A Worthy Pursuit (17 page)

He shouldn’t be disappointed. Her trust of him was too new. Yet after listening to her pour her heart into her piano music, he couldn’t stop himself from wanting a piece of that for himself. More, though, he wanted to rub salve into her wounds and aid her healing as she’d done for him after the cat attack. Her injuries lingered deep beneath the surface, however, and he suspected she’d lived with them so long, they’d become
part of her. Exposing them would hurt. A lot. And hurting her was the last thing he wanted to do. On the other hand, letting a wound fester and grow infected simply to avoid the temporary pain of lancing was no kindness, either.

What
do I do, Lord? How do I help her?

No answer shot from the heavens, yet a growing unease about pressing her for details swelled in his chest. They were
her
secrets. She should be the one to decide if and when to share them. It was his job to listen, not to pry them out of her. Trust had to work both ways.

“When you’re ready, Charlotte.” He slid his hands from her grasp and turned to go. He’d nearly made it to the hall when her voice stopped him.

“My father had an affair.”

Stone’s jaw clenched at the blurted words. He could hear tears wavering close to the surface, could feel the agony of her admission, and he hated that she’d endured such hurt.

Give me the right words to help, Lord. Or
glue my tongue down to keep it from flappin’ if
that’s best. Just don’t let me mess this
up.
Swallowing his nerves, he turned to face her.

Her head hung low, as if the shame of her father’s sin had attached itself to her. She clenched her hands together in front of her so fiercely, he worried for her circulation. Stone closed the distance between them with long strides and immediately wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

“Let’s sit back down.” He steered her toward the sofa, but instead of letting her perch stiffly on the edge of the seat, he kept his arm around her and urged her to lean against him.

She resisted at first then gave way all at once, tucking her head against his chest. Whether she sought comfort from him or simply tried to hide her face, he didn’t know. Shoot, he didn’t really even care. She felt so good nuzzled against him, he’d hold
her there all afternoon if it made her feel better. Heaven knew it made
him
feel better.

He held her for what felt like several minutes, stroking her arm, resting his jaw against the soft pillow of her hair, waiting for her to continue. When no words came, he gave her a gentle nudge. “How old were you?” His fingers never paused in their stroking, conveying a subtle acceptance he hoped she’d recognize instinctually.

“Ten,” she finally said, her voice small. She fiddled with the fabric of her skirt, plucking at it, twisting it, then smoothing it again. “He tried to blame his infidelity on my mother, blaming her for leaving him behind in the wake of her success. But even as young as I was, I knew it was a lie. Papa lived for the limelight, and when Mama’s career exploded, he was banished to the shadows. At first, he basked in her glory, taking credit for her magnificence as her teacher and manager. Mama played along, humbly proclaiming that she would have been nothing without his tutelage. She loved him, you see, and knew his foibles. She didn’t care about the fame. She cared about the music, about bringing it to life and sharing it with others.”

Stone tried to recall what little his investigation had turned up regarding Jeanette Atherton. “She’s an opera singer?”

Charlotte glanced up, pride flashing in her eyes. “One of the most sought after mezzo-sopranos in Europe.”

He smiled at her, and for a moment she smiled back. Then she seemed to remember the tale she was in the middle of telling. Her smile faltered, and she turned her face back into his chest.

“She’s played in London, Paris, even Vienna. I believe she’s somewhere in Italy at present. But I haven’t had a letter in several months, so I can’t be sure.”

He heard the loneliness in the statement, but oddly enough, he detected no self-pity. She seemed to bear her mother no
ill will, though Stone couldn’t say he felt the same. He knew Charlotte had been a student at Dr. Sullivan’s academy for five years before spending two at the Sam Houston Normal School in Huntsville and earning her teaching certificate. She’d returned to Dr. Sullivan’s academy after that and took up the role of music teacher at the age of eighteen.

“My parents had been happy together . . . before.
We’d
been happy.” Charlotte shifted slightly and started picking at her skirt again. “Our house was always filled with music. Papa on the piano, Mama singing, me bouncing between the two. We lived in New York most of the year, but Mama insisted on having a place away from the big city to retreat, a home where we could just be a family and not worry about auditions or performances or what the latest critic spewed in the papers. Papa could only bear to be away for about two months out of the year, but he declared himself too in love with Mama to deny her anything, so he had this house built in the middle of nowhere, and we spent every Christmas here that I can remember. This little house became my favorite place in all the world.”

Stone could picture it. The three Athertons gathered around the piano singing Christmas carols, laughing, playing. A little girl’s dream.

“That’s why his betrayal cut so deep.” She pulled away from him slightly and met his gaze. “He said he loved us, Stone. He said we were his pride and joy, his life. We adored him. But our adoration wasn’t enough. He craved the adoration of the world. And when the world started praising Mama instead, his love died. He found a new protégé to tutor, determined to prove that Mama’s success was
his
creation, not simply a product of her own talent and hard work. His next student was a female pianist—young, beautiful, and so terribly grate
ful to have the undivided attention of such an acclaimed artist as Charles Atherton. How could he resist such admiration?”

“By remembering his vows before God, that’s how,” Stone growled. Weak, sniveling little man. A man worth his salt would delight in his wife’s achievements, not sit and cry about his own being overlooked.

An odd look stole over Charlotte’s face. She tilted her head a bit and regarded him as if he’d just sprouted a third ear from his chin.

“What?” He scrubbed at his chin with the back of his hand just to make sure whiskers were the only appendages growing there.

“Nothing, it’s just . . .” She squared her shoulders. “No, it’s not nothing. It is a very significant
something
. Thank you, Stone.”

He hadn’t a clue what she was thanking him for, but he wasn’t about to argue with the woman.

“When the scandal first broke,” she said, “I tried to defend my mother against the unfair speculation that arose, but I soon learned it was pointless. People believed what they wanted to believe. She was an
opera
singer
. Everyone knew that women of the stage lacked morality. Charles Atherton was simply too much of a gentleman to mention whatever infidelities his wife had committed to drive him into the arms of another woman. As if any excuse justified turning one’s back on vows made before God. You’re the first person I’ve heard offer reproach on that front.”

“The way I figure it,” Stone said with a shrug, her gratitude making him itch a bit under his collar, “when God said no man should put a marriage asunder, that included the fella and gal who said the vows in the first place. I’m not sayin’ it’s easy. There’s too much strife and temptation in this world to
ride through at a constant lope. Sometimes the bronc you’re on will buck and hop ’til your rear’s so bruised you think you’ll never recover.”

Her cheeks colored at his reference, making that itch spread up the back of Stone’s neck. He reached behind him and rubbed his palm across his nape. “What I’m trying to say is that if you hang on with all you got during those rough patches, the ride will eventually smooth out, and when it does, you’ll be left with a bond that will only make you stronger.”

Listen to him, spouting off like he knew anything about marriage. What did he know? He’d never been a part of one. Only example he’d had was his own folks, and they’d died so young he hadn’t had time to watch them weather many storms. Stone blew out a breath. “Works with horses, anyway.”

She smiled at him and actually stopped pickin’ at her dress long enough to touch his knee. “I imagine it works with more than horses.” Her eyes sparkled in that moment, as if a cloud had shifted just enough to let a ray of sunlight pass through. His gut tightened, and suddenly he wanted to be the man who banished all her clouds. Too soon, though, she shuttered her eyes with lowered lashes and pulled her hand away from his knee to rest it once more in her lap.

“I think what hurt the most was that he never said good-bye. I just came home from school one day to find him gone.” She lifted her chin but didn’t look at him. Her gaze drifted out into the open space of the room. “From the time I was two and he’d recognized I had an ear for the piano, he’d spent hours with me every week, grooming me into a pianist worthy of playing the finest concert halls of the world. I lived for one of his smiles, for a word of praise. I practiced constantly, believing that we shared a special bond as pianists, one even Mama couldn’t share with him. Everything I did was to make him proud. Then
he left me. No explanation. No apology. He hasn’t written me a single letter in all the years since. It’s as if I ceased to exist. Ceased to matter.”

In that moment, Stone thanked God that Charlotte wasn’t looking at him, for he knew he couldn’t hide the rage surging through him. How could a man do that to his own flesh and blood? Leave without a word? Let her think she didn’t matter? The man needed some sense and common decency knocked into him, and Stone was more than up for the job. His fists were primed and ready.

“Mama told me that he was just too ashamed to face me, and that I shouldn’t believe all men were as faithless as he. I tried to follow her advice, even went so far as to let a young man court me when I was at teaching college.”

A lump settled in Stone’s gut. It felt a bit like a prickly pear. With spines poking out every which way. “You . . . ah . . . had a suitor?”

She nodded. “He was a year ahead of me in school. Quiet. Intelligent. Not one to be at the center of attention. My father’s opposite in almost every way. I thought he’d be safe. He invited me to study with him in the library. I agreed. Before I knew it, we were going to the café for dinner on Saturday evenings and taking long walks around the school grounds. We’d been seeing each other for about three months when his sister came to visit. She brought a friend with her, a friend who just happened to be Alexander’s betrothed. The shock on his face when they found us would have been comical had he not made it so clear that he was ashamed to be found with me. He tossed out some excuse about me turning my ankle to explain why my arm was threaded through his and begged me with a look to play along.” Charlotte’s lips tightened into a thin line as color flooded her cheeks. “I limped a few steps to the nearest bench
then waved them all away, giving assurances that I would be fine. When they left for home a few days later, Alexander came to me with some pitiful tale about how, since meeting me, he no longer wanted to marry Georgiana. That he much preferred a woman who matched him in intelligence and ambition. I told him I had too much intelligence to allow the attentions of a man who belonged to another. After that, I focused on my education and never stepped out with another man.”

Good grief. No wonder the woman had trouble trusting people.

She let out a sigh and moved away from him to perch back on the edge of the seat cushion. “The only man in my life who has proved dependable is Mr. Dobson, and I’m pretty sure the only reason he stays is because he has nowhere else to go.”

“Don’t sell the fellow short,” Stone said, not quite believing he was actually singing the gnome’s praises. “He was ready to do me in to keep you and the kids safe. I’d say more than a roof is keeping him here.”

Charlotte looked at him then, a small smile budding as she glanced over her shoulder. “Or maybe he just enjoys whacking tall men on the head and dragging them around.”

Stone grinned as he rubbed the bruise on his forehead. “It’s a possibility.”

Charlotte turned away again and stood. Her hands immediately started smoothing her skirt.

Stone rose to his feet and bent down to capture one of her hands. “Dobson’s not the only man you can depend on, Charlotte.”

She looked at him a long moment before tugging her hand free. “We’ll see.”

17

Nearly a week later, Charlotte stood at her bedroom window, once again watching Stone canter off toward town on that oversized beast of his. She caressed the cameo at her neck as he disappeared from view, not out of nervousness this time, but with intent. The feminine profile carved into the shell brooch stirred memories. Her mother had given her the pin the day she’d dropped Charlotte off at the Sullivan Academy.

The two of them had tried to make things work after her father left, staying together for over a year. Her mother had employed nannies and private tutors as they bounced from opera house to opera house, but the strain proved too much. All Charlotte wanted was for her mother to take her home to their Texas cottage, to settle down into a routine, to have a
normal
life. Yet she never spoke of such dreams. How could she when it would mean her mother would have to sacrifice the career she had trained for years to achieve?

If only her father hadn’t ruined everything. Yet even as Charlotte cast blame, deep down she missed him. Missed his music, too. Every time she’d tried to play, her mother would
flee the room, the memories of all they had lost too much for her to bear. After a while, Charlotte stopped playing altogether. That was when her mother decided to send her to Sullivan’s academy.

“You have a gift, Lottie,” her mother had fiercely declared as she held her child’s hands in one final embrace before leaving. “A gift bestowed by God, and I am stealing it from you, just as surely as your father tried to steal mine from me. No one has the right to take another’s gift. Not out of greed, or jealousy, or even self-pity. That’s why you must stay here, why you must develop your talent and use it as God leads.”