“Off we go!” Her father pocketed the unlit pipe and offered both women an arm. Together they went downstairs, swept up an enthusiastic Charlie, and made their way outside.
Clementine had insisted on sending her closed carriage to collect the Cavendishes and it was causing quite a stir in the street. Residents of Hafod Road were well to do, but they were not sufficiently wealthy to ignore the glamor of such a conveyance, particularly with a fine pair of grays pulling it, and when the driver and footman in attendance were dressed in the Twyford-Harris livery. A small crowd had gathered to watch the family in their finery. Hecate felt even more uncomfortable under such scrutiny. Charlie was grinning from ear to ear. Her father gave a somewhat regal wave as they set off.
“Edward!” his wife hissed at him.
“Fear not, my dear. I am merely playing to the gallery.”
Hecate recalled John’s comment during his visit to the house. “John believes you could have a career on the stage, Father,” she told him.
“Capital idea! What say you, Beatrice?”
“I say you should not encourage Hecate in such silliness. And I am surprised at Reverend Forsyth.”
“Really, Mother? I thought he could do no wrong in your eyes.”
Edward laughed. “Ah, but tonight, your mother has her sights set on more exotic prey!”
Beatrice frowned, not in the least enjoying the joke at her expense. “I am well aware you believe I think of nothing else but finding a suitable husband for Hecate. I assure you I have other matters to occupy my time, not least Charlie’s health and how we are to meet Dr. Francis’s ever increasing fees.” When her family looked suitably chastened she went on, her tone deliberately lighter. “However, this is to be quite the occasion, by all accounts. My dearest wish for this evening is to see my daughter enjoying herself among bright company, looking delightful. Which she does.” She treated Hecate to a smile that was all the more precious for its rarity.
The horses were fit and fast so that they sped through the town, across the stone bridge that spanned the river to the south, and turned east. So effective was the suspension of the carriage that even along the rutted, muddy road, the passengers were not unduly jostled or jolted. The sky was cloudless and the moon bright. Hecate watched the nocturnal scene that flowed past the window, noting how pretty the countryside looked bathed in a pearly light with deep moon-shadows fringing the hedges and trees. Despite her mother’s hopes, she did not expect to enjoy the ball. Ordinarily she would have at least looked forward to the fun of Clemmie’s company, and been pleased to see Charlie out and about. On this occasion her mind was so filled with more important things she would find it particularly tiresome to have to make polite conversation and dance with men in whom she had no interest.
As if reading her thoughts, her brother asked, “Will you give the first dance to Phileas? Say you will, Hecate. You know it would please him.”
“I will dance with him if he asks me, Charlie, but not more than twice. He has the heaviest tread of any man I have ever waltzed with. I don’t think my feet would withstand a polka.”
Edward put in, “But he adds such zest to a party, do you not think so?”
“Zest?” Beatrice looked baffled. “Of what use is that?”
Edward shrugged. “None whatsoever, which is what makes it so appealing.”
Twenty minutes later they turned onto the smoother going of the driveway that curved across oak-dotted parkland to bring them at last to Holme Lacy House. As Mrs. Cavendish was given to reminding everyone, the Twyford-Harris family home—mainly constructed in the seventeenth century but with earlier origins and later additions—was the largest manor house in the county. Its E-shaped design and Georgian improvements of portico and columns at the entrance gave it an imposing scale and symmetry that could not fail to impress. With a trail of slowly moving coach lamps leading to it, tall lights placed among the topiary and hedges of the gardens, and every one of its myriad windows lit up, the great house appeared as a burst of starlight in the dark landscape, a brilliant, glowing point of activity and celebration. As their carriage drew level with the flight of stone steps to the entrance, Hecate thought about the many young women like herself who had arrived there for a ball through the preceding centuries. Each of them both excited and nervous, their expectations and hopes high. She glanced at her brother. Without the weight of their mother’s expectations upon him, he was free to enjoy the spectacle and fun of the event. She was glad to see him already cheered by it. For his sake, for her mother’s, and for Clemmie’s, she would do her best to be an appreciative guest.
A footman appeared on silent feet to open the door. Edward Cavendish exited the carriage first, turning to help his wife down the step which had already been positioned for her. Hecate smiled at Charlie, who jumped out, turning to offer her his hand, grinning at the absurd formality but enjoying the fact that his sister had allowed him to play the part of a gentleman. Together they joined a stream of new arrivals, ladies with fans in hands, skirts hitched up to climb the steps, each on the arm of a gentleman, all eager to escape the chill of the night and join the revelry. Music drifted out through the open windows of the ballroom.
The hall of the house was every bit as impressive as the exterior, with a floor of Italian marble, a grand staircase, artfully positioned ferns on pedestals, glorious flower displays upon tables which were themselves objects of great beauty, and richly colored paintings in gilded frames. Hecate remembered what Clemmie had told her about not wanting to inhabit a drafty stately home and wondered how much more grandeur and wealth there could be.
“There you are!”
Hecate turned at the unmistakably gleeful sound of her friend’s voice, to see a slender vision in pale blue muslin hurrying toward her. Everything about Clemmie’s gown was chic and stylish and flattering, and showed off the beautiful young woman to her very best advantage. Her elegant long white gloves, sleek chignon, and tasteful sapphire earrings completed a look that was as sophisticated as it was charming. Hecate felt even more awkward and dowdy than she had earlier, and thought that if she had not loved her friend so much she might have hated her a little at that moment. The two greeted each other warmly and slipped away from the throng and into the morning room. Ordinarily, this was a place Lady Twyford-Harris might entertain guests or work on her watercolors, taking advantage of the good light. On this occasion, however, the room had been pressed into service for all ladies attending the ball. It was at their disposal, so that they might remove their stoles and capes, apply a little more rouge or powder, or avail themselves of the assistance of one of the lady’s maids on hand to repair hairstyles that had suffered on the outward journey. It was also, naturally, a place to exchange the latest news and gossip. Such was the chatter of the women and girls present that the music from the nearby ballroom was all but drowned out.
Clemmie took Hecate’s arm and led her to a corner, allowing a maid to take her stole as she did so.
“I am so pleased to see you,” she said. “I swear, Mama’s guest list gets duller by the year. I have pointed out that a spring ball, being out of the season, should include as many new and interesting people as possible. Instead, determined to avoid anyone of the middling sort who might actually be good company, she consults Debrett’s Peerage and allows the men to compete for Bore of the Ball.”
“They can’t all be that bad.”
“Says the girl who would rather be at home with her nose in a book. Anyway, at least Phileas is here. He’s been asking for you. I told him you were deliberately making him wait, so that you could make a grand entrance.”
“Clemmie!”
“The poor man is quite lovesick, you know.”
“Nonsense.”
“It’s true, I tell you! He has been badgered into dancing three waltzes and a polka but you could tell every minute of it pained him.”
“I expect it pained his poor dance partners, too.”
Clemmie laughed. “One of them was Nettie Watson—her feet are even bigger than his!”
Giggling, the two made their way to the entrance of the ballroom. Being a “ball that wasn’t a ball” as Lady Twyford-Harris kept insisting, arrivals were not announced. This rare modicum of informality allowed the friends to slip into the crowded room almost unnoticed. Even a reluctant socialite such as Hecate could not fail to be delighted by the loveliness of the venue. The ballroom was rectangular, with all four walls paneled in rich, glowing oak. The ceiling was a magnificent example of Georgian plasterwork, intricately detailed, icing-sugar white, and touched with gilt here and there. There were two crystal chandeliers illuminated by over a hundred candles between them. While the house itself might have gaslighting, Lady Twyford-Harris would not permit any such vulgar, blurry, fume-laden lights in her precious ballroom. In point of fact, the chandeliers were not the most striking feature of the place. This was, without doubt, the great glass dome in the center of the roof. The candlelight from beneath it, and the starlight from above, reflected off its many angled panes, making it a spectacular, lofty centerpiece to the room. The orchestra comprised a piano, two violins, a trumpet, and a viola. They were playing an energetic mazurka.
Clemmie squeezed Hecate’s arm and spoke to her behind the cover of her opened fan.
“Look if you dare! Phileas is thundering up and down with little Alice Hopkins!”
They made an unlikely couple: the gentleman farmer, broad shouldered, his shock of unruly hair made madder by the dance, towering over the diminutive young woman whose own feet scarcely seemed to touch the polished wood floor.
“She looks so fragile next to him!”
“Her mother’s face is a picture.” Clemmie nodded toward the portly woman standing to the left of the musicians.
“I think she might be questioning the wisdom of throwing her daughter at Phileas. No amount of apple orchards can be worth having your feet trampled,” said Hecate.
When the music came to a halt Phileas led his somewhat breathless dance partner back to her place beside her mother. Both appeared relieved to be able to fall upon propriety which suggested two dances in a row with the same person were poor form. As he bowed and backed away, he caught sight of Hecate. At once, he was transformed by a broad smile. One that she herself found impossible not to respond to as he approached.
“Good evening,” she said, giving him her hand to kiss. “You seem to be having a fine time.”
