by Meghan Sloan
Alice sighed, wandering around the drawing room while the other ladies chatted to each other on the settee. She barely noticed Charlotte glancing at her from time-to-time, a slight furrow to her brow.
She was thinking about Silas Wilmington, and the most unexpected way that he was making her feel.
She picked up random items on dressers, placing them back again in a restless manner. He had seemed shocked when she had talked about the female nude in art. But then, his family did seem rather straitlaced. Very conventional. His father was a magistrate, and his mother a typical matron who didn’t seem to know how to react to her own mother at all.
But it wasn’t his shock at what she had said that was making her feel so restless. Rather, it was the man himself. He had a commanding air to him. Tall and powerfully built, and so very handsome, with his raven black hair and moss-green eyes. She had felt herself grow quite warm when she had dared look at him over dinner.
She didn’t know what had possessed her to approach him when she had seen him alone in the foyer gazing at the ostrich egg. She had almost walked past on her way to the drawing room, but something had stopped her. Something had emboldened her to put her shyness aside and try to chat with him in a normal manner.
He had seemed surprised just that she had approached him. She had little idea what was going on his head. While he seemed intent on being charming, there was still an air of reservation about him, as if he didn’t want to give too much of himself away. It had seemed a good talking point when she had seen him admiring the egg. A way to start talking in a natural fashion.
The door opened and the gentlemen filed in, obviously replete from their brandy and cigars. Papa even looked a little glassy eyed. She knew that he usually never drank more than one brandy of an evening, so it was rather obvious whenever he imbibed more.
Mr. Wilmington also looked a little flushed around the gills. He was a rather stiff man, quite gruff, with an air of authority about him. Pompous almost. But now, loosened by drink, he smiled at her. Alice smiled back, a bit uncertainly. There was no way she wanted to get embroiled in a conversation with him. She thought he would only find fault with her.
Silas brought up the rear behind the two older men. He didn’t look happy. The easy smile that he had worn when they had been talking in the foyer was gone. His green eyes were almost narrow with some emotion that she could not identify. Was it anger? Impatience?
She smiled at him, but he didn’t respond. He only nodded curtly to her before continuing into the room. Alice bit her lip as doubt flooded through her. Had she offended him in some way when she had talked about the painting? Perhaps it wasn’t a topic that a well brought up young lady should talk about at all.
She watched him from the corner of her eye. He seemed restless, too, leaning against the mantelpiece, a faraway look in his eyes. Then he crouched down, staring into the fire, at the flames licking upwards. She did not think she had ever seen someone look so desolate.
She bit her lip harder. Of course, this must be painful for him. He was here out of duty, to make an impression because his parents wanted him to, but he had only lost the love of his life six short months ago. That was what was wrong with him – he was thinking of Marina. She knew it as surely as if she had stepped inside his head and was inhabiting his mind.
She had to turn her face away to hide it for a moment. The disappointment was intense, taking her totally by surprise. She had so hoped that he had recovered and was willing to give their engagement a chance. That he wanted a fresh start and could put the past behind him.
What did you think, Alice? Did you really think that you could compare, in any way, to the beautiful and charismatic Marina St. George?
Tears stung her eyes. She had known that this was a possibility. She had discussed it with Charlotte only hours ago. And yet she had dared hope. That hope had grown when she had seen him and talked with him. Silas Wilmington quite simply took her breath away.
She cursed her own stupidity. Why would he even think about her in that way? She was small and plain, a veritable sparrow compared to the magnificent flamboyance of the peacock that had been Marina. Why would a man who had loved such a woman even glance sideways at a little mouse like her?
She knew, suddenly, that the kind words her parents and Charlotte spoke about her were all lies. She was no beauty at all, and she would never blossom into one. She was little Alice Sinclair who could not possibly compete with the ghost of such a magnificent woman.
Her heart sank. She should just tell Papa and Mama that she could not go ahead with it after all. She had been stupid to even think that there was a slight chance that he might be charmed by her, and that this engagement could be anything but the charade that it was.
“Alice?”
She jumped, turning around. Charlotte was at her elbow, gazing at her with large concerned eyes.
“What is wrong, dearest heart?” whispered her friend, taking her by the elbow and steering them to a corner of the room where they could talk privately.
Alice tried very hard not to cry. “It is all for naught, Charlotte. He does not like me at all. How could I have ever thought that he could, when he had…her, as a fiancée?”
Charlotte looked surprised. “I thought that it was going rather well,” she whispered. “He was talking to you easily at dinner…he seems quite charming…”
“I thought that it was, too,” said Alice, in an anguished whisper. “I even had the courage to speak to him alone, just after dinner, in the foyer, and we chatted quite easily then as well.” She hesitated. “But now he will not even look at me. He seems angry in some way. Withdrawn. I just know it is to do with her.”
“Alice,” Charlotte’s voice was stern, “you have just met the gentleman. And yes, he does have a troubled history. But you have little idea of why he might seem withdrawn now. Perhaps he had a difficult conversation with his father in the library, or something else has happened to annoy him. You cannot assume it is directed at you.”
Alice bit her lip, glancing at him again over Charlotte’s shoulder. He was still crouching by the fire, staring moodily into the flames, a set look on his face. He didn’t look up and smile at her re-assuringly.
She acknowledged to herself that Charlotte could be right. There might be many reasons for his sudden change in mood. But she knew, somehow, that it was her, and being here tonight.
He didn’t want to become engaged to her. It was that simple.
“It is all for naught,” she repeated, sighing heavily. “How can I possibly hope to charm someone who is still in love with a woman who is long gone?”
Charlotte sighed, too, glancing behind her at Silas.
“Do you like him?” she asked in a low whisper, turning back to Alice.
Alice reddened slightly. “I like him very much,” she whispered back. “He is so very handsome, and just has an air about him that draws one in…”
“Very well, then,” said Charlotte, a determined look in her eye. “We shall see if we can move past this. I think that you both need a little push in the right direction.” She paused. “Hopefully, Mr. Silas Wilmington is fond of singing…” She turned to walk away.
“Charlotte, what are you doing?” squeaked Alice, a wave of pure fear sweeping over her.
“Leave it to me,” said Charlotte.
Without another word, she walked towards the others, who were all conversing quietly, around the fire. All except Silas Wilmington, of course, who did not even glance up as Charlotte approached.
“It is rather dull,” she declared loudly, her blue eyes alight with mischief. “Would anyone mind if I played some tunes on the pianoforte?”
Alice’s mother smiled. “A grand idea, Charlotte. It is rather dull, and it would be a lovely way to finish the evening.”
“Hear, hear,” said the professor. “What do you intend to play, my dear?”
Charlotte smiled. “I shall decide when I sit at the keys, I think. But please be assured, it shall be entertaining.”
Silas Wilmington stood up slowly, straightening. He didn’t look particularly pleased with Charlotte’s declaration.
Charlotte walked to the pianoforte in the corner, sitting down, spreading her skirts around her. She placed her fingers on the keys, tinkling for a moment, before the tune became recognisable.
Alice reddened. She knew now what Charlotte was up to.
The tune she was playing was an old traditional English folk song called Paper of Pins. A song that was usually sung as a duet, by a man and a woman. A song about what must happen before two people marry.
She glared at Charlotte, willing her to stop. But Charlotte refused to look at her.
“I say,” she called, over the notes, “I shall need some singers, for this. Mr. Wilmington, and Alice. Will you not come, and assist me?”
Silas Wilmington looked astounded. “You want me to sing?”
Charlotte nodded. “Why ever not? Have you never joined in parlour music before?”
“Well, yes…”
“Come along, then.” Her voice was slightly imperious. “I am getting slightly tired of playing the beginning notes, over and over. Alice, you have a lovely voice, and know the song well.”
“Go on, Silas,” urged his mother, fanning herself vigorously. “You have a strong voice.”
He didn’t look happy. He didn’t look happy at all. But he walked over to the pianoforte, taking a deep breath. Then he turned and stared at Alice, his face solemn.
“Miss Sinclair?” He smiled slowly. “You will not let me embarrass myself alone, will you?”
Alice slowly shook her head. “Of course not.” She walked over to the pianoforte, standing beside him. He was so tall, she had to strain to look up at him. A slight tremor overtook her, and she knew that it wasn’t just performance nerves.
“Very good,” said Charlotte. “Shall we?”
Silas glanced down at Alice. “Are you ready?”
“As ready as I will ever be,” she whispered.
Their eyes met and held for a long moment. Alice felt as though she could barely breathe.
But suddenly it was his cue to start singing. His voice was deep, a rich baritone, as he sang the first verse of the song:
I’ll give to you this paper of pins
If that’s the way our love begins
If you will marry me, me, me
If you will marry me
He was smiling slightly as he sang, looking straight at her. She could almost believe that he really was singing to her, as if they were the only two people in the room.
Charlotte kept playing, and then it was her cue to sing the second verse. She took a deep breath:
I’ll not accept your paper of pins
If that’s the way our love begins
And I’ll not marry you, you, you
And I’ll not marry you
Her face felt on fire as she sang. He was gazing at her so intensely that she almost faltered. It was only the thought of making a complete fool of herself in front of him that kept her going.
They kept singing their verses in turn, him offering her many things so she would marry him, her rejecting them in turn. Until it came to the last the verses of the song. Silas took a deep breath:
Well, I’ll give to you my hand and my heart
So we may marry and never part
If you will marry me, me, me
If you will marry me
It was the last verse of the song. The verse where the woman finally accepted the man. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, as the familiar words rushed into her mind:
I will accept your hand and your heart
That we may marry and never part
And I will marry you, you, you
And you will marry me, me, me
Yes, I will marry you
Her voice hung in the air as Charlotte finished playing. There was silence for a moment. He gazed down at her intently. She felt like she couldn’t breathe again, as if it was stuck in her throat.
And then the others were applauding, clapping furiously. Alice barely heard it. It was as though she were lost in his intense green gaze, diving deep into his eyes.
“Bravo!” cried Mrs. Wilmington, approaching them both. “I say, your voices match rather well.”
“Indeed,” said Alice’s mother, smiling broadly. “They dove-tailed beautifully. A match made in heaven, I would say.”
Alice felt her face burning again. But at least the strange spell was broken. Charlotte was playing again, a jaunty jig that required no singing. She was free to melt away into the shadows if she wanted to.
Silas turned to her. “You have the voice of an angel, Miss Sinclair.”
“You are too kind, Mr. Wilmington,” she said, ducking her head, with pleasure. She knew that he was only being polite, but his praise made her glow, nonetheless. “Thank you.”
He inclined his head.
She suddenly wished that they were alone in the room. She wished all the others away entirely. What had just happened between them? It was ridiculous, but she felt that he had enjoyed singing with her as much as she had enjoyed singing with him.
Charlotte had done the right thing, as infuriating as it was. Singing together had broken the ice between them once more and accomplished more besides. It was as if an intimacy had sprung up between them. Alice knew it was an illusion, a consequence of the song, but still. It warmed her all over.
She tried not to think of the suggestiveness of the lyrics. A man, completely and utterly in love, offering anything so that the lady would marry him. It was cheeky in the extreme, given the circumstances. She knew that Charlotte had chosen it deliberately, to be provocative.
They drifted away from one another, speaking to other people. But after that, she felt his gaze on her. His green eyes were warm as they beheld her.
She could almost believe that it had been real. That he had been singing those ardent words to her, and not dreaming of a lost love as he had sung. That he wasn’t wishing it was another lady in this room that he had been singing to, rather than her.
***
That night sleep eluded her. She lay in bed, with Charlotte softly snoring beside her, and allowed her mind to drift back again to those moments when they had sung to each other.
He had spoken to her briefly before he and his parents had departed for the night, reiterating the promise of a weekend at their country home. His gaze had been avid, as if the ghosts that had been haunting him prior had suddenly fled. A brief respite?
The promise had been made. Her parents were keen, obviously delighted, at how successful the night had been. Mr. and Mrs. Wilmington looked pleased, too. It had all been arranged. And then they were gone, the carriage clattering down the dark street, into the night.
Alice got out of bed as quietly as she could. Often, when she couldn’t sleep, she would sit in her window seat, gazing out at the night. It lulled her, somehow, until she grew weary.
Tonight, a solitary cart ambled up the street, but otherwise it was entirely empty. The gas from a lamppost fluttered and spluttered in the darkness, casting a wan pool of light. It was strangely beautiful and eerie. Alice sighed deeply.
Silas Wilmington. The man who had lost his fiancée. She had not been expecting to have such an immediate and warm response to him. The best she had been hoping was to like him, just a little. It had seemed too much to expect much more.
