Serenade in B flat, K.361 "Gran partita": 3. Adagio, by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

The following afternoon, the first day of August, Amalia was thrilled to be welcomed back to the manor. For an entire week, she had worried that the earl would never want to see her again. He would have been absolutely right not to. She'd behaved like a harlot. It still mortified her to think of what she'd made him go through. From that embarrassing dance to the beating.

Adding to her immense shame, she had been grounded, and her father had forbidden her to leave the camp. Her first visit – as soon as she'd been able to – had been to the manor, to make sure he was alright. But regardless of her family preventing her from coming earlier, she wouldn't have wanted Aiden to see her with that horrible black eye.

She could still remember with incredible acuity the way he'd thrown himself at Sebastian, like possessed, before beating him with rage. The earl seemed to be a relatively balanced person, and she wouldn't have imagined him to be prone to such a fit of anger. Also, she would have predicted he'd strike Paul, who had been the one to hit him in the first place. But no, Aiden had directed his anger on Sebastian because he'd hit her.

Sometimes, the terrible moment she'd lived while her people had beaten him, holding him to keep him defenseless, came back to her mind. Every time, her throat clutched and her heart ached at the memory. Never, in her entire life, had she felt so helpless, trying in vain to get them to stop, failing at helping the earl. When her father had taken pity on him and stopped her brothers, relief had allowed her to breathe again.

In a silent exchange, she'd tried to pass all of her guilt, remorse, and regret in her eyes. Heartbroken to have caused him such pain, she'd then watched through sobs and tears as he'd gotten back into his old carriage, certain it was the last time she would see him.

Somehow, she'd been so sure he'd never want to meet her again. The idea of being rejected had made her dread the moment she'd come back to the manor. She had thought about never returning, but the desire to see him one last time had been too great to dismiss, and she'd courageously gone to him.

She still couldn't believe her luck. Despite everything, he still wanted her company. Not only did he not wish to be apart from her, but he'd also been worried about her ever since the incident. He cared greatly, and the thought of it warmed her more than the summer sun on her skin.

From the comfort of the carriage he'd sent, she was watching the landscape unfold with a dreamy smile on her face. For once, she was glad things hadn't unraveled as she had expected.

She enjoyed having access to the manor, the books, the afternoon treats, the comfort, the amenities... Most of all, she enjoyed the earl's company. When she was with him, she felt like a better person. He challenged her to be her best self, even if he didn't know that.

The thought of him viewing her as some savage, poorly mannered bohemian, was unbearable. Also, she ensured that she was always clean, which wasn't easy when one lived in a muddy field surrounded by hyperactive children. She worked on her posture and manners, and cursed as little as possible. She was trying her best to be ladylike, even though she had no clue how to be a lady. It could have been a burden, but she wanted to deserve his affection. She felt compelled to rise to his level, even though it was clear that sometimes he would gladly lower to hers.

She recognized the alley that led to the manor and prepared to get out. The carriage stopped, and she waited for the footman to come to open her door. In the beginning, she would get out on her own. But the man, Christopher, had explained it was his job, and he felt terrible every time she'd be the one opening the door.

The handle was pulled, but it wasn't the footman. It was Aiden. "Miss Romero," he greeted with a slight bow.

"Lord Graham," she answered with the same formality, even though she couldn't hold back a smile.

He offered assistance to help her with the steps, and she took it. With their hands tightly wound together, he eased her out. All the way to the manor's doors, none of them let go. She enjoyed the warmth of his large fingers wrapped around her small hand. When he eventually let her go, she instantly missed the contact, wishing she could touch him like this more often – if not all the time.

To her great relief, they resumed their pleasant afternoons as if nothing had happened. They would spend time playing music, reading books, having deep and meaningful conversations, eating some delicious afternoon sweets... She was grateful that all of this was still possible, and she had the earl to thank for that.

But as much as she wanted to believe everything was just like before, something was different. As the days passed, it became more and more apparent that their dynamics had shifted. He was still the same man, charming, considerate, and flirty, but she was the one who had changed. She didn't argue as much anymore, didn't feel the need to defend herself as often as she used to. Also, she laughed more freely and didn't feel offended when he shamelessly teased her. After what he'd done for her back at her camp, her guard had crumbled and disappeared. The man had won over her trust, and she didn't fear him anymore.

The amiability of their exchanges brought her great satisfaction. Their relationship was now more harmonious, and the bond that linked them was growing stronger with each encounter. They were getting closer, a comfortable intimacy settling between them.

She loved her new violin. For hours, she played pieces and whole symphonies, enjoying the way it felt in her hands, adoring the beauty of its sound. It was the greatest gift anyone had ever given her, and she'd cherish it until the day she died. Aiden seemed to enjoy watching her, sometimes accompanying her on the grand piano or his Stradivarius.

They tried to enjoy the outdoors as much as possible, but on rainy days they would relax in one of the sitting rooms. She had found a book with poetry and would sometimes read a few poems aloud while he listened with attention. Every now and then, she would contemplate him when he wasn't paying attention. She doubted she would meet a man so dashing ever again, so she tried to take in as much of him as she could; before all of this came to an end.

Every time she thought of the end of the summer fast approaching, it made her heart ache. He would return to London, to his friends and distractions, and she would stay behind. It would be hard to resume her boring life, knowing she'd never experience anything as exciting as this summer ever again.

In the meantime, she enjoyed learning new things about him, about his past, his stories...

On a sunny afternoon, they were lying on the grass, searching for shapes in the clouds, enjoying the sun after three long days of rain. The position they were lying in was odd but perfect for what they were doing. Their bodies were aligned in opposite directions on the lawn, with their heads close to each other, their ears almost touching.

"I can't see it," he insisted.

"This is the trunk," she explained, pointing at the shape in the cloud, trying to show him what she could see. "Those are its ears. That's a tusk. That's the other one."

"Does it mean this would be its legs?" he asked, pointing up too, his hand close to her.

Not resisting the impulse, she grabbed his wrist and moved it into the proper area. "Those are the legs, and this is the tail," she finished explaining, aligning his arm accordingly. She reluctantly let go of him and settled her hand back on her stomach, next to the other one.

"Are you sure you've seen an elephant before?" he teased.

The wind was blowing hard today, and the clouds were moving fast. The image of the elephant she'd so clearly seen moments ago was already distorting, and she had to admit it was harder to picture it.

"I have, thank you very much. We went to a circus when I was a child, and they had one," she defended herself.

"Ah, so you've even seen a live one. The only one they would ever allow me to get close to as a child was a stuffed one in a dusty museum."

"Were you so terrible they needed to keep you away from wild animals?" she asked with amusement.

"According to my mother, I was a mischievous little demon, but I only remember going on adventures. I was often grounded in my bedroom, but I would always escape, then come back before anyone noticed I was missing."

"How did you do that?" she wondered, amused.

"You know that old oak near the manor, on the side that looks over the lake?" he asked. Amalia nodded with a hum. "There was a large branch coming just near my balcony. It's still there, actually. I'd stand on the balustrade and jump on it. The first few times were terrifying. The jump was about four feet long. But with time, it became effortless. I did it for years, but one day I missed it. I had a fifteen-foot fall. Thank God nothing too bad happened to me. I only broke my arm."

"Poor little daredevil," she sympathized.

"With the broken limb, it took me forever to climb up that tree and jump back on my balcony. When they came to release me from my punishment, I pretended I had fallen from my bed. Since that day, I have never used that branch again. At first, I was too scared to do it, and by the time I overcame my fears, I wasn't misbehaving as much and barely ever got grounded."

He'd added that last bit of information like it was some kind of great accomplishment, and Amalia smiled while shaking her head.

"What about you? I doubt you were a quiet little girl," he ventured.

Amalia tried to look offended but failed miserably. "I was a terrible child, yes. I have known my fair share of groundings. My father or my mother would lock me in the caravan. I, however, had found a way to get out of it. Just like you."

Forgetting about the clouds, he twisted his face to the side and looked at her while he listened, amused and intrigued.

"I had managed to pull out two planks from the floor, just under my bed. As soon as they would lock me in, I'd remove them and crawl under the caravan, waiting for the way to get clear so I could leave. I would spend my illicit time walking around the woods, looking for berries to eat, animals to observe... One day, I ventured too far and got lost. When my parents came to fetch me, they only found the two planks I had removed." She shivered at the memory, still fresh in her mind.

"I spent the worst night of my life," she continued, "curled up between two massive roots, crying for my mother, in the freezing cold." She turned to face him as well and met his eyes, reading the compassion and worry in them. "It was dawn when they finally found me, half-dead from exposure. From that day, they stopped locking me in as a punishment. They gave me extra chores instead, and that worked much better. I was behaving, just to avoid having to do them."

Before he could stop himself, his hand came to her face and caressed her temple. With their upside-down position, only his knuckles could reach her, but he managed to put a stranded curl behind her ear. "You must have been scared to death," he murmured, leaving his hand on the side of her face. With his thumb, he gently grazed her cheekbone.

She was enjoying his touch too much to push it away. "I was. For hours I thought I would die. I was half asleep when they found me. I barely remember the way back to the camp, but I remember the relief when I woke up in a warm bed, my mother by my side." She brought one of her hands to his, and despite the odd arrangement, their fingers tangled together. "I wasn't quite done battling death yet. I had a fever that lasted four days. They were certain I'd die from it."

"Thank God you didn't."

With his beautiful blue eyes focused on hers, their hands still on her cheek, she was feeling the most serene she'd ever been. It was the most intimate moment they had shared in all their weeks together. Amalia was at peace, her heart was open, and she wanted to be nowhere else but here, with him. Everything seemed to stop around them, and had the birds not kept chirping, she would have been certain time itself had halted.

After a brief hesitation, Aiden moved closer to her with a slow but decided gesture. The tips of their noses touched, and she let hers glide along the bridge of his. In perfect harmony with one another, they extended their necks and tipped their heads up in an effort to unite their mouths. Her heart must have been hammering in her chest, but the moment was so soft, so right, she felt nothing but happiness and affection. They both wanted this kiss – practically since the day they'd met. Her eyes closed on their own as she readied herself to savor the touch of his lips.

"Milord!" yelled someone from the manor.

Both halted their motion, less than an inch away from their goal. Amalia opened her eyes and looked in the direction of the interrupter. A footman was running toward them.

"Milord, you must come!"

Aiden released her hand and stood up. He helped her to her feet, and she quickly brushed her skirts.

"What is it?" he asked sharply, not hiding his irritation.

"Milord," said the footman, out of breath, "the duke and the duchess have arrived. Along with your sisters."

You are getting another Mozart piece, because this one is round and light like clouds, and it's peaceful, like Aiden and Amalia's relationship. For now (I love stressing you out with those). Serenade in B flat, K.361 "Gran partita": 3. Adagio, by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.