Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
William and I stood at the fringes of the ball, watching the dancers.
I had changed into a dress that Nancy had procured for me, not wanting to get it dirty on our walk over here.
I smiled, remembering how I had tried it on and carefully walked down the narrow cottage stairs that afternoon and William had stared at me, astonished, for a long moment, not saying anything.
‘Am I not beautiful, Lord Trevarron?’ I’d teased him, twirling my teal blue silk skirts.
‘You are. Ravishing,’ he had replied, seriously.
The dress was full-skirted, with a tight bodice that laced up the back.
The shoulders were low and puffy, ruched sleeves sat on my upper arms. Nancy had pulled most of my dark blond hair back into a straight middle parting and a tight bun at the back, and plaited a section of it so that it wrapped around.
She had given me a pair of pearl drop earrings to wear and a matching necklace, and arranged a piece of my hair over my ears ‘to look demure’ as she said.
When I asked her where she’d gotten the dress, she’d just raised an eyebrow and said, pellars’ve got their ways, miss, and wouldn’t tell me any more.
But I wondered whether she might have bartered something for it, or received it in payment from a rich client.
I supposed that pellars might tell fortunes or make herbal remedies for anyone, including lords and ladies.
William looked incredibly handsome. He always did, but for tonight, Nancy had insisted that he shave and that she style his hair for him. He’d given in, bad-temperedly.
However, now, he looked every inch the Victorian gentleman.
He wore a dark brown suit with a long jacket that came down to his knees at the back – a more or less classic dinner jacket.
He wore a white shirt with a rigid collar underneath, with a dark brown cravat, shiny black shoes and a cream-coloured waistcoat.
He had found the full-length trousers very odd, given that in his time, men were still wearing breeches to the knee, and hose underneath.
His outfit had been donated by Nancy’s friend, Mr George, who was a local magistrate.
Again, it seemed that the pellar’s reach was surprisingly wide.
Nancy had said that Mr George owed her a favour, and, though he’d looked surprised to be asked for a lend of his best suit, had given it to Nancy without comment.
‘Now you know what it’s like to have to dress in a way you’re not used to.’ I’d adjusted his cravat. ‘Thank your lucky stars you don’t have to wear a crinoline.’ I’d pulled up the fabric of my skirt to reveal the cage-like structure underneath it.
William had raised an eyebrow.
‘How very salacious of you to show me your underwear, Miss Penrose,’ he had said with a smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth.
We’d been flirting with each other, but our light-heartedness belied the nerves I felt at returning to Trevarron House.
I was starting to realise from what Evelyn said in the journal, and from the letter I’d found from Aunt Bill, that there was a certain degree of ‘making it up’ that the Willcock women and my aunt had done before me.
Evelyn had theories about the portals and the lines of power, but her entire journal was a kind of workbook, collecting her thoughts, testing ideas and seeing if they held water.
Aunt Bill’s letter had implied that she more or less winged travelling through time, which was typical of her.
As we’d walked from the rose garden to the main entrance, I had held William’s hand. I could see from the look on his face that he felt very weirded out by being here.
‘It’s all right,’ I’d said, quietly, under my breath. He nodded.
We’d walked into the main entrance hall.
I could see William looking around us, taking it all in.
Some things had changed since he was Lord of Trevarron.
Some things had not. The layout of the place was the same, but the décor was more Victorian now.
Instead of the more lavish rococo design Trevarron had enjoyed in 1755 – gold detailing, hand-painted wallpapers, shiny wood and crystal chandeliers – Trevarron was now altogether more sombre.
The family portraits were still there, in the entrance hall and up the wide stairway that led to the first floor.
When I had been here before, there had been a giant portrait of William and his first wife Elspeth on the landing of the stairs.
I wondered if it was still there. But, now, the carpets were dark, the lighting was darker than it had been before, and the lovely tall vases full of flowers had been stripped from view.
The furniture was a darker wood – teak or mahogany, perhaps.
The wallpapers, even though they were still luxurious, were all dark greens and maroons.
I thought of Edith’s gaily decorated apartments and wondered if they were still there, or whether this darkness had taken over those bright rooms, too.
Now, we stood in the ballroom, where the party had already begun.
There were perhaps two or three hundred people there, all dressed in their finery.
I noted that some of the women wore bustles as alternatives to crinolines; their hair was arranged in careful curls and waves to accentuate the severe bun at the base of the neck some favoured, or the complex plaiting and pinning that made pretty, but restrained, updos.
The men were dressed smartly in their evening dress, not unlike William.
Facial hair was in vogue now and many of the men had twirly moustaches, mutton chops or beards.
Many were portly; these were wealthy men who ate well and didn’t have to worry where the next meal came from.
By contrast, many of the women were petite, almost spindly, their corsets controlling their bodies as rigorously as social norms controlled their thoughts and behaviour.
There was excited chatter in the room, and a string quartet played tastefully in one corner.
It was more nerve-wracking than I’d expected, being at Trevarron House.
At any moment, I felt as though someone was going to pull us off to one side where a policeman would be waiting to take us away.
What for, I didn’t know. Fraud? Time travel?
Trespass? Or maybe someone would know that William was wanted for assault, smuggling and murder, back in his own time.
‘Would you care to dance?’ William asked me, as we stood there.
‘No!’ I shot him a look and turned away. ‘We can’t draw attention to ourselves, William,’ I hissed. ‘We’re staff for this event. I don’t think we’re allowed to.’
‘Tegan. No one cares. No one is looking at us.’ William bent his head towards mine and spoke softly in my ear.
‘We aren’t staff, as such; in my day, we would consider entertainers as guests.
Anyway, the best way for us to blend in, is to dance.
Then, we are less available for people to talk to and ask difficult questions. ’
‘But you don’t like dancing,’ I argued. ‘You said that the duke’s ball was a poisonous gossip mill, dressed up in taffeta.’
I remembered that night so well. It was the first time that William and I had kissed, and it had taken me completely by surprise.
Little had I known then that, a few months later, I would be posing as one half of a musical duo with the Lord of Trevarron before we attempted to travel through time together.
‘I did. Do you remember everything that I say to you?’ An involuntary smile tugged at the edge of his mouth. Was I being forgiven, just a little?
‘Not everything. Only the ridiculous metaphors,’ I countered, smiling up at him. It was a relief to feel that there was even just a crack of light in William’s stony facade.
‘Well, I did not say that I disliked dancing. I would like to dance with you, here and now.’ William held out his hand to me. ‘May I have the pleasure of this dance, Tegan Penrose?’ he repeated, bowing, and this time I acquiesced.
He may not have been a lord in the eyes of the attendees at Violet Trevarron’s birthday party, but he always made me feel like a lady.