by Sahara Kelly
“Good God,” blinked Rose. “That is indeed a lifetime occupation, isn’t it?”
“No wonder he’s quiet and a little aloof,” said Lydia. “The man’s exhausted all the time.”
The laughter rang out around the table, and other guests glanced over, smiling to see four young ladies enjoying themselves.
Rose sighed. She wished every morning could be this much fun.
“Don’t look sad, Rose. You still have a few days left before your trip to the Marriage Mart,” teased Lydia.
“Oh,” Prudence turned to her. “You’ll be at Almack’s, next week?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Well, I’m sorry you’re not looking forward to it, but I’ll admit you just made me a lot happier about going.” Prudence smiled widely.
“Of course. You have vouchers, yes?” Ivy sighed. “I’m not sure if I envy you or not, but I’m glad our Rose will have at least one friend to talk to.”
“Would you like to go?” Prudence looked at her, then at Lydia. “I expect Uncle Colborne could ask Lady Jersey for two more…she seems inclined to favour his requests…”
“Hmm.” Lydia and Ivy looked at each other.
“To be utterly truthful, Prudence, I thank you so much for even suggesting it. But I couldn’t do it. I just could not voluntarily put my head into that noose.” She paused. “Besides, it drives mothers to distraction. I simply cannot deal with it.”
Ivy bit her lip. “Well, since my grandmother isn’t much impressed with Almack’s, and I doubt I’ll ever have another chance…then, yes. If it’s possible, I certainly wouldn’t mind attending…?” She looked a little nervous. “Oh God. Dresses.”
“Exactly,” said Lydia. “Another reason I won’t do it.”
“Will Lady Maud and Sir Laurence mind, d’you think?” Ivy looked at Lydia.
“Dearest, you know them. They will be happy if you’re happy.”
“That’s true,” said Rose. “I’m determined that I shall attend once, and once only. Even if I have to make a terrible scene to guarantee that I shall never be invited back.”
The other three laughed again, and began to come up with outrageous suggestions to ensure Rose’s disbarment from the hallowed halls of Almack’s.
An hour later, they were back in the carriage, heading to their various homes. Prudence, by virtue of the excellent location of her Uncle’s town residence, was first to be set down. “Thank you so much,” she beamed. “And I will see you all again soon, I hope.”
Their farewells were genuine, and Ivy sighed a little as the three remaining young ladies settled themselves. “I like her.”
“Me too,” added Rose.
“She is a darling,” endorsed Lydia. “Knowing her now, I don’t know if I can—in all conscience—seduce her uncle into having an affair.”
Ivy coughed. “God, Lydia. The things you say.”
“Well it was my plan.” She frowned. “The trouble is, I’m not sure how to seduce anyone, let alone a man as stern as his Grace.”
Rose and Ivy looked at each other, then back at Lydia.
Ivy spread her hands wide. “Don’t ask me.”
“Or me,” added Rose.
Disappointed, Lydia looked out of the window. “Ah well. I shall come up with something, I’m sure.”
Chapter Seven
Miles dressed for the evening at Almack’s without any great level of enthusiasm. He knew it was appropriate for him to be there, since he’d been personally invited by Lady Jersey. He’d managed to avoid her clutches up to now, and determined to maintain a good distance, but he also wasn’t about to commit social suicide by offending her.
And there was, he acknowledged, an additional lure in the form of Miss Rose Glynde-Beauchamp. And she’d been on his mind a lot since their musical interlude together at the Sydenhams.
He’d discovered he recalled every note, every arpeggio…and had whistled the tune more than a few times since, catching himself up when he did so, but finding it was a happy memory that made him smile.
Rose continued to intrigue him. Not just because of her demonstrated musical brilliance—even though that had shocked him down to the soles of his boots. She was so natural while playing, her attention on the sounds, her fingers flying, a blur over the complicated arrangement of harp-lute strings. He recognised the combination of harp and guitar, finding the sound uniquely delightful. The fact that he could add his own accompaniment to her playing had capped his pleasure, and he’d happily have sat in front of the keys all night if it meant listening to, and playing alongside, Rose.
She too had seemed to enjoy their time together. At least her face was wreathed with smiles as she finished and returned the instrument to its stand in the corner of the Sydenham’s music room.
She’d nodded as she came back, heading for the door. Her words though. She had puzzled him.
“Thank you, Miles,” she had said, a genuine look of joy on her face. “This has been so lovely. The two of us, playing together? We made a rainbow.” And then she’d left.
Those words haunted him. The fact that it was the second time she had referred to music in terms of colour…that lingered in his mind as well. He truly did, as he often joked, possess a brain that clung to minuscule and often trivial bits of information. Rose’s predilection to ascribe colours to her conversation about music? Well, it niggled at him. There was something about it…something he couldn’t quite place. But it was enough of a something to make him curious, and that in turn had sent him on a quest to find out more.
He’d ended up back at Nota Bene, sitting down and sharing tea with Selwyn Dunstable who was happy to answer Miles’s questions.
“Good tea,” he’d said. “Now what I’m going to ask may sound rather silly. But here goes…” he took a breath. “Are there ways to associate music with colours?”
Selwyn had frowned for a moment, glanced sharply at Miles, and then put his cup down. “Why?”
“Because I know someone who does that.”
“Do they play an instrument?”
Miles had nodded a definite affirmative.
“Hmm. In that case, to answer your question, yes. I’ve come across it a couple of times over the decades. It’s rare though…” He’d looked once more at Miles. “And some people think it is a flaw. One that could lead to madness.”
Those particular words had caught Miles by surprise, and even now, several days after that conversation, they lingered. Selwyn had told him about the strange ability to see colours around music. He said he had no idea how it worked, but often such people also possessed perfect pitch. Some were musicians of note.
Grappling with the concept, Miles then did what he usually did under such circumstances—he went to the library.
His destination was Hatchard’s, a favourite spot for anyone looking to do some research, since their reading-room was well furnished and most often half-empty.
What he’d learned—after considerable time browsing likely tomes—was that there had indeed been mention over the centuries of people associating colours and music. He read of others who found language to cause the same strange effect. He saw paintings by a Medieval artist, Arcimboldo, who had been rumoured to have been slightly insane.
However, the notion was somewhat validated by Isaac Newton’s experiment whereby he put colours on the keys of a pianoforte in an attempt to discover the process taking place in the human mind.
Sadly, it seemed destined to remain a mystery. And the lingering taint of possible madness remained with it.
Stepping back into the present, Miles tied his cravat carefully, his eyes on his hands, his mind elsewhere. He had a valet, but when it came to a cravat, Miles preferred his own fingers to anyone else’s.
So it would seem that Rose suffered from this condition, ailment…he wasn’t sure what to call it. He had to establish that for a fact, of course, since she might just have an artistic turn of phrase.
But he regarded that possibility as doubtful, si
nce her musical gifts were profound, and he saw no reason why her unusual vision might not be a contributing factor. He spent a few moments staring at his reflection, seeing nothing. What would it be like, he wondered, to not only hear the magic of a fine sonata, but to see it as a blend of colours? How amazing that would be.
And how frightening.
That thought snapped him out of his contemplations. He wondered if Rose was worried about it. Or her Mama. Did she know? And if she did, that opened up a whole new line of thought, since pressing marriage to a girl who might possibly be looking at a future in some madhouse?
He frowned at himself. There didn’t seem to be any sign of such a taint in the Glynde-Beauchamp line. Or at least none that he’d run across. And Rose herself was as normal as the flower she was named after.
He sighed. He needed more information. What he’d learned had taken him down a new and strange path, and if he was lucky, he might be able to persuade Rose to walk beside him on it. But a lot depended on how she viewed herself and what he’d like to call her “gift”. He couldn’t accept that such a thing was a curse. Not when he’d heard her play.
Far more of a curse was the evening ahead, and if it hadn’t been for Rose, he wasn’t sure he’d even now be collecting his cloak and summoning his carriage. But given that she would be there, and he was under an obligation to attend, it would probably all work out quite well. He couldn’t, of course, be seen to pay too much attention to her. There would be others he should acknowledge, and he was going to have to dance with any number of young ladies.
Some things were inevitable.
But if Sally Jersey and her ilk thought they could push him into any kind of unwise or unwanted situation with one of their favourite debutantes, they were fair and far off.
The carriage drew up some distance from the King Street home of Almack’s Assembly Rooms. The road was already filled, so Miles opened the door and told his driver that he’d walk the rest of the way. He needed the air to clear his head.
Within moments he was joining the throng of attendees and walking into the hallowed halls of Almack’s itself. Unprepossessing and not particularly in any style, Miles merely nodded at the servant accepting his cloak and hat, then straightened his cuffs and headed toward the doors now filled with guests.
The first thing he heard was a chorus of titters.
He sighed. It was going to be a long evening.
*~~*~~*
“Oh, there’s Ivy,” said Rose, a smile lighting her face as she saw her friend.
“Never mind that,” frowned her mother. “You have to be approved by the Patronesses first.” She looked around. “I see Lady Castlereagh. She’ll do. Come along. Don’t dally.”
Biting her lip, from nerves rather than a desire to add colour to her face, Rose obediently followed in her wake.
“My daughter Rose, my Lady. We’re so excited to be here and make your acquaintance. She has been in alt all week in anticipation of this evening.”
Mrs Glynde-Beauchamp gushed, embarrassing Rose, who managed a deep and passable curtsey in spite of her mother’s sycophantic babblings.
Stern eyes surveyed her from above a patrician nose. “The gel will do.”
Mrs Glynde-Beauchamp clutched her heart. “You are so gracious, Ma’am.”
“I doubt she’ll match well, but we’ll see.” Lady Castlereagh stared around, then raised a hand and beckoned. A young man emerged from the crowd and bowed. “Ma’am?”
“Miss Glynde-Beauchamp, I believe you will find Mr Romley Dartsbridge to be a suitable partner for the next dance.”
Rose found herself face to face with a lad whose visage was still…maturing. There were some sprigs of what might well be budding moustache hairs casting pale shadows beneath his nose, but the evidence of his youth was born out by the number of pimples visible through what looked like some sort of powder.
Rose sighed, but under her mother’s savage gaze, she just curtseyed. “Mr Dartsbridge.”
A large Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed. “M-m-m-m-miss Glynde-Beauchamp.”
Rose reached for her dance card. “The dance is a quadrille, sir. Will that be acceptable?”
A look of terror crossed his face, but he nodded and straightened his shoulders. “Yes, yes. That’ll be…I mean…yes. All right. Good.”
Understanding that his nerves far surpassed her own, Rose smiled, turned and curtseyed once more to her mama and Lady Castlereagh. “With your permission?”
“Run along, then, dear.” Her mama shooed her away. “Enjoy your dance.”
Not sure if that was anywhere near the realm of probability, Rose allowed Mr Dartsbridge to take her hand and place it correctly on his arm. Together they made their way toward the dancers, still finishing the first measures of the evening.
“Hallo Rose,” said a friendly voice, and Ivy walked up behind her.
“You’re here,” said Rose, thrilled to see her friend. “And you look divine.” She got a quick look at Ivy’s pure green gown, a colour that suited her perfectly.
Then a tall figure moved up. “Good evening, Miss Glynde-Beauchamp.”
“Your Grace,” Rose curtseyed as the Duke of Maidenbrooke nodded, his face serious as always. “Is Miss Prudence here?”
Ivy nodded at the dancers. “Indeed yes. She’s already having her first dance.” She shot a quick look at the Duke. “I believe she is enjoying it, your Grace, wouldn’t you say?”
“Oh, I do apologise.” Rose remembered her manners and introduced Mr Dartsbridge, who seemed struck dumb by the honour of being presented to a Duke. The Adam’s apple bobbed a lot more.
Ivy and Rose exchanged an amused glance as the dance ended and then moved to take their places for the next one. It seemed the Duke had selected Ivy as his partner and thus was able to keep an eye on Prudence at the same time. She, in turn, looked to be delighted with her partners so far.
Rose wondered if she’d like Mr Dartsbridge and made a note to introduce them later.
With a sigh, she took her position and the dance began. She could make it through the measures. Somehow she would make it through the measures. And she would ignore the mis-steps, wrong turns and just about everything else that could go wrong for her partner.
Poor lad. If gentlemen had nightmares about this sort of thing, then he was living his right now.
Mercifully, she managed to guide, push, shove and otherwise steer her partner through the dance, narrowly avoiding collisions, trips, stumbles and other potential catastrophes. When it was over, she found herself out of breath and on the verge of exhaustion. She had to hold it all in, however, since Lady Jersey was waiting for her at the end.
“Miss Glynde-Beauchamp, Lord Linfield has asked permission to waltz with you.” Sally Jersey’s eyebrows rose. “I confess myself surprised, since he’s notoriously absent from our ballroom…” she nudged him, not too gently. “But it would seem the lure of your companionship has dragged him from his self-imposed absence.” She smiled gaily, her bird-like attitude and chatty demeanour bearing out her nickname of “Silence”.
“I’d be honoured, my Lady,” curtseyed Rose, managing to stay steady even though her head was still whirling a little. “My Lord.” She glanced at Miles, bit her lip against a grin, and curtseyed again.
“Thank you, my Lady.” Miles smiled at Lady Jersey. “I’m sure it will be delightful.”
“Make sure it is, now, you too.” She fluttered her eyelashes at them and departed.
“Thank God,” muttered Rose. “One more curtsey and I swear I’d fall down.”
“We’ve a few moments before the waltz. Do you want to rest a little after your exertions?”
“You saw?” She let him lead her to a couple of empty chairs and thankfully sat with a little less than her usual grace.
“I couldn’t miss it. Best job of navigation I’ve seen since my father sailed our yacht around the Needles.”
Rose burst out laughing and quickly hid her smiles behind her fa
n. “I did feel sorry for him, though. I think it’s his first time too.”
Miles shuddered. “A terrible thought indeed.” He looked around. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
She paused, glanced at him and then back at the dancers. “I should say yes.” She shrugged. “But to be honest? No.”
He leaned closer, under the pretext of adjusting his jacket. “Neither am I.”
Rose sighed with relief and her shoulders relaxed. “So I shouldn’t feel guilty?”
“Not in the least,” he answered. “And I can assure you that you won’t have to steer me around anyone during our waltz.”
She stood, a smile on her face. “I cannot tell you how lovely that sounds.”
He held out his arm and she placed her hand correctly on it, allowing him to lead her to the floor just in time for the first chords to strike up the distinctive rhythm of the dance that had once shocked London to its core.
Feeling Miles’s arm slip around her waist as he swung her out into the waltz took her breath away for a moment or two as she grew accustomed to the warmth of his palm on her spine through the delicate fabric of her gown. They were of a height, their steps matched and she found herself forgetting about everything else and simply enjoying the pleasure of being half of a couple dancing to music.
She glanced up at him, his chin not far from her nose. He was looking down at that moment, and something—some spark or flash of an unidentifiable sensation—ripped through her, making her blink.
As if he felt it as well, Miles tightened his grip on her hand and swung her around, making her a tiny bit dizzy. She lost herself in his smile, answering it with her own.
Miles leaned his head closer. “Better than Mr Dartsbridge?”