Yearning
There is in souls a sympathy with sounds
And as the mind is pitch'd, the ear is pleased
With melting airs, or martial, brisk or grave
Some chord in unison with what we hear
Is touch'd within us, and the heart replies.
~William Cowper.
~o~
The consequence of arriving unannounced at the Whitlock's house caused the guests to wait in the vestibule for a few minutes. The ladies' pelerines and Edward's coat were taken off by the housekeeper, and the butler escorted the guests to the parlor. Normally, the parlor was locked and only opened on special occasions, but given the unexpected visit, the Whitlocks decided to entertain their guests there.
The parlor consisted of three settees and four embroidered, fabric wingback chairs spread throughout the room. There were two rococo chaise lounges at the edges of the room. The walls were adorned with paintings. A large painting of Lord William Whitlock, baring a grim countenance, hung above the ornate, white French mantle, framing the large fireplace that had yet to be used. The parlor maid quickly rushed to heat up the room for the guests.
It was not long before the butler re-entered the parlor to announce the presence of his new employer, Mrs. Whitlock, whose Ladyship title had not been rendered to her thus far, for she was not deemed properly married to the son of Lord Whitlock by those in court. Albeit, that was only one of many reasons that her name had not yet been fully bestowed.
Alice Whitlock walked into the parlor with a demure smile and her hands clasped together. She was clad in a long turquoise satin skirt, which covered her ankles, and a silver high collared long-sleeve blouse, with flounces at the end of its puffy sleeves. Alice's hair had been styled in a side parting and clipped all the way to the back with a lot of hair pins.
Seeing a woman who had never been dressed in colors before, save for the mundane black and white clothing that maids were required to wear, Rosalie gasped. "Alice!" Her hazel eyes perused Alice's attire. "Might I say you have done very well for yourself. Living as the wife of an aristocrat has presented you with such luxuries that I almost failed to recognize you."
Gratified to see her friend in good health and in such exquisite attire that only succeeded in enhancing her beauty, Isabella remarked, "And I have to say, it suits you very well." She moved toward her oldest acquaintance and embraced her. "Oh, Alice, it is so good to see you."
"It is good to see you, too, Bella." Alice returned the hug, holding Isabella for a bit longer before releasing her. "My, look at how beautiful you are! Much has changed since I left the Swan Manor." Each of them regarded the other with a smile.
"It appears so," said Isabella, as she turned to look at Jane and Edward. "Alice, you remember Edward, do you not? Well, he has returned back from England with his cousin, Jane."
"Oh my! The Edward Cullen?" Alice's gloved hand covered her mouth in astonishment. Her eyes appraised him in a manner that divulged she could not believe the sight of the man before her. "The papers carried rumors of your handsomeness, but lord, you have changed!" Alice held her throat as Edward flashed her an embarrassed, yet heartbreaking smile. "Certainly not the boy I once knew that is for sure."
"I believe I am still the same, Alice. I just no longer carry the awkward stature of my childhood, that is all," Edward said with a teasing wink. Then, as if to emphasize his point—that he still assumed the role of a gentleman—he bowed forward, picked up her right hand and kissed it. Alice's cheeks gained some color and she suppressed a smile.
For a moment, she relished the manners that gentlemen were brought up to have; for she had been a maid all her life and had never had the pleasure of being treated as someone of importance. Hell, she was wearing a glove! And clothes that cost a fortune! But of course, all that came at a price.
Suddenly the happiness that glowed in her eyes dimmed a little.
"Now, now, Alice, we cannot have you gushing over a man after you have just been married," Rosalie said, moving closer to Edward and patting his arm, almost as if she was marking a kind of territory. Alice's gaze fell on where Rosalie's hand met Edward's arm. "I believe that would be some sort of sin now, would it not? And besides, what would your husband say?"
"Do not worry, Rose," Alice said, and then added, "I am very much in love with my husband." She smiled and her eyes moved to the young girl who stood by Edward's side. "And you must be Miss Jane. Rumor had it that you were pretty, but they failed to recognize that beautiful was a more appropriate word." Jane's cheeks were suffused with color.
Alice took a deep, but shaky breath, her clad fingers smoothing the invisible wrinkles on her skirt. She had hardly been wearing her apparel for long, yet, she had already started to feel uncomfortable, since every inch of her skin was covered.
When the cordial reception was over, Alice tried to start a conversation before an awkward silence could ensue. "I cannot express how extremely glad it is to see you, Edward. Bel–"
"Alice, I am sorry for the unexpected visit. How rude of me to think that you would have nothing on your schedule but to sit at home. Is Jasper in?" Isabella cut in immediately, before her friend could proceed to divulge something that would implicate her.
"Yes, I believe he is on the grounds, shooting something." Alice paused to hear sounds of gunshots but heard none. "Or at least, he was. Shall we take a turn in the garden?" She smiled at her guests. "It is quite cold in here. I will have the servants bring us tea." Her left hand rubbed the back of her ear impetuously. "And Edward, perhaps you and my husband would like to catch up on old times." She smiled at Edward, who nodded in acquiescence.
Isabella hooked her arm around the crook of Alice's arm as they walked out of the parlor. Edward, Rosalie and Jane trailed behind them, with Edward in the middle of the two ladies.
Their feet moved lightly over the path to the garden. The tail of their skirts swayed slightly with the light breeze. When Isabella had created enough distance to ensure that the rest of their entourage was not within earshot, she heaved a sigh and placed her head to rest against Alice's shoulder.
"Oh, Alice, I cannot tell you how incredibly exhausting it has been being in their presence. I almost feel as if I am two women in the same body," Isabella finally said. "The one who has to pretend that she does not feel an ounce of jealousy or any excruciating pain when she sees him kiss her hand, and the other, who dies each time he does."
"I cannot believe you have not told him! What the devil are you thinking?" asked Alice, in a rather soft but concerned tone. "What even surprises me more is the fact that Rosalie consented to such an arrangement."
"And what would you have me do?" Isabella raised her head from Alice's shoulder and looked at her with saddened eyes. "I cannot look at him and tell him that the woman he has been pining for all these years is not the woman he has fantasized about. He dreams about her, Alice, he always has. To come to such a realization would crush him. Not once has he expressed such heightened fondness for me. I even doubt that he sees me at all." She turned her head away from her friend, looking at the manicured grass that was beautified with colorful flowerbeds.
"So, does it not crush you to see that his affection is displayed somewhere else? Precisely, to the wrong person and one who does not deserve it in the first place. Does it not kill you to see him with her? Especially a woman like Rosalie who is an incorrigible flirt and one who would do anything to be the center of attention?" Alice asked. "If such a woman were with Jasper, I would kill her."
"But she is not in love with him." Isabella argued. "Rosalie has never been in love with anyone but herself." Alice was aware that Isabella meant no harm by that statement, for she had been in Rosalie's presence on a number of occasions where Rosalie had confessed it herself.
However, Alice countered, "That does not mean she is incapable of love. She may seem like one who doubts its existence but that is only because she has never gotten love from anywhere else. Her mother, who was supposed to care for her, left her at a young age. Her father has neglected her for so long; it is a miracle that he sometimes regards her as his daughter at all. There has been no one to show Rosalie any type of love, other than you, and that is not enough. You have to tell him before it is too late and all three of you are left utterly distraught!"
"I will," said Isabella. She was not prepared to face any sort of rejection from Edward, so she added, "in due time. He has only just arrived. I should at least let him settle down before bearing such news."
"I worry for you." Alice rubbed Isabella's left hand in a compassionate gesture.
"And I worry for you. With Jasper going away, how will you fare?" Isabella turned to look at her.
Alice looked straight ahead, her eyes were forlorn. "I think of it every night. He has absolutely spoiled me with his presence. And it is completely hard to be separated from him for long periods of time. Even when he goes to visit his father," she looked at Isabella, "I long for him," she said in a whisper, lowering her eyelids. "His father does not even acknowledge me, and that is all right, as long as I have Jasper. But once he is gone…" she trailed off with a sigh, as they got to the first circle of chairs in the garden.
"I have not left the house since we moved in." Alice pulled out a chair for Isabella before she sat down. "I am afraid of both social classes. The lower class people, though some are happy, others are jealous. While the upper class people seem to think that I have married him for his money. They do not even regard me as his wife but as his mistress!" Her laughter was devoid of humor.
"I consider there to be very little difference between being a lady's maid and being a lady. As a lady's maid, I never really fitted in with the rest of the servants, for they thought I gossiped with you and Lady Swan about their activities. And being loyal to Lady Swan did not make me better than the others either, for I was still a maid. I was still always put in my place. No matter the situation I find myself in, I never really seem to fit anywhere, except with Jasper."
"I am here for you, Alice." Isabella reached out and held Alice's hands with a sad smile. "You are not the only scandalous woman in Forks, you know. I have jilted about four lords and mama always holds it against me," Isabella finished, with an exaggerated wave of her hand in an effort to make her friend feel better.
"I believe mine is the biggest scandal of the season." Alice laughed.
"Mother believes that a woman has no right in refusing a lord's marriage proposal. In fact, she considers it to be completely unethical."
"I believe she found a new maid for you. How is Mary doing? Does she know what lotions you use? And how you like your hair styled?" Alice's eyes flitted to Isabella's hair. "Although, she seems to be doing good work, from what I can see. I suppose she is also good with her reading and writing skills."
"Mama had to opt for the best. Once she realized she had lost you, she went seeking for someone who she thought was better. Of course, she could never replace you. I still miss you but I would say you are much better here."
"We both know my time was due anyway. I was going to be fired after a year. Lady Swan was only being lenient with me. Most maids do not even get to that age while being a lady's maid. And, lord knows, I was not about to fight Patricia for that housekeeping position." She and Isabella laughed, just as Alice's other guests joined them.
Alice watched Edward pull out a chair for Rosalie before he pulled out one for himself and Jane. When everyone was seated, the butler arrived with a tray of tea cups, a porcelain pitcher and a deck of playing cards.
Silently, the butler began to pour tea into the tea cups as Alice stood up.
"It is all right, Arnold," she said, taking the pitcher from him. "I can handle it from here. Could you please inform Jasper of our guests?" She smiled at him and he nodded. "Thank you." And then, he was on his way.
As Alice poured tea into each tea cup for her guests, the occupants of the table fell into a polite conversation.
Feeling uncomfortable and failing to ignore the awkwardness of watching his host pouring tea when he could easily assist her, Edward stood up. "Alice, please allow me," he offered.
"Oh, Edward." Alice smiled at him, waving him off dismissively, as she reached to pour tea for Rosalie. "Do not worry yourself." She laughed nervously. "You are my guest, please, do sit down."
Alice finished pouring the tea and tried to engage in the conversation going on at the table. Rosalie was conversing about the upcoming ball for the arrival of the Cullens that was in a few days time, when Alice spotted her husband walking toward them from the weapon shed.
Alice's gaze was fixed on him as he walked straight toward them with an elegant stride. Her right elbow was positioned to the table and she rested her chin on the palm of her hand. Alice's mind deviated from the discourse, as all her thoughts on the subject were stolen by the sight of Jasper. One hand was tucked in the pocket of his beige colored trousers while the other swung slightly by his side. His gait, she thought, suggested that he was a man who was in control of things. Jasper carried an air about him that made it seem like he would make a fine solder.
Jasper's black waistcoat emphasized his lean masculine build and the sun seemed to amplify his handsomeness. Looking at him like this, even from a distance, made Alice appreciate his love for her. For he was hers and no one else's. When ladies looked at him, they would know his heart was hers. The thought made a subtle smile grow on her face.
As he approached them, Jasper caught her gaze and his face cracked a smile. His features held an amused countenance at the animated gaze from his wife. In that moment, while their guests chattered on, completely oblivious to the two lovers, it was as if a secret was shared between them. Their gazes never wavered from each other and their smiles never faded. Jasper's eyes were completely radiant and Alice's were a reflection of his.
Alice felt the light weight of Jasper's palm on her back when he got to their table. "Good morning, ladies," he greeted, bending to grace his wife's cheek with a kiss. "Forgive me for my tardiness. I was unaware that we had guests." He turned to shake Edward's hand. "Edward, I heard you had returned. I trust your journey went well."
"Very well, thank you," returned Edward.
"Perhaps, you would like to join me in a game of shooting?" Jasper asked.
Alice's expression resembled a grimace. "Dear husband, how long do you intend on doing this?"
"Not long, my dearest wife." He smiled brightly. "I am just trying to improve my aim."
Alice turned her attention to the ladies at the table and said in her best conversational tone, "Do you know that out of all the houses on the estate his father owns, this was the one he chose, for its shooting facilities alone." She took a sip of her tea. "Unbelievable."
"I am going to be a soldier, my dearest. You know I have to practice," he said softly, and Alice turned away from him with an unhappy expression clouding her face.
She almost wanted to ask, "And whose fault was that?" but refrained and thought better of it. It would be considered inappropriate to discuss such matters in front of their guests.
Knowing he had upset his wife, but not having the opportunity to apologize, for the very same reasons, Jasper diverted his attention to Edward. "Edward, shall we? I suggest that we leave the ladies to their tea party," he said as Edward stood up. "I hope you engaged in some form of shooting in England or will I have to teach you?" Jasper patted his back as both men walked away from the table.
"Whitlock, I consider myself to have better aim than you do. King Edward, the seventh, held many shooting parties." The volume of their voices decreased as they retreated.
"Men!" said Rosalie. "They always get to have all the fun, while we sit here and drink tea."
"Do you not like tea, Rosalie?" Alice picked up the cards and shuffled them. "I cannot imagine why a lady would be interested in such an activity."
"And why not? It is a good sport. It teaches you to defend yourself, should the situation arise"
"I fail to see what kind of situation would require such skill from a lady, but perhaps, I could interest you in a game of three-card Monte?"
"Certainly." The corners of Rosalie's lips turned up.
~o~
The weapon shed was clean, save for the little patches of hay that littered some parts of the floor. Most of the guns were hung against a brown cloth that was nailed to the wall. There were about three shotguns and other bow and arrow equipment. Some machine rifles and revolvers were stacked on a shelf by the corner. On the lower shelf were shotgun shells and gun powder. Two pigeon traps were located at the east end of the shed.
Edward walked over to where the shotguns were kept, looking at the models and admiring them.
"You know, I never really fancied shooting," said Jasper, his hands were shoved in his pockets as he moved to join Edward. "I am not one who believes that a dispute should be settled with violence. But my father has requested—ordered, really—that I go to war." He turned to Edward. "I suppose you heard."
"Yes," replied Edward. The papers had stated that Jasper was to report to the army to support his fellow countrymen in the war between the Philippines and the Americans. They had called him a hero, and Edward was sure that Jasper's father was responsible for the vague cover story of his decision. He also wondered if Lord Whitlock was also responsible for the weapons in the shed.
"Alice has never stepped foot in here. This is a part of the house that she refuses to acknowledge, not that I want her to," continued Jasper, picking up one of the shotguns and holding it by the wooden stock in a firm grip. "But should there be an instance where it will prove useful, I will not be there to protect her."
"I am sure she does not take the notion of you enlisting in the army considerably well." Edward cast a glance at Jasper, before his gaze returned back to the shoguns.
The two men stood side by side and looked at the weapons before them, almost as if they were some sort of decoration.
"No, she does not," Jasper replied, recalling his wife's expression when he mentioned that he had to practice. "But there is not much I can do about that now. Besides, I need to prove myself worthy of her and this is the way I can see to that," he said.
Jasper handed the shotgun that he was holding to Edward and both of them left the shed. The Whitlock house stood behind them and acres of land covered in green grass surrounded them. They arrived at a spot where one of the guards stood. Beside him was a wooden stool, a carton of glass balls and a cross-piece rotating trap.
"Frank," Jasper called to the guard, and Frank handed him the shotgun he was holding. "All right, Edward, show me the best you have got," Jasper said to him, as Edward put some distance between himself and the rotating trap, holding his gun and aiming it to the sky, ready to shoot.
Frank loaded the trap with a few glass balls and waited for Jasper's order.
"Ready?" Jasper asked and Edward nodded. "Pull!" he yelled, and soon the ball shot out from the contraption into the air. Edward lifted his gun, taking aim, and pulled the trigger at the trajectory of ball. In a second, the ball exploded to pieces and its fragments scattered along the bed of grass.
"Nice shot!" Jasper exclaimed in shock and turned to Edward. "Not bad, not bad at all."
Edward grinned. "Thank you," he replied, his shoulders felt a slight pain from the unexpected kickback of the shotgun.
"So," Jasper said, taking Edward's position, while Edward went to stand closer to the trap with Frank. "I heard you have your eyes on Rosalie Hale, how did you ever manage that?"
"Ready?" Frank asked and Jasper winked, his gun already aimed at the sky, anticipating the sight of the ball.
"Pull!" Jasper shouted and another explosion blasted through the air. "I do not mean to offend, Rosalie is probably a good woman," he added, for Edward's benefit, hoping his friend did not think he was insulting his choice. "But she does not seem like quite the romantic."
Edward resumed his shooting position. "I understand that she may seem a bit…cold," he said, recollecting Rosalie's behavior in the carriage. "And perhaps a bit difficult, but under that façade is a very loving, compassionate woman. She does not express that part for everyone to see." His mind traveled back to the letters she had exchanged with him when he was in England.
He fired at the ball, but missed the shot. "Again," Edward called as Frank pulled the contraption and the ball was released.
"If I knew any better, I would say," Jasper said, loading his shotgun, "that you were describing Isabella."
At the name Jasper called, Edward missed his shot again, watching the ball drop onto the grass at a distance.
"Isabella Swan?" Edward turned to look at Jasper, completely confused. "Why would I be talking about Isabella Swan?"
"Well, she seems to fit the description you have just given me," continued Jasper. "Loving and compassionate are not words I would associate with Rosalie Hale. If I were to describe her, I would say, ambitious, selfish and a little cold."
"You do not know her like I do," said Edward, aiming his gun at the sky for his third shot, as the rotating trap fired the ball. He pulled the trigger and this time an explosion tore through the air that resulted in the pieces of the ball raining along the grass. "Of course, Isabella is all that, too," Edward went on. He recalled this morning at breakfast when they were engaged in a conversation. "But she can be a bit temperate."
"Isabella?" asked Jasper, bewildered, and wondering if they were talking about two utterly different women. He had never known Isabella to possess such characteristics. Even during the time of their betrothal, she had taken the news of his affection so gracefully, as if she understood. "Shocking," was all he was able to respond.
"I suppose it is," said Edward.
"Well, then, perhaps we should give a salute for the women who have captured our hearts," Jasper said, and Frank loaded two balls into the trap to be shot in tandem.
"For Alice." Jasper pulled the trigger.
"For Rosalie," said Edward, pulling his trigger, and both balls blasted to smithereens.
~o~
It was late, well past midnight, but Isabella had found it extremely difficult to surrender to sleep's wishes. Her brown eyes were wide awake and filled with ennui, as she conjured up the tracings of nonsensical patterns on the high ceilings of her bedroom.
Being awake at such a late hour created a sense of solitude and made her bedroom seem like a sort of prison. This feeling was magnified by the thought that Edward was somewhere in the manor, sleeping peacefully in his bedroom.
Slightly exasperated by the thought, Isabella decided to take a walk around the manor until her eyes could obey the exhaustion she felt. She tossed the blankets aside and wore her sleeping robe before sauntering along the dark hallways of the Swan manor.
Isabella quietly passed the sleeping quarters and descended the stairs toward the lower wing of the house. The servants had all retired to bed, so the halls were empty, and only slightly illuminated by the light of a few candles. Carrying the most light were the slanted rays of moonlight as they sliced through the curtains covering the French windows.
As Isabella passed the drawing room, she could hear the soft strains of a piano behind the closed oak doors. She halted and her doting heart accelerated to a rhythm that only occurred whenever Edward was nearby.
Isabella opened the door and her feet gravitated to the sound before her eyes captured his figure sitting on the piano bench. There he was, clad in nothing but a long white dress shirt and a pair of brown trousers, sitting in front of the grand piano. Edward was not yet aware of her presence and so he continued to play.
She stood behind him and watched him silently play the notes to Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. With his back toward her, Isabella could not see what expression graced his face but his passion was portrayed in the movement of his shoulders to the progression of the music.
Soft and sweet, the haunting melody whispered its affection to her soul, and Isabella reveled in it, closing her eyes. The music flowed through her veins. Her blood sang and her heart danced while her eyes glistened with tears. Each note constructed a delightful sensation within her. Isabella had never heard anything quite as heavenly as Edward playing the piano. When he had played the piece for Rosalie, she had thought the very same thing but her mind had been too consumed with the notion of Edward playing it for her friend rather than for her. Isabella's jealousy had not granted her the pleasure of truly savoring the piece as he played it.
Once Edward had stopped playing, Isabella's eyes flew open—as if she had been awakened from a wonderful dream—and met Edward's intense, green gaze. She seemed paralyzed for a moment before she regained some composure.
"Forgive me," she said, smiling ruefully. "It was not my intention to frighten you…" Crimson colored her cheeks. "I heard you playing and…" Isabella shifted uncomfortably as various thoughts fought for articulation to explain her intrusion. "I could not sleep," she finally uttered.
"Nor could I," he replied. "Perhaps I can entertain you," Edward suggested with a smile. She approached him slowly, still reeling at the surprise of being caught in his presence.
Isabella stood in front of the pianoforte, and from that angle, she could see that he was not properly dressed. A few buttons of his white dress shirt were open, displaying a sliver of skin that paled in color due to the moonlight cascading through the window beside him.
Edward sat up in a straighter posture and began to play Chopin's Nocturne in C-sharp minor. Soft tones dallied in the atmosphere between them at the opening chords, as if telling a story. Isabella detected a fluid strength in the movement of his body to the music. His fingers glided across the piano and the music caressed the air, enfolding them in a sensual cloak.
Edward's gaze captured hers, but he did not stop playing. The connection that passed between the two of them seemed so intimate and fragile. Drawn to the depth of Edward's green eyes, Isabella leaned closer to the piano. The music—so evocative—curled around her spine and raked goosebumps across her skin.
And as the piece finished, Edward let his gaze fall back to the keys and ended with a soft note. A lone teardrop escaped Isabella's eye and she brushed it away, turning away from Edward.
"Oh, Edward, you play so beautifully," Isabella said, walking toward a white rococo chaise lounge that was situated across the room. "You have such talent," she added, lying across the upholstered couch and looking at him. "If you did not spend your days saving lives, I would insist you pursue a career in music." A soft, genuine smile graced her lips.
Edward's fingers danced across the keys, producing a cacophony of sounds. He turned to glance at her and express his gratitude but Edward's words were forgotten once his eyes shot to her silhouette on the chaise. In the faint moonlight, Edward could see Isabella's long, white chemise underneath her robe. With her brown curls surrounding her face, the sight of her was reminiscent of some of the paintings he had seen in London. She glowed.
For the very first time, Edward thought Isabella looked beautiful. His affection for Rosalie had hardly permitted him to observe her beauty. But now, he could admit that she had the most expressive eyes he had ever seen, considering that he had been unable to strip his gaze away from hers while he played the nocturne. Isabella's beauty—unlike Rosalie's—was not completely obvious and perhaps that was why he had never acknowledged it before. Her features reminded him of a wildflower—one had to really look to capture its beauty and sweet fragrance. Isabella, Edward thought, possessed an ethereal beauty.
Isabella's countenance held so much passion that staring at her made Edward feel…alive. Only music and medicine had proven to hold such endearing attributes for him.
When Edward had detected her presence earlier, the expression on her face was what he had expected to see from Rosalie when he played Beethoven's Sonata. It was as if Isabella could fathom the emotion he had tried to express with the music.
"Please." Isabella's whisper floated across the room. "Do not stop playing."
Realizing that his fingers had indeed paused on the keyboard, Edward reverted back to the piano and played a different nocturne by Chopin in C-minor.
"I find music to be a great way of expressing what one cannot articulate." He paused, and then began to play again. "Most of the time, the gravity of my affections are most ardently conveyed with music."
Isabella had wanted to tell him that he was equally passionate and eloquent in his letters. However, she watched his long fingers depress the black and white keys, as if they were created specifically for that purpose—to play music and feed her soul with their delicate melody.
"My emotions are expressed through a variety of forms," she said, playing with the hem of her night robe. "Drawing, reading, writing. These are all ways in which they seek refuge. Poetry is an art I also take great pleasure in. I find it rather…captivating."
"You are quite the romanticist," said Edward. His eyes were still planted on the piano keys.
"Are you not?" asked Isabella, though she all ready had knowledge of his answer. For it was Edward's love that had brought him here, back to Forks, and Isabella had hoped that his heart would whisper to whom it belonged to.
"Rationalism restricts one's minds from possibilities," she continued, her fingers tip-toeing on the arm of the chair. "It provides the prospect of marrying without affection, which is a notion I consider to be absolutely dreadful. And though a suitor might express the same undying affection that I require for such a commitment, I cannot fully devote my life to him when I do not feel a degree of love for him."
"Perhaps, you have not found the person worthy of your love yet," said Edward.
"He may not be completely worthy, but I have found someone who…" she trailed off, looking away from him. "A man who is very noble and has won me completely."
"You have?" asked Edward in bewilderment, his fingers faltering on the keys as his gaze found Isabella's.
"Yes…very much so, that I fear," replied Isabella, "he has robbed me of my heart." Her voice—barely a whisper—echoed the longing present in her heart. "So much so, that no other gentleman will be able to accommodate such space no matter how highly valued his emotions are."
Edward's gaze descended to the piano and his mind began to speculate on who had made such an impression on Isabella that she seemed to have given her soul to him. He could not think of anyone else, save for the blacksmith—Jacob Black.
Given on the many occasions that he had witnessed their relationship since his arrival, Edward had suspected that this noble man was Jacob Black. He had every reason to believe so, for why would a lady spend such an awful amount of time in a blacksmith's company when she was not requesting any of his services? Perhaps, it was Isabella's feelings for him that had caused her to refuse the men who had asked for her hand in marriage.
Edward did not think Jacob to be worthy of her affections. There was something not quite right about him, he thought, and it had nothing to do with Jacob's status in the society. Isabella was delicate, and so she deserved to be treated with care and tenderness. He felt unease at the fact that she had completely surrendered her heart to a person he did not consider trustworthy.
"But of course, he does not know of it," Isabella said, cutting through his thoughts.
"He does not?" he asked.
"I lack the courage to tell him," she replied sadly.
The devil! Not only had Jacob charmed Isabella so as to cause her to fall in love with him, the idiot did not even know of it! How could he spend time in her lovely presence and not realize that there was a beautiful woman in love with him? Rage burned its way through Edward's chest and he fought the urge to express the feeling by squeezing his fists into a tight ball. He released his fingers and took a deep breath before continuing the musical piece.
Suddenly, he felt very protective of the lady lying on the chaise lounge. All her features proved to be even more delicate under the single beam of the moonlight that edged its way closer to her.
Edward knew Isabella needed him to be a friend, as she had always been with him. So he said, "I suppose that can be a frightening thing. But if he does not recognize how…"—at this point, he swallowed—"extremely beautiful you are, then he is a fool."
Isabella wanted to comment on the similarity Edward's words held with Jacob's, but her mind did not allow her, for it busied itself with the two words he had just used to describe her. Extremely beautiful. And he had used such words to describe her, not Rosalie.
Isabella felt she could die happily. Her grave, she thought, would have the inscription: Killed by the words 'Extremely Beautiful' for they were spoken by Edward Cullen and nothing had melted her heart until now.
Abruptly, Edward stopped playing and stood up. He ran his hands through his hair, as Isabella wondered what could have possibly altered in that moment to cause a change in his demeanor.
Was it possible that she had not been as cautious as she had intended? Had she said too much? Could it be that Edward was beginning to suspect the true identity of the Rosalie within their shared letters? Isabella hardly dared allow herself to hope.
"I am very sorry for keeping you this long," he said and she, too, stood up—fingers intertwining with each other, nervously. The familiar tension that made their interactions somewhat stilted returned. "It is quite late and I fear that if we do not return to our beds, we may not be awake in the morning."
Edward's hands rubbed the back of his neck as Isabella walked toward him in careful steps—in fear that he might slip away from her like silk escaping through her fingers.
"It was I who made you play at this late hour. Were it not for me, you would have gone to—" she started, her heart thundering in her chest. The distance between them was not more than two footsteps and her body had begun to tremble at his proximity.
"Nonsense! It was I who woke you up with my—"
"I enjoyed it," she said, not permitting him to speak further, lest he berate himself for such a trivial issue that brought her pleasure. "I enjoyed listening to you…very much."
Edward stared into her eyes and his tongue uttered the words: "I enjoyed playing for you." And they were true, for he had never played for such a person who depicted strong emotions in response to a piece. Not his mother. Not his father. And not even Rosalie.
Isabella turned shyly, leaving him in the drawing room and returning to her bedroom, while Edward stood there for a moment, wondering why an alien feeling had slipped into his heart when she had smiled at him before she left.
The usual disclaimer still holds. None of this belongs to me.
A great deal of thanks goes to Mrs. Boyscout, TwiDi and my very awesome beta, Phoenixhunter47 for their edits and suggestions. And thank you readers for your patience and for reading and reviewing.
The beautiful banners that Heather Dawn and Phoenixhunter47 made for me are now up on my profile.