James thought back to the first night he had heard Dahlia, and remembered how he had contrasted her performance with that of the young women of his acquaintance. His first impression of her was that she sang for the very joy of it, rather than trying to impress anyone. It was he who wanted her to be center stage because of how much he esteemed her abilities and how much he loved to just sit and listen to her. He craved the magic she wove with sound and the affect it had on him.
So James tempered his disappointment during the remainder of the exhibitions and focused on the fact that they would end and he would be able to dance with Dahlia.
They did, not more than twenty minutes later. When the last of the entertainment finished, he saw Dahlia put down her instrument and look through the crowd. When she saw him, she smiled and started towards him. “Excuse me,” he said to Lady Sweet and Steven, but Steven had already gone in search of his own dance partner. Lady Sweet nodded her head and he went to meet Dahlia in the crowd that was quickly dividing into pairs.
As he walked towards Dahlia, he saw her approached by Edward Standford. Although he was not yet close enough to hear their conversation, he saw her shake her head and point in his direction. Edward turned and saw James approaching. James braced himself, remembering the Cirencester ball when Edward had been so abrasive with Dahlia. As he came closer, however, he saw Edward merely bow to Dahlia, turn, and leave.
“He is very persistent to get on your dance card,” said James. “Shall I duel him at dawn to be rid of this rival?”
Dahlia laughed at the mental picture of the dashing James and a cowering Edward facing off against one another. “He is no rival of yours,” she answered. James took her hand and led her into position amongst the other couples. “He is most strange, though,” she said as the dance started.
“How is that?”
“Well, he was always the most disagreeable boy growing up. You saw at Lord Bathurst’s ball how he can be a bully. Recently, though, he acts as if all the fight has gone out of him.”
“And this troubles you?”
“No, it is a pleasant change,” laughed Dahlia. “But I do wonder what has changed his disposition so.”
James was tired of talking of Edward Standford. He had a scant five to six minutes of Dahlia all to himself and he didn’t want to waste it talking of other young men. “Your performance of the Spanish guitar was an enormous surprise.”
“A surprise? Why?”
“Because I have never heard you play guitar and the first piece I hear was so dramatic – you quite outshined the older player.”
“Only because he was holding back to allow me to keep up,” said Dahlia modestly. My hands will always be small compared to a man’s and they are not yet as strong as Don Jorge’s.”
“I would think that your delicate hands an advantage as the strings are so close together.”
“It takes quite a bit of strength to hold the bars, though,” explained Dahlia. “I do not practice the guitar as often as I should to strengthen my fingers.”
James squeezed the slight hand in his gently. “I can neither complain about their delicacy, nor detect a lack of strength in your playing.”
Dahlia smiled at the compliment, enjoying the warmth and strength of the hand that held hers as well as the gaze of his blue eyes that focused exclusively on her. She felt a warmth from his look as well, like her face was very close to a bright fire. It was comforting and exciting, and while she was the recipient of that gaze all thoughts and doubts of his affection were burned away like cold air that a fire keeps at bay.
The delicious moments spent in the close circle of James’ persona vanished too quickly as the dance came to an end. As they bowed to one another, Dahlia wondered whether he would ask her to dance a second time, which was all she could hope for. Any more than two dances with the same partner would be viewed as a declaration of partiality for one another that would raise eyebrows.
“I thank you for the honor of your first dance,” James said politely, but he did not ask her to promise another to him.
“It was my pleasure, Mr. Kent,” she responded.
They had stopped the dance next to Alfonso and a Roma girl whose name Dahlia could not remember, although she recognized the face. Alfonso turned to her and asked her for the next dance, so James turned to the girl and extended his hand to her.
Partners thus exchanged, the next dance began. Alfonso was like another brother to Dahlia, and a very handsome one at that so her disappointment at not dancing with James again was replaced by a comfortable happiness.
“I am now quite envied by all the Roma girls except your sisters,” Dahlia teased.
“A fair exchange since the dashing Mr. Kent had all of us wishing we had his partner of the first dance. Dichoso los ojos que te ven, Dahlia,” he said. ‘Happy are the eyes that behold you’ went the saying in Spanish.
She smiled at the compliment. “Oh, you are surely going to break hearts all over Britain when someone catches you! Are there any candidates I should know about?”
Alfonso smiled, and she knew there was. “There is.”
“Well, you must tell us now who it is so my family can scrutinize her. We must approve, you know, of her family connections, her dowry, her complexion, and her accomplishments.” Dahlia cited all the things she had heard from the Gaggle were important for them to be a good marriage partner.
“Believe me,” said Alfonso rolling his eyes and laughing. “Father has dossiers on every girl I have ever looked at twice. Except you. You know Mother has had her eye on you since she first met you.”
“Me?” Dahlia was surprised.
“Yes, you. But having met Mr. Kent, I do believe she has accepted the fact that you and I are not destined for each other.”
“Mr. Kent?” Dahlia was pleased by this supposition, but also a little embarrassed that her attraction to him would be of evidence to anyone.
Alfonso drew back slightly and feigned surprise. “Are you telling me you have not noticed how he looks at you? How he talks of you?”
Dahlia blushed slightly. Alfonso was talking of James’ apparent attentions to her, not hers to him. “How should I know how he talks of me?” She very much wanted to hear how James talked about her when she was not present.
“It is more a matter of how he alludes to you, and does not talk directly of you. He brings you up in conversation, hoping for his company to talk to him of you. He fishes for some reason not to focus his attentions on a young lady not yet old enough – according to your British conventions – to court. As you know, he will find the Roma cannot cite any reason why any young man should not fall madly in love with you.” He watched her reaction to this information, and what he saw convinced him he was on the right track. She was very pleased indeed.
“Are you willing to deny you do not welcome his attentions?” He prodded.
She looked directly at him. After a moment she said simply, with a slight smile, “No.”
He nodded, and they continued the remainder of the dance in silence. It wasn’t until they were about to part that she remembered how their conversation had started. “So who is this girl who has captured your affections?”
He looked at her, his eyes twinkling. He raised a finger to his lips, and left her without an answer.
Dahlia was not able to try and get the information on the lucky girl chosen by Alfonso to be his future bride. Alvaro, her father and brothers, and other Roma young men kept her dance card full. Mr. Standford surprised her by appearing just after one dance ended and she had no opportunity to refuse a dance with him. He was very tall and during the waltz that played for their dance she could only rest her hand on his upper arm instead of reaching his shoulder comfortably. She could feel the muscles under his coat jacket flex as he moved them around the dance floor. Because of his tall, slender build, she never guessed he would be strong. She had never seen him do any physical work and wondered at the strength she felt under her hand. Her father was a barrel-chested man with
arms like a farrier’s, but he and her brothers worked with the horses and elsewhere on the farm all the time.
Her thoughts were interrupted as Mr. Standford stopped dancing. Edward stood next to them and he addressed his father. “Would you allow me to cut in, Father?” He asked politely. Dahlia expected Mr. Standford to be angry. He was not a man who liked to be interrupted.
“Of course,” he answered, almost cheerfully. He passed Dahlia’s hand to his son’s. “I’m sure Miss Talbot would appreciate a younger partner.” He bowed and left before she could say anything and Edward immediately steered them into the swirling circle of couples.
“You played quite well tonight,” he said evenly.
“Thank you,” she answered. The conversation lagged and she was starting to feel uncomfortable. There was always some conversation during dancing and the lack of it felt, well, unnatural. “Are you enjoying the banquet?”
“Yes, I have always enjoyed the banquet.”
Dahlia looked at him, but he was looking past her. She had never found the Standfords particularly pleased by their company when the Roma came. On reflection, however, it was Mr. Standford, the father, who was always so negatively vocal about their visits. Perhaps Edward did like the banquets, but was never allowed to show his pleasure because of his father’s well-known opinions.
“Will you be going to university or have you chosen a profession?”
This brought Edward’s stare to her face. “A gentleman needs no profession,” he said coldly. Then he realized how sharp his tone had been and tried to make amends. “A good education is, of course, required to adequately look after one’s fortune and investments,” he said less severely. “Father has ensured my tutors have adequately prepared me for that.” Especially since Father had all but done away with any fortune to look after, he thought grimly.
Edward seemed very introspective after this exchange, so Dahlia gave up on trying to initiate further conversation. As the dance drew to a close, he seemed to notice they had ceased all conversation for the better part of the dance. Glancing over at his father, he forced a smile at his partner and said, “It has been an honor to dance with you, Miss Talbot. Forgive me for not being more engaging. My thoughts of late have been engaged in other matters, but I have truly enjoyed our dance and my silence should not be taken as any reflection on your company.”
Dahlia didn’t know how to respond. This was the only time she had ever heard Edward apologize for his poor behavior and demeanor in the whole of her life, and he had given it with surprising eloquence. She curtsied to him as he bowed. Then he was gone. She watched him go until she felt a presence beside her. She turned to find James standing next to her, looking at Edward’s departing figure.
“You look sorry to see him go, Miss Talbot. I hope my request for your hand for the last dance of the evening is not viewed as an intrusion.”
Dahlia almost laughed at the thought of Edward giving James any competition for her affections or those of any other girl. “Hardly, Mr. Kent. It would be my pleasure to dance with you again,” she said, perhaps too emphatically. “I was merely wondering at the extraordinary change in Mr. Standford’s manner.” She reached up without hesitation to put one hand on James’ shoulder and the other in his waiting hand. She felt his other hand on the small of her back and felt the warmth and pressure of that hand as she had not with any of her other partners.
“A change for the better? Has he become more polite, or do I daresay even engaging?”
“No!” laughed Dahlia at the thought of Edward exhibiting any pleasant social graces. “Well, I suppose his manner could only get better since it has been so consistently bad. But he seems to be a young man with no future and no hope of a future. That is sad to see in anyone, is it not?”
“Indeed,” agreed James. “My father once told me that we are shaped by our past and driven by our dreams for the future. The present is but a constant struggle to balance the two.”
“What are your dreams, Mr. Kent?”
“To build magnificent edifices that will last long after I’m gone. I study centuries old buildings and wonder about the vision of the architects that designed them, and all the people who toiled to construct them. Surely they have contributed to a lasting memorial to their lives.”
“Art is eternal?”
“Exactly.”
Dahlia thought about this. Buildings endured, art endured, but what would she contribute to the future that would be remembered after she was dead and buried? “I don’t know of anything I can do to ensure that I am remembered after I am gone. All I do is sing or play, and the sound is gone forever in an instant.”
“Music is art. Do we not remember, love, and applaud Mozart, Beethoven, and Salieri for their extraordinary music? You must write all your music down, Miss Talbot. Then whenever anyone plays your music, your very soul will come alive again and be with the musician and his audience, regardless of the century, or even the millennium. What more lasting tribute could you add to the world? My buildings will crumble. Paintings will fade and crack. But your music will renew itself every time someone plays it. That is an extraordinary gift and legacy.”
“I think you should have been a lawyer, or an orator of some kind, Mr. Kent. You certainly do have a way of putting things to convince people of your attitudes.”
“I am merely stating the truth, Miss Talbot, as I see it.”
The final dance ended and James reluctantly released Dahlia. Everyone clapped for the musicians who had given up their dance time for the benefit of everyone else’s amusement. The Roma started to clean up the table and put away the chairs and benches. The Talbots pitched in to help, of course, but the remaining county families said their good-byes as they had to travel home, and it was quite late. This afforded James additional opportunities for conversing with Dahlia. At one point, the two of them each grabbed an end of a bench and were transporting it to one of the wagons as directed by one of the Roma. Both of the youths were secretly glad it was one of the wagons out of the lights of the torches. As they rounded the back of the wagon, however, they came upon a couple locked in an embrace.
“Oh,” exclaimed Dahlia, surprised. It wasn’t until the lover’s abruptly broke away from one another that she recognized her brother Steven and Maripaz.
“Steven!”
“Dahlia!”
Neither one knew quite what to say. Maripaz looked from one to the other, then down to the ground. James was amused. No wonder Steven had so applauded her singing. Love made everything sound, look, and taste better.
As the uncomfortable moment stretched, everyone sort of shifted about. Dahlia decided to address Maripaz first. “Mari, he didn’t…I mean you are here of your own accord, I trust?” The young Roma woman merely nodded, and looked to Steven for support.
“Dahlia, I plan to ask Don Alvaro for permission to marry Maripaz.”
James saw her eyes open wide.
“Marry?” She looked again from her brother to her friend. “I, I didn’t know,” she stammered. “How long…”
Steven smiled. “Since I first tried to kiss her when I was thirteen years old and she was ten.”
James remembered the story Steven had told at the Cirencester ball of the eight Roma men fixing to skewer him on their swords when they found him stealing a kiss from the chief’s daughter. Dahlia obviously remembered this incident first hand – it had been Maripaz!
“And you’ve loved each other ever since?”
“Well, the infatuation waned for a time after that when he became irritating – always pulling my braids and teasing me,” started Maripaz.
“I only did that to get your attention!” Steven defended himself. “I only got to see you once a year.”
Dahlia thought about her brother and Maripaz establishing a relationship, a courtship, seeing each other only once a year and under the constantly watchful eye of the Roma. She thought this was a wonderful love story – how romantic! Then, the reality of their situation hit her. She looked
at Maripaz. “What will your father say? Will he give his consent?” Without waiting for an answer she turned to her brother. “Will you bring Maripaz to live with us?” She asked, excited. Steven was about to answer but Dahlia turned back to Maripaz. “Would your family let you leave the tribe?”
“Dahlia, enough with the questions!” Laughed her brother, putting his arm around his intended, looking around cautiously. “Of course, we are hoping that Don Alvaro gives his consent, but I am a little apprehensive about that interview…”
James nodded. Alvaro was an imposing man. Regardless of the respect and friendship between their two families, marriage was a different matter from any other, and this was his daughter after all.
“I am going to speak with Don Alvaro tomorrow,” said Steven. “You will support me in this won’t you, Dahlia? You promised, remember, to help me.”
She looked at her beloved brother, the gregarious, fun loving Steven. “Of course!” Then she went to embrace Maripaz.
“I could not hope for a better or sweeter person to call sister,” she said warmly.
Steven looked at James. “It would help, I think, if neither of you mentioned this to anyone before I can speak to Don Alvaro. He should be the first to hear it from us.”
“My lips are sealed,” said James, extending his hand to him. “The best of luck. I hope his answer is yes, and that he doesn’t make you sweat too much before he gives it!” The two men laughed. Together, the foursome returned to the common area where most everything had been tidied up. No one appeared to notice anything amiss with the two men and the two young women returning from the wagons. The Talbots and James took their leave of the Roma and headed back towards the house. All the next day, James, Dahlia and Steven kept exchanging glances at one another, their secret – and anxiety of waiting till Steven would speak with Don Alvaro – binding them together.
After Steven left Talbot Hall around four o’clock for the Roma camp, Dahlia felt it difficult to stay with any single task. She finally joined Michael, Tom and James in the library. Each of the men had a book in hand. Only James looked up at her when she passed their chairs to peruse the titles of the tomes lined before her on the shelves. They exchanged a knowing glance again. Unable to focus on the books, Dahlia went to the piano and started to play.
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