by Fanny Finch
“But in front of so many people… I have never.”
“Well, then, it is a good thing that you have a mask to hide behind now, is it not?” He reached out once more to cup her cheeks.
“You will be fine, dear child. I see things in your eyes, words, emotions that you want to cry out. Take this chance, Gwendoline. Sing.”
Everything seemed to stop then, and she could only stare at this man who was wisdom.
To sing, so freely, all that she had in her heart to pour, in front of all these people who would never know her if she walked past them without her mask, it seemed a liberating thought.
Wouldn’t it be wisdom on her part to accept?
Taking the leap, she nodded eagerly.
“I shall, Your Grace. I shall sing.”
“Excellent! After the third dance, the floor will be cleared and the pianoforte will be brought forth. Then, you can bless our ears with sweet melodies. All will turn out well, dear Gwendoline. You will see.”
He kissed her hand again, and the way he looked at her afterward, told Gwendoline that this man knew so much more than he cared to say. So much more.
It was almost as though, he knew the truth… but, how could he?
Once again, Lord Pevcolt spoke with her aunt’s family and afterwards, they went to find their tables so that they would sit.
Now that everyone was seated, the room did not seem so full, and the dance floor remained bare, for when the dances would begin.
It did not take so long at all, for in few moments the band began to prepare for their first rendition. Aunt Leah was filled with joy as she announced,
“The first dance is about to begin. See the men as their eyes search the room, looking for fair maidens to woo. My sweetness, I do believe I have caught more than a dozen pairs turning in this direction. Fiona, shall I have your dance card? I shall fill the names in myself.”
Gwendoline looked at Fiona who visibly struggled with an eye roll before retrieving the card from her reticule.
“Of course, Mother. As always.”
Oblivious to her daughter’s lack of enthusiasm, Aunt Leah collected the card, still brimming with joy.
“I do hope your shoes are comfortable enough, my dear. Because you are going to have to dance every dance tonight. This season will not pass you by, you’ll see.”
Gwendoline said nothing. She simply occupied herself with sipping her refreshment.
True to her aunt’s words, men soon began to flock to their table, asking for the honor of a dance.
Like her aunt had predicted, most men came for Fiona and those who attempted to look Gwendoline’s way, quickly had their attention diverted. Fiona’s card filled up, while hers laid empty.
Uncle Albert was away, meeting with friends and business associates. Gwendoline knew if he was there, he would fight against the unfairness. Even Fiona seemed disgruntled about it.
Alas, she was soon whisked away, and Gwendoline was made to sit and watch, as other ladies danced with gentlemen.
Aunt Leah completely disregarded her, as though she did not exist. Rather than sulk over it, Gwendoline found herself impatiently counting the seconds to the end of the third dance, when she would be allowed to play.
When the time finally arrived, Gwendoline took a deep breath.
It was time for her to sing.
Chapter 4
Arthur looked at the third lady he was dancing with tonight, his eyes not bothering to hide his boredom or his disinterest.
The two ladies before her had made him feel the same way - indifferent.
He wondered what he was doing here, but one look at his mother who was sitting at the far end of the ball room, looking at him with hope in her eyes, reminded him of the reason.
He was there to find a wife, so that he would fulfill his father’s wish.
The thing was, Arthur had had the past few days to get accustomed to the idea of finding a wife. Yet, nothing had prepared him for this.
The ladies were anything but intriguing. They seemed incapable of holding intelligent conversations. All they seemed able to do, was flutter their lashes, laugh behind their fans and agree with everything he said.
It was enough to make any sane man question his sanity. He supposed he had been away for so long, and had come to forget how demure English women could be.
Perhaps, he was asking for too much, but he knew he would not settle for a wife who would drive him to insanity with boredom. Goodness no.
He wanted, needed a wife who would question him, who would be unafraid to share her thoughts and opinions.
A wife who shared the same passion with him, in areas that piqued his interest. A wife who would be happy to travel at sea with him and see the world at a moment’s notice. Who enjoyed music and art. A wife who was well versed in a number of things.
Not these ladies, these ladies who were too happy to talk about the thread and needle and giving him babies.
“So, you crossed the seven seas, my lord?”
Arthur sighed, but not wanting to be rude, answered that question he had been asked over a hundred times tonight.
“Just five of them. I had the plan of crossing all seven, but I had to be called back home on an emergency.”
When everyone heard, from none other than his mother of course, that he had gone on the Grand Tour, their first question often was, “So you crossed the seven seas?”
At least, Lady Lance had waited a while to ask the question. He suspected it was simply because she had run out of other questions to ask.
“Oh, I see. Do you think you would cross the remaining two? Would you try again?”
He nodded. “Certainly, as soon as all is well and all matters have been rightfully sorted. I shall be on a voyage once again.”
When his father was well enough, and he was married. In a few years, though, for he knew he was not leaving any time soon. Perhaps, his wife would be adventurous enough to want to travel with him.
He hoped she would be.
“You seem to love the sea.”
Love, did not seem right enough to quantify his affections for the sea.
“It calls to me, that it does. I never thought it would feel so peaceful, being in the middle of nowhere, at the mercy of the waves, with only a large expanse of water in sight.”
“I hear people get seasick, and it is often so terrible. I do not think I would want to get on a ship in my lifetime, my lord. I’d rather keep using horses and carriages.”
Arthur let out a grateful sigh as the dance came to an end in that moment.
He released her and dipped into a bow. When he rose, he saw that she too was just rising from her curtsy.
“You dance well, my lord. I do hope you shall fill your name in my dance card yet again.”
Arthur did not think it likely and he was not a man to lie. So, he simply smiled and said,
“You too are a lovely dancer, my lady. And yes, I would suggest that you keep to your horses and carriages. Less chances of ill health that way.”
With that, he took her hand and escorted her off the dance floor. As soon as he saw her safely handed over to her mother, he turned on his heels and began to head for his.
Ever since they arrived at the ball, Evie Ainsworth had been taking Arthur to every family she knew who had daughters ripe for marriage, and introducing him to each one. Even to the point of forcing him to ask a good number of them to dance.
He had had enough and he needed to let his mother understand that he would have no more.
What he intended to do was enjoy the ball with a few old friends who he had run into, and quietly sift through the crowd for a lady who genuinely piqued his interest.
He was almost at their table when Lord Pevcolt, their host tonight, marched to the middle of the now empty dance floor. He was followed by four men who carried forth the pianoforte.
Seeing the instrument was enough to arouse Arthur’s interest. He stopped in his tracks and turned fully to look at the nice, elderly ma
n, and listen to what he had to say.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Lord Pevcolt began. “I trust that you have been having a lovely evening. I assure you, the night is only about to get better.
”We have a special guest in our midst tonight and after my skillful persuasion, she has agreed to sing us a song. Her hands are magic on the pianoforte and many of you have never heard an Angel sing, but after tonight, that will change.
”Ladies and gentlemen, please, join me in welcoming the English Nightingale.”
Lord Pevcolt gestured towards a direction as he finished speaking and every head, including Arthur’s, turned to look at the lady whom he was referring to.
Arthur came to see a lady in a dress the lightest shade of blue. It complimented her skin, creamy but not pale. With her huge mask on, he could only see her eyes, but he knew they too were blue.
And those golden locks that sat atop her head in a mass of tumbling waves, they shone like the sun.
Her eyes widened and Arthur wondered what could be going through her head. She seemed to hesitate for a while, and he was certain that she was nervous.
Not that he could fault her. She had the attention of almost every soul in the room, and Lord Pevcolt had just given her a great reputation to live up to. The voice of an Angel?
A moment passed before she finally began to rise to her feet. As she stood tall, the cheering began. Even Arthur found himself clapping for her.
As the cheer went on, he saw the nervousness slip away from her shoulders. Her spine relaxed and those shoulders did not seem so stiff anymore.
Head high, shoulders squared, she began to walk, as graceful as a deer. As she walked closer to Lord Pevcolt, a small smile formed on her lips and something struck Arthur.
In fact, as he took a closer look at the lady, many things struck him. Her gait, her hair, those eyes. All, with an overwhelming sense of familiarity as though he knew this woman, as though he had met her before.
Yet, as familiar as she seemed, she did not ring a single bell of recognition in Arthur’s head. It was quite baffling.
She eventually reached His Grace and shared a few whispers, meant for only the two of them to hear. Lord Pevcolt urged her on to the pianoforte that laid waiting for her.
The mystery lady took a deep breath as she reached the pianoforte. She released that breath in a slow stream as she sat. Quickly, she ran her hands through the keys, producing a soft, short, lovely tune.
Clearing her throat, she looked around her, at the people who were waiting for her to sing. Arthur waited for their eyes to meet - he hoped for it, but it appeared he was not in such luck.
As the lady finished her sweep, she addressed them all.
“I shall be singing The White Rose, by Alice Cornwall. It is one of those songs that go straight to my heart. I hope it does the same for you.”
Even her voice, soft, tiny and clear, sounded familiar. Still, Arthur could not place where he had heard the voice before. Perhaps, he had been fortunate to make her brief acquaintance before going on his Grand Tour.
Nonetheless, he was very impressed by her choice in music. The White Rose was a classic song. One by the great, late Alice Cornwall. It was such a powerful song that many singers shied from it. Even the opera singers.
How did she hope to accomplish its singing, he wondered?
A hush fell over the crowd like a heavy blanket. And as she plucked the first note of the song, she closed her eyes as though she was reaching deep into her heart, where the emotions lay hidden.
Then, she began to sing.
Alone, left in the wilderness
Untouched, broken, bereft
Yet, she stands tall and proud
Through winter, and spring
All of the five seasons
Her roots go deep into the soil
She knows her home,
This place that has always belonged to her
It knows her too, it tells her story
And anyone who passes and cares to know,
Only needs to ask the earth and they will be told
She is the white rose, not always lonely so
She once had a family, a bush so white and true
They shared love and communion
All roses, with thorns in common
Then that cold winter came, and wiped them all away
One by one, until only this rose was left
It has been years, but she has held on still
This white rose, mocking fate every hour
She is the white rose,
Tall and proud
Tough and strong,
Her strength is likened to none
Beautiful on the outside,
Even more on the inside
She is the white rose
Who has refused to fall.
And for years to come,
She shall stand still
And tell the story of pain,
Loss and victory
The white rose, she reminds me of me
And perhaps, mayhap the white rose is me
It took a while for Arthur, for everyone, to realize that the song had come to an end. That was how immersed they had been in it.
Then, like a broken dam, the flood of applause came pouring through.
Those who were seated rose to their feet and everyone seemed more than happy to clap wildly for the English Nightingale. She had lived up to her reputation and had surpassed it.
Arthur was amazed. It felt like Alice Cornwall had been resurrected inside of this lady. In all of his years, he had never heard the White Rose so beautifully sung.
He was captivated, enchanted and as people converged to meet her, he knew that he too had to make the acquaintance of this woman with the voice of an angel.
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http://fannyfinch.com/amb014
The Portrait of a Rebellious Lady – Preview
Chapter 1
“Why are you so utterly obsessed with this idea of Rome?” Mrs. Caulfield asked in exasperation.
Georgette could feel her mother’s eyes on her, wide with frustration, as they had already had this conversation a number of times.
As Georgette remained sitting on the brocade sofa in the parlor, her mother was pacing back and forth. Her fingers played with the pearls around her neck, and her gown swished at its base where it was weighed down by the satin cabbage roses sewn there.
“Mama, it is the place for culture. Everyone says so. The Doyles, the Kingharts, and even Miss Franklin,” Georgette said.
“Ugh, Miss Franklin! What does a governess know of culture? I ought to have known it was that silly woman filling your head with all these ideas of travel and fancy. Can you even imagine it?” Mrs. Caulfield asked, more to herself than to her daughter.
“I do not understand, Mother. Last time we spoke, you said that Father would be thrilled with the idea. And the time before that, you said that it was unlikely but seemed wise,” Georgette reminded her.
It was clear that her mother did not appreciate such a reminder.
“Well then…” she began with a sigh. “I suppose I did say those things, now, didn’t I?” she admitted.
“But you must understand,” she went on, “that pestering me as you do is simply not the way to go about it. The more you press me, the less happy I am about the idea. It seems to me that you already have a culture of independence,” Mrs. Caulfield pointed out dramatically.
Georgette watched her mother continue to pace. With her green eyes, mirroring those of her sisters, she could not help but follow her mother’s movements with curiosity.
She missed the days when she was the one being such an actress. To see it from a grown woman was simply embarrassing.
Even while Georgette made every effort to remain respectful towards her parents, she could not deny that she had lost much of the admiration and respect she had once had for them.
As their situation had changed, and the Caulfields
had grown wealthy, she had seen their behavior and values change, their moral integrity plummet.
From loving parents, they had converted into people who would use their daughters for their own financial advancement, and would discard them if they did not comply to their wishes.
