Storm and Silence

Slowly, she stepped towards me until only inches separated us and bent down towards my ear.

‘If you should be so lucky as to have another deluded gentleman apply for your hand,’ she hissed into my ear, ‘you will accept it or I will lock you in your room and throw the key away, understood?’

I paled. My aunt, misinterpreting my look, nodded satisfied. ‘That’s it. No lounging about in the park or in the garden, no going to the library, and above all no meeting with those friends of yours.’

All I could manage in answer was a shaky nod. My aunt didn’t know the real force of her threat. I had obligations now. I couldn’t simply be locked in my room like a spoiled child. If I wasn’t punctually at work tomorrow, Mr Ambrose would dismiss me for sure.

For a fleeting moment the idea of leaving home entered my mind - but no. I wasn’t even of age yet. My aunt could bring me back and forcibly lock me in my room if she wished. Though if she heard I had left her house to work for a living, she would probably lock me in an insane asylum instead.

I swallowed hard. There was nothing for it.

I had to dance.

Dance with a man.

Six or seven minutes later, a young officer approached me and bowed. Colonel Malcolm. I remembered him from Sir Philip’s flood of introductions. Somewhere behind him I could see a few others, among them Lieutenant Ellingham, laughing quietly. ‘Miss Linton? May I have the honour of the next dance?’

The officer braced himself for the rebuff.

‘Yes.’

He stared at me, evidently taken aback.

‘Really?’

I pulled a face. ‘Yes, really. I said yes, didn’t I?’

‘Umm… yes, you did. It’s just…’

I rolled my eyes at him.

‘Let’s just get this over with, shall we?’

The music began to play. Getting to my feet, I grabbed the surprised officer by the hand and hauled him onto the dance floor, while his friends watched in awed amazement.

‘Are you wearing good, solid boots?’ I asked.

‘Boots?’ The young man looked at me with mounting confusion. ‘Yes, Miss. Why?’

‘Because I’ve never danced before in my life and I will probably step on your feet half the time. I don't want you permanently injured.’

He grinned a little boy grin. ‘That’s all right. I don't mind. I’m a cavalry officer you know? Had a horse step on my foot three times already. You don't think you’re heavier than a horse, do you?’

Suddenly realizing what he had said, he blushed.

‘Begging your pardon, Miss. I didn’t mean to imply that… well…’

Unwillingly, I had to grin back. This might just not be such an ordeal after all.

‘Hmm…’ I replied, pretending to contemplate the question. ‘No, I don’t think I’m quite as heavy as a horse. But nearly.’

He smiled, relieved. ‘Then I shall take care with every step I take.’

We danced. It didn’t turn out to be that terrible. Colonel Malcolm was - for a man - relatively quiet and well-behaved. He pointed me into the right direction without forcing me and didn’t complain when I trampled on his toes. When we were done with the quadrille, he bowed to me in a very gentlemanly manner and said with a light smile that this had been a very novel experience.

My next partners were not quite so agreeable. While my aunt watched from the shadows of the potted plants, I wrestled with various men who seemed to think dancing consisted of pushing around the female like a piece on a chessboard. Whenever they would get too overbearing, I would make good use of my heel and aim a solid kick at the gentleman’s feet, or use my fan to prod them in the ribs. This elicited very satisfying groans from the male monsters. In that way, I got through about an hour of dancing. Sweat was beginning to trickle down my forehead. I threw a pleading glance at my aunt.

She shook her head.

So I smiled at the next gentleman and said yes, he could have the honour of this dance. The fight was beginning to go out of me. My kicks became increasingly feeble. After another half hour, I turned to my aunt again, this time clasping my hands in supplication.

She considered a moment - then nodded.

Thank the Lord! I was free. What bliss.

Staggering to a chair near the refreshment tables, I flopped down on it and leaned back, closing my eyes. Whoever knew dancing could be so exhausting? If this was what you had to do in order to catch yourself an eligible bachelor, I wondered at the fact that not more ladies had decided to try and go find a job of their own. Compared with this, even working for Mr Stoneface Ambrose looked like a piece of chocolate cake.

Could I take off my shoes? My feet ached, and I wanted so much to give them a little room and air. But although this hadn’t been included in any of my aunt’s lectures about etiquette, I somehow believed that taking off your shoes and putting your feet on the next table wasn’t considered acceptable behaviour at a high society ball.

My only consolation, I thought with a grin, was that I knew that my partner’s feet would be hurting a dang sight more than mine right now. There was nothing so useful to a girl as really solid heels.

‘… and abominably rude,’ a voice made its way through the haze of my exhaustion to my brain. My eyelids fluttered open. The voice was coming from behind the nearest potted plant. I wasn’t someone who eavesdropped, normally. Normally people didn’t have anything interesting to say. But this sounded like one of those rare occasions where it might be interesting to keep an ear open. After all, they mentioned rudeness. They might be talking about me.

‘Yes, that is what I heard,’ I heard another voice, which I recognized as Lady Metcalf's. ‘But he has certain… redeeming features.’

Oh. Not me. They were talking about some stupid man. Losing interest in the discussion, I slowly rose and started away in the direction of another refreshment table. I almost didn’t catch the next sentence.

‘But can anyone of you tell me what is so fascinating about him?’ Another voice demanded. ‘I just got back from the country and found that all London is awash with talk of him. I mean, what is so special about this Mr Rikkard Ambrose?’

I froze in my tracks.

The Sins of Mr Rikkard Ambrose

‘You haven’t heard?’

The voice was full of glee and juicy gossip. I was so quickly at the potted plant behind which the group of gossiping ladies where hiding that I saw who had spoken. It was the Duchess of Brandon. I should have been able to guess from the tone.