This time when travelling back to Paris, Erich met her at the station. He bowed over her hand, took her bag, and followed her into the train.
The sound of his feet behind her, climbing the steps made her grin. “To what do I owe this great pleasure?”
“To the fact that I couldn’t wait one more moment to see you.”
She nearly stumbled, pleased surprise rumbling through her.
“Careful now.” The smile in his words made her laugh.
She turned to face him once they’d entered the first car. “Where are we going?”
“How about my compartment?”
She had to swallow twice before she trusted herself to speak. Then she said simply, “Where is it?”
“It’s not what you think, though.”
“Oh? And what do I think?” A new brazen bravery made her grin and attempt such a little tease.
“Well, I don’t know what you think, but it’s not what others might think. I realize that might have sounded untoward . . .” His face colored in a fascinating shade of red. “I will stop talking. You’ll see.”
“And now I’m curious.”
They moved farther down the train cars. Even though the Orient Express traded out different cars on every journey, all felt as familiar as home to her now, and she found she hardly noticed the sway of the cars as the train began to move.
“Is it odd that I wish to ride this train forever?”
“I will miss this time with you.”
“Exactly.” She sighed and stepped closer to him in the already narrow corridor.
“Then we shall hope for the longest train ride possible.”
She smiled. Was this really happening? Did he care as much as she?
“My car is just up ahead.”
“Your . . . car?” A beautiful door with engravings, different from many of the others, led her to believe they were entering a private car. “What is this?”
“This is where I stay when it’s available.”
A conductor stood at the entry and opened the door for them.
As Erich passed the man, he paused and said, “We will require a conductor with us and also some repast this morning.”
“Very good, sir.”
Freya stepped into a beautiful carriage. It was smaller than Prince Edward’s, but it had a staircase. The floors were blue, the walls were deep, rich wood, and the chairs looked comfortable. “This is lovely. I’m surprised you ever leave.”
“I’ve had a pleasant, compelling reason to sit in all manner of public cars.”
“And does this car belong to you?” She felt intrusive asking, but the question slipped out. She smiled. If he was a musician and he could earn the means to travel the Orient Express by private car, then all was not lost to her, either for her own prospects as a musician or for her if Erich were to ever pursue her as more than a companion on the train.
Would he? She felt her face heat, and she turned away.
“When it’s available, it’s mine to use. We will have attendants here. I’ve asked a conductor to remain with us. Are you comfortable?”
“Oh, yes. Very much so.”
“I thought this might be an improvement on your storage practice room.” He laughed.
“An improvement. Yes, so much an improvement. But I still don’t understand.”
He studied her for a moment. “One of my patrons—in fact, the very reason I travel to Paris as often as I do . . . one of the reasons—he asks for this to be linked to the train whenever he’s not using it so that I might do so in comfort. In that way, I’m at his call when he needs me, when I don’t have responsibilities in Salzburg.”
“Our schedules have been remarkably aligned.”
“True. They have.” He looked about to say something, but then he just smiled.
A conductor entered, the blue of his uniform matching well with the red and blue in the car. He left a tray on the table and moved to stand in the corner.
“Shall we?”
“Yes. I didn’t eat before I left.”
As soon as they were eating the cakes and drinking tea, Erich asked, “So how were the last two weeks?”
“Oh, I’ve had the most interesting time of it. First, of course, I must thank you. I regained my first-chair spot in the orchestra. I felt so much more prepared this time. Your assistance has meant so much to me, especially since I’ve not been able to meet with the Maestro.” She looked down, suddenly much more emotional than she planned to be. “Forgive me.” She dabbed her mouth to hide its sudden downturn. When she at last felt in control, she lifted her eyes.
His face was full of sympathy.
“But as I said, your help has been all I need.”
“I’m pleased to hear it. And your orchestra audition?”
She exhaled slowly. “I did well. We won’t hear the results until the actual banquet, but they seemed pleased.”
“Excellent.”
“They asked me to play a solo for our performance that evening, the Musician Celebration for European Royalty, a long one this time. They plan to feature a violinist for almost the entire movement. Me.” She smiled.
“I’m not surprised. A bit of advice?”
“Certainly.”
“There are always surprise solos at these types of events. Those who plan them, the royalty in particular, seem to think we always have a repertoire of excellent music we can play at any moment.”
“Oh? So I should be thinking what I would play if asked.”
“Yes. Have two or three mood pieces, one technical one, and one you know Prince Edward might enjoy.” His eyes danced with excitement.
“Since I have already played for him.” She grinned. “Thank you. That alone might save my dream of being able to play the violin.”
“It was my pleasure to have someone as proficient as you at my side, and as I’ve said, I look for all ways to keep you at my side or in my sights.”
She wished to swallow up his words and keep them inside her forever. “Do you remember the first time we saw each other?”
“Naturally. I saw you when I entered the platform. I didn’t think you’d noticed my feeble attempts to gain your attention. But I stood at your side, perhaps slightly outside your vision.”
“What? You did?” she asked.
“Yes. I was there. I even remarked on the time.”
“You did not.”
“It is the truth. But your mouth was puckered in what I have decided is the expression you make when deep in thought. And you were not hearing me. I wondered if you heard the conductor’s first call to board.”
“I had. I was debating in that moment whether or not to come to Salzburg at all.”
His eyebrows rose. “This surprises me.”
She shrugged. “My whole life I’ve been told by my parents that I’m not meant to be a violinist; I have other, more important things to do; the instrument is a waste of my time. Honestly, only my determination has kept me playing at all, that and the kind interest of my instructor.”
“Ah, so your last-minute jitters are why I finally had to almost walk into you?”
“Then I noticed you.” She laughed, astounded she could have missed seeing such a man at her side. “In fact, I might have let the train leave without me had you not rushed past me the way you did.”
He shook his head. “A tragedy that would have been.”
“They would be just fine without me. Everyone there plays beautifully. They could have learned what they needed to, and Eliza would be happy to be first chair in my place.”
His eyes turned sad. “While I don’t know if I agree with any of that, I was referencing not having ever met you. That would have been my own personal tragedy.”
His sincerity was obvious, and she was overwhelmed with the truth of his words. He reached for her hand. “This is perhaps our last train ride together.” He toyed with her fingers, sending happy thrills up her arm. “And we must make the most of our time. Would you like to play?”
She thought for a moment. “Perhaps. I think you’ve helped me with my most recent weak spots. Although . . . could I play for you later? Just run through my solo?”
“I would be happy to listen.” He nodded. “And now, should we read?” His face seemed overly pleased.
“What are all these smiles?”
“Why shouldn’t I smile? I cannot think of a more pleasant manner in which to pass the time with you, doing as we please, reading if we want, playing if we want, with hours ahead of us.” He stood and reached for her hand. “Shall we?”
When she stood, he led her over to the side bench along the window. Watching such a picturesque view with him at her side made everything magical again, as though it were her first train ride. “I’ll never tire of this view. It changes so completely every time I look outside.”
“Which do you prefer, the countryside with the green, rolling hills or the rugged rocks of the mountains?”
She studied the countryside that passed by at the moment. “I don’t know. I’ve noticed your father’s peak every time I see the mountains now, so that will definitely influence my decision.” She reached into her bag for her copy of Sense and Sensibility. She still hadn’t finished. “But this view now, with rolling green hills as far as we can see, is so peaceful, isn’t it? As if everything will always continue on in so cozy a fashion.” Her heart ached with desire that it would be so. Or that if there were any changes, any stark, rocky mountains, that they would be the kind that led her to Erich and the violin.
She read aloud, and he laughed or cringed or exclaimed at all the right places, and she realized she could spend many an hour doing just precisely this and be perfectly happy. When they paused for a break, she reached for his hand.
His eyebrows lifted in pleased surprise.
Freya squeezed his hand in between her own. “I just realized something.”
“And what’s that?”
“I find enjoyment in other things besides my violin.”
“Do you?” His one eyebrow wiggled wickedly, and she felt her face flush, unsure just exactly what he was thinking.
“Yes. This for example, these simple moments watching you pretend to enjoy my novel.”
“Pretend? Never. I am on the edge of my seat in distress until I find out how dear Edward can work his way out of this conundrum.”
“Edward? As if it’s Edward we’re concerned with. What about Elinor? She is the most deserving heroine I’ve ever seen. Can we not worry for her happiness?”
“Of course, but it’s all tied to Edward, isn’t it? And the chap that I am relates to his dilemma. He’s being the dutiful son, and honorable man, first, isn’t he? At great personal sacrifice.” He placed a hand at his heart. “I feel that.”
His words, no doubt, were meant to be charming. But they niggled at her conscience. Was there room for her to be more dutiful to her family? Should she give greater attention to her parents’ requests of her?
Not liking the direction of her thoughts, Freya just shook her head. “Of course you would see it solely from his perspective. But have you thought he had no business raising expectations if he knew he was not free to do so?”
“But could he help it? Sometimes people connect. Or in their case, one time. And that’s all it took. They shared something real. It was immediate, and it was important.”
Was he talking about more than the book now?
“I see that. Of course.” She thought of that first day on the train, her smile, their connection. Had they connected that first day? Certainly. But more and more as the weeks went by, her love for Erich had grown like dew that drips from the grass in the morning. Love. Could she be falling in love with Erich? Certainly. She’d never met a man like him.
She put her book back in her bag. “And now what shall we do? I don’t suppose you have a surprise prince here somewhere that is expecting a performance?”
“No. No surprise princes. But I’m guessing my friend Nicholas is here somewhere. Perhaps he and another would enjoy a game of whist?”
“Oh, that would be lovely. Good idea.”
“And then of course we can return to this car, and we can go over your solo if you like.”
“Did you bring a violin?”
“I did, in fact.”
“Then above all else, I should like to play with you.”
Something powerful moved between them. Freya couldn’t yet define it, but the idea of playing the violin with Erich sent tingles all through her. She rubbed her arms.
“I should like that as well. For now, let’s find ourselves some opponents, shall we?”
As they walked out the door, he nodded to the conductor who held the door. “We shall return and would perhaps like some tea.”
“Very good, sir.”
“Now tell me, Freya. How are you at whist?”
“I’ve never lost.”
“How intriguing.” His smile held challenges and promise and adventure, and she suspected he thought of much more than a simple game of whist.