Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
William took my hand and walked me proudly out into the centre of the ballroom.
We were soon surrounded by a throng of dancing couples, perfumed with lavender and hair oil.
The heavy silk dresses rustled as the women moved; the noise of the string quartet was underpinned by the amused chatter and laughter of male voices.
‘I don’t know the steps,’ I whispered nervously into William’s ear as one of his hands found my waist, and my fingers disappeared in his other hand.
‘Shh. Just follow me,’ he murmured, and kissed my cheek. ‘Allow me to lead you in this, Tegan.’
I nodded, as the music began.
‘It’s very simple. One-two-three, one-two-three.
Follow my feet. When I step forward with my right foot, you step back with your left foot, then we step to the side, like half of a square,’ he instructed.
‘You can hear the rhythm of the dance. Listen,’ he added, as we began moving.
I trod on his toes a few times initially, but then I started to get it.
‘Very good.’ He purred in my ear as the music rolled around us like a wave.
‘Now we will turn, the same steps, but to the side, follow me… that’s right.
You’re doing very well, my sweet one.’ There was a smile in his voice, and I blushed at the mention of his pet name for me.
Specifically, it was the name William called me in bed.
I loved it when he praised me. I loved it when he made me feel like his prized possession, his queen. It was always my sweet one, in praise, or harlot, when I was tormenting him with desire.
I loved the fact that William was barely able to control his desire for me; the fact that he tried so hard to control it, and made sure that he pleasured me before himself, was one of the many reasons I adored him.
Now, in this moment, I was also flooded with relief that the warmth we had built between us was still there.
William had felt so distant since I’d found him in this new time, and I hadn’t known how to get through to him.
Finally, something in him seemed to have shifted.
Nancy had observed that we might have been born to sing together, so beautiful was the harmony of our voices. But the chemistry that exploded between us as we danced was a different kind of sensual union.
I always felt like I was melting when I was in William’s arms, but now, within the dance that unfurled around us like a wave, it was the same kind of feeling as when we were making love.
We were so deeply enraptured in each other, our eyes never faltering, gazing deeply into each other’s souls.
We moved in sync with each other, my body responding to his, following where he led me.
It was as if we were the only ones on the dance floor, and, in that moment, I never wanted the dance to end.
‘Miss Penrose, I take it?’
I was startled out of my reverie by a conservatively dressed woman with a tight smile who had approached me and tapped me on the shoulder, one eyebrow raised in expectation. ‘Miss Willcock said you would come. I believe you are her niece?’ she looked enquiringly at me and then William.
‘Oh. Yes, that’s right,’ I replied, politely. ‘We were just…’ I blushed, embarrassed. The woman’s tone implied that she’d caught us doing something we weren’t supposed to.
‘You are late. The entertainment will begin shortly, when Miss Violet comes down with Lady Hermione. She has been feeling a little ill.’ The woman looked around her, warily, as if Miss Violet might have snuck up on her without her knowing.
‘I am expecting her any moment. I am Mrs Feathers, the housekeeper.’
‘We are pleased to make your acquaintance.’ I bobbed a curtsey. ‘Thank you for letting us play this evening.’
‘Good evening, madam.’ William bowed politely. Mrs Feathers looked him up and down, curiously.
‘And you are?’ She frowned. I thought of Mrs Cottingley, the housekeeper at Trevarron House in 1755, with some nostalgia. Mrs Cottingley had been far less icy.
‘This is my husband, William Penrose,’ I said, quickly. I realised that in our planning, we hadn’t come up with a fake name for William, and part of me could see that he would forget that he wasn’t supposed to be the Lord of Trevarron anymore, and introduce himself as such.
‘Your husband?’ She frowned again.
‘And fellow musician.’ I nodded. ‘I sing. William sings with me, and also plays the piano.’
‘Indeed,’ Mrs Feathers said, her eyebrow raised. ‘I can’t say that I can see much family resemblance to the pellar. You’re not from here?’
‘No. We live in Penzance.’ I returned to the story that Nancy and I had concocted. I knew that the best way to lie was to keep it simple and believable. ‘We are just visiting my cousin, and she is so fond of the lord and lady that she volunteered our services.’
‘Hm. Miss Willcock is a kind soul, then. I know she is very popular with the below stairs staff, though I don’t hold with all that quackery myself,’ the housekeeper said, in a dismissive tone.
‘Still, since you’re doing this for no fee, the master is allowing it.
Miss Violet enjoys music.’ Her expression softened for a moment at the mention of the young lady; perhaps Mrs Feathers wasn’t such a terrible person after all, I thought.
There was a commotion behind us, and Mrs Feathers looked panicked.
‘That’s Lady Hermione and Miss Violet now. Go.’ She waved us to the stage, where a piano stood. The string quartet stopped playing and the dancing ended abruptly; the party guests milled around us.
I looked over to the grand double doors.
A timid-looking woman, graceful but extremely petite and pale, had entered the room, with a similarly petite child.
Both of them had long, auburn hair, and while Lady Hermione’s was tied up tightly like many of the ladies, Violet’s hair hung loose in beautiful ringlets.
Like her mother, she looked pale, and hollow-eyed, as if she wasn’t getting enough to eat, or any sunlight.
‘My darlings.’ A bluff, dark-haired man, tall like William, though less muscular and more heavyset, made his way through the crowd and took Lady Hermione by the arm.
‘We have everything set up for you. This way.’ He guided them to three vacant chairs which were arranged in front of the stage on which we were to perform.
There were no chairs for anyone else; I assumed that the rest of the partygoers were expected to stand.
I exchanged glances with William, but there was no time to say anything. It was time for us to play.
I wish that I could have enjoyed listening to William sing, but my heart was in my throat all the time that we were on stage.
As I stood next to the piano and arranged my skirts, I watched William sit down next to me and open the sheet music that we’d brought with us.
We’d prepared some songs – Nancy had suggested Gilbert and Sullivan, some of which I recognised, and William had tried to learn a bit so he was at least vaguely familiar, and would be all right with the music in front of him.
He looked at me warily, and then placed both hands on the keys.
The crowd watched us expectantly. There were a few coughs and whispers. Seated between Lady Hermione and Violet, I saw Lord Albert Trevarron watching William closely, his eyes narrowed.
William began to play. They were popular songs at the time, that I knew; a change from the classical music that had been playing as the crowd danced. William, however, was playing them for the first time.
At first, I was a little nervous, but when William joined in with the singing, I began to relax. His physical presence calmed me. The crowd started to clap and sing along.
I watched Violet, hoping that she was enjoying the show.
It was her birthday, after all, but she had a faraway look in her eyes, and she didn’t seem to be paying attention.
Albert Trevarron sat with his hand proprietorially on her thigh, and his other hand on his wife’s.
Lady Hermione also looked on absently; every now and again, when Albert looked at her or said something to her, she would laugh and nod, or respond.
But, otherwise, she sat like a lifeless doll.
I thought about what Nancy Willcock had said about Lord Albert being too free with his fists. About the fact that sometimes, Lady Hermione wouldn’t come down from her rooms for days at a time. I felt a rush of sympathy for the poor woman.
By contrast, Lord Albert Trevarron sang along with every song, occasionally clapping his hands or tapping them on the thighs of his wife and daughter as if they were drums.
By the third song, the crowd were cheering us, and by the end of our performance, we had them in the palm of our hands.
When we had finished playing, William wiped a light sheen of sweat from his brow and grinned at me. I grinned back.
‘Very good, very good!’ Lord Albert approached us, his hands clasped before him in a prayer gesture. ‘Bravo, maestro! Bravo!’
‘Thank you, sir,’ I said, curtseying. William bowed. ‘We are glad you enjoyed the show.’
‘Oh, I haven’t enjoyed a singsong like that for many a year! Bravo!’ Lord Albert repeated. He spoke in a loud voice born of a lifetime of privilege and assuming that whatever he said was witty and interesting. William’s brother, Charles, had been just like this.
‘We are very pleased to be of service,’ I replied. ‘Did your daughter enjoy the songs? Your housekeeper says that she enjoys music.’
‘Oh, she did. She did,’ he brayed, though it was telling that Lady Hermione and Violet stayed sitting on their chairs. Albert hadn’t brought them over to us. ‘A very musical child. Why, she stays in her room all day, singing to herself.’