarius, and he played it for years."
Her eyes went wide. "A Strad? Wow."
Myles nodded. "With a tone like brushed velvet, I swear. Anyway, after he retired from the Symphony, there was some discussion of what would become of the violin. He wants it to be used, not just showcased somewhere. He used to say that musical instruments lose their real value lying on a shelf."
"He must be quite a person," Elizabeth said softly. "Not many would think that way of such an instrument." She reached out and pulled his hand off the steering wheel, holding it tightly. "Let me take a guess at this; of all your siblings and cousins, you're the only one who showed any interest in his view."
He glanced over at her, a single brow raised and an amused look in his eye. "How do you know all this stuff?"
She smiled again. "Because I know you, and I know you have a deep love of music."
"Well, you're right. No one else was interested in playing it, just owning it. I used to listen to him practice, and I'd get lost in it. He'd have to tap me with the bow to get my attention when he was finished." He seemed to relax a bit, and put his arm on the back of her seat. "So, he told me that one day the Strad would be mine, if I were willing to take lessons. I think I was about seven at the time."
Elizabeth's delicate brows went up. "You play the violin? Why didn't you ever tell me?"
He sighed. "Because when I turned twelve, any joy I found in it vanished."
The pain in his eyes wrenched her heart. "What happened?"
"I loved it – loved practicing with my grandfather, hearing his encouragement, sharing that incredible music. He had a way of finding the soul of a piece, of making the violin almost pray." The baritone voice was soft as he got a faraway look in his eyes, remembering. "When I was twelve, I got to hold that Stradivarius for the first time. It was like picking up a piece of history, another long-time love of mine. And to play it… Elizabeth, it was like it knew what I was doing before I did it. It was like playing a dream."
Now his head dropped, and his voice lost the softness. "That day, my grandmother Margaret happened to walk into the conservatory while I was playing the Strad. It was about a week before her annual Christmas party, and because we were headed into the holiday season, Grandfather had me playing 'Silent Night.' Grandmother stood there, listening, and when I finished she announced without preamble thatI was perfect for her party, that her sister Teresa could accompany me and that it would be just the highlight of the season. Nothing I or Grandfather said made any difference."
The psychologist rolled her eyes slightly. "Been there, done that. Only with me it was ballet and a ladies' luncheon."
He chuckled slightly, but his mood really didn't lighten. "There was only one problem with Grandmother's plan. As much as I love my Aunt Teresa, she plays at one tempo: dirge."
"Oh, no."
"Oh, yes." Now his voice got a bitter edge to it. "But of course, Grandmother didn't hear that; she was just so overjoyed that her grandson could 'make that violin sing.' So it became a yearly summons; every year at this party, trying to salvage some part of that delicate hymn against the piano from Hades."
She laughed, but ran her hand up his arm at the same time. "That would explain the sour attitude toward the holidays. But why haven't I ever heard you play, or even seen the violin I assume you own?"
"Because after the first two years of it, I lost any joy in playing. Every time I even looked at my violin, I knew what was coming. I locked the violin in a cabinet, and only pulled it out the day after Thanksgiving to brush up on that one song. But I kept it, because to try to explain to my grandmother why I'd gotten rid of it was just too much for me to do. Grandfather knew how I felt, but he kept encouraging me to never let go of it completely, that the Strad would still be mine one day. It just didn't hold the same… appeal for me anymore."
"Oh, Myles."
He shrugged. "Come on, let's get this over with so I can enjoy the rest of the holiday season this year." Now he smiled as her reached over to stroke her cheek. "That's something I might actually be able to manage, thanks to a lovely lady in my life."
As he came around to open her door for her, Elizabeth brushed back a strand of hair and straightened. Time to work up a little "sting" of my own. She gave him a brilliant smile as she took his hand, her mind racing with the possibilities.
The foyer was, if anything, even grander than the outside of the place. Everything was open and airy, but richly decorated. The New England background was evident, however, because the magnificently carved banister on the staircase was varnished white pine, its grain left visible. The beautiful woodwork continued on the railing of the balcony that circled the upper level, and was showcased in a medallion twenty feet above on the ceiling.
They had no sooner stepped in and given their coats to the servant there when Margaret Effingham swept down that staircase, arms outstretched. "Ah, my favorite grandson," she crooned.
Elizabeth could feel Myles cringe next to her, even though he smiled at his grandmother. The woman was tall and spare, with an angular face and salt-and-pepper hair pulled back in a severe bun. She was dressed to the nines, however, in peacock blue silk and sapphires the size of salad mushrooms. She embraced Myles ecstatically, and kissed his cheek; a carefully staged move, the psychologist noted.
"The conservatory is open, and Teresa is waiting to practice with you, while I can have a chance to get to know this lovely lady friend of yours."
Myles started to say something, but Elizabeth beat him to it. "Mrs. Effingham!" she said demurely. "How delightful to finally meet you. Your grandson has told me so much about you, and how he looks forward to this every year."
Margaret's penciled brows shot up at her forwardness, but said nothing. Myles squeezed Elizabeth's arm, a little hard, and she could feel his voice in her mind. What are you doing?
The psychologist smiled apologetically. "I'm so sorry - Dr. Elizabeth Dillingham. Your grandson and I have been dating for just over a year. In fact, he recently proposed."
The brows went up further at the name "Dillingham," and she became considerably more cordial. "Yes, Anne has told me about you, Miss Dillingham. I look forward to chatting with you while Myles practices for tonight."
"Actually…" Elizabeth leaned toward her slightly and placed a hand on her arm. "I know that Myles would never bring this up to you," she said softly, "but I thought I would ask – do you think Teresa would be hurt if she didn't accompany Myles this year? I play the piano a bit myself, and I've been helping him practice."
She felt a laser glare boring through her shoulders; the second part of her comment was a total falsehood. He didn't know she played the piano any more than she had known he played the violin. But now wasn't the time to address that.
Margaret's eyes narrowed slightly.
Gotcha, Elizabeth thought. You're no dummy, Margaret. I can tell right now that you know full well, and have for all these years, that Teresa's playing is less than desirable for accompanying. And yet you put Myles through it year after year. No more. Check.
Margaret Effingham smiled graciously and took Elizabeth's arm. "My dear, I don't think she'd be offended at all. Of course you may accompany Myles. Let me show you both up to the conservatory, and you can tune up and practice a bit."
And mate. Elizabeth accompanied Margaret up the stairs, with Myles just a step behind. She could feel the anger emanating from him like a flame, but chose not to look at him until they were alone.
But a slight smile crossed her face as she anticipated the earful she was about to get.
Margaret closed the doors to the conservatory. Elizabeth was very still, waiting to take a full dose of Leland temper.
Myles walked over to the doors and opened one slightly, making sure that his grandmother was gone. Then he closed the door again and swung on her. "Would you mind telling me why it is that everything I just said seems to have gone in one of your ears and out the other without registering in your brain? I don't care who I have for a pianist, I don't want to do this anymore!" He turned away and began to pace the room, still ranting.
She let him vent; he needed it after years of burying it in the name of family duty. After a few minutes, she knew he was no longer even aware she was there.
She moved over to the grand piano, running her hand over the smooth surface. On a small table nearby, cushioned on midnight blue velvet, was the Stradivarius. The rich wood glowed; this was obviously an instrument that got used and cared for. Very gently, she stroked a finger over the strings. It was already tuned, and even the slight sound she got was enough to make her heart skip. A masterpiece even just lying there…
A quick glance at Myles told her he was still ranting, but it was starting to die down a little. Time to begin the next level of the "sting."
She sat down at the piano. A piece of sheet music was laid out on the stand, and she ran a finger over it. Then she double-checked the key it was in, and began to play. Only she wasn't playing the written music; she began a series of arpeggios that followed the chord progression, creating a delicate accompaniment that would highlight the violin.
It wasn't until she'd gotten through the second verse that he stopped pacing and turned around, the music finally registering with him. She played the third verse, with him staring at her the whole time, and let the final notes fade away. Then she reached over to the small table and picked up the violin's bow. She held it out to him, a smile on her face and a challenge in her eyes.
"Let's see what you've got, Maestro."
He stared at her a moment longer, then slowly walked over and took the bow from her. He looked over at the violin, and she saw a faint light in his eyes; as if he'd discovered a long-lost friend but was afraid to make the first step. He looked at her again, a bit of that fear showing through.
Her voice was soft. "Give it one more chance, Myles. It's not your grandmother's 'dreams' I'm concerned with; it's yours. After what I saw on your face while you were talking about playing with your grandfather, I can't just let you walk away from it without letting you see if it's really dead inside you."
He looked at the violin again, and she could feel something spark in him. She reached over and laid her hand on his, where it was resting on the edge of the piano. When his gaze swung back to her, she said, "Besides, I'd hate for you to give it up without hearing you play, just once."
Myles nodded silently, still giving her a strange look. He picked up the violin gently, examined it for a moment, and wiped a spot or something off of the gleaming finish. Then he ran his fingers across the strings, and she played an "A" for him to make sure it was tuned. He nodded slightly, then cradled it under his chin.
She began to play the arpeggios again; after a beat, his eyes drifted closed and he began to play.
Her eyes never left him; she was as caught up in his expression as she was in the music. As the violin sang through the first verse, Elizabeth saw the tension drain out of him, leaving behind an almost transcendent glow in his face. He was twelve again, playing an extension of his soul, immersed in the incredible tones of the Strad before his grandmother had made it unbearable.
At the end of the first verse, he opened his eyes. The wonder in them was almost tangible. He held her gaze as she played an interlude, then nodded to him to continue.
Two verses later, eyes locked the entire time, they finished, Elizabeth ending with a series of soft notes that wound their way up the keys. When the last note faded, Myles stared at her for one more long moment, then gently placed the violin back on its cushion. He ran his hand lovingly over the instrument, then turned to her.
He lifted her left hand to his lips, placing a gentle kiss near her engagement ring. "You know," he said softly, his voice a bit rough, "if I hadn't already asked you to marry me two weeks ago, I'd be asking right now. Thank you."
She started to say something, rising from the piano bench, but he took her by the shoulders and eased her back down. "Stay right there. There's someone who needs to hear this." And he walked out of the room, not using the doors leading downstairs, but instead a side door she hadn't noticed before.
What's this all about? she wondered.
