Read Online Silent Melody by Mary Balogh - Free Book Online

he grinned and gestured his brother to precede him. “Who is she?”
    â€œâ€™Tis a matter of personal taste, Ash,” Luke said. “For myself, I can never look past Anna. But ’tis an affliction that does not affect all men, I am glad to say. ’Twould not be good for any other man’s health.”
    Ashley laughed again. “Anna is spoken for, then,” he said. “I will have to settle for second best.”
    His tiredness was forgotten. Suddenly he was filled with energy. Suddenly he wanted to dance all night and all tomorrow too. He wanted noise and laughter and movement and flirtation. Above all, flirtation.
    He was standing inside the doorway of the ballroom again a few minutes later, his brother at his side. A vigorous country dance was in progress. He resented the fact that he would have to wait for it to finish before he could dance himself. He felt drunk with exuberance and gaiety. He looked about him with interest. He saw the members of his own family, who looked surprised to see him all decked out for the ball, and then smiled at him. He saw a few familiar faces from the neighborhood. He saw Agnes, Anna’s younger sister, who was dancing. She was Lady Severidge now, he remembered, of Wycherly Park close by. She had grown plump.
    Then his eyes lit on a young lady who was sitting on a sofa some distance away, half turned away, though he had the impression that she had looked away from him the very moment his eyes moved in her direction. He smiled. He had noticed the same thing with a number of other people in the room. Doubtless he was the sensation of the hour.
    â€œThat one, egad,” he said to Luke, indicating the young lady on the sofa. “The one sitting with—with Will Severidge, by thunder. He has grown more portly with age. Who is she? And pray do not devastate me by telling me she is married.”
    Luke did not answer, and Ashley swung his eyes to him and laughed.
    â€œZounds,” he said, “but you will not keep the secret. Who is she? Present me to her, Luke. I mean to dance with her. Without delay. This particular set is ending, by my life.”
    â€œShe is Emily,” Luke said. “’Twere better . . .”
    Ashley did not hear what would be better. Emily. Emily.
Emmy?
    â€œEmmy?” His voice was almost a whisper. “She is Emmy? Little Emmy?”
    â€œYes,” Luke said.
    He stared at her blankly. She was totally unrecognizable. Though that was not the real reason he stared. She was the one person he had
not
thought about during his journey home. He had not really thought about her in years. And yet now he remembered all in a rush how very . . .
precious
she had once been to him. He had carried her in his heart for many long months after his departure, half with pleasure, half with heaviness, until the heaviness had outweighed the pleasure. He had missed her. He had wanted her. Not sexually—she was a child. Nonetheless he had needed her—her companionship, her acceptance, her devotion, her happiness, her peace. But he had despised his need for a child. And he had been uneasy with some guilt over it. He could no longer remember quite why he had felt guilty. But he had put her very effectively from his mind.
    And then he had met and fallen in love with Alice. And had married her when he had found his feelings returned. It had been a love based on need—perhaps on both sides—just as his love for Emmy had been. But with Alice it had been reassuringly sexual in nature. She had been a woman and not a child. His lips tightened with memory for a moment.
    But by God, how could he have all but forgotten Emmy? And not even given her a thought during the voyage home? And not thought of seeing her in Luke’s ballroom? It was as if he had pushed her ruthlessly from his consciousness and slammed the door on her. He could no longer remember why he would have done so.
    â€œTake me to her,”