by Jerry Cole
But no, they held frequent balls, it seemed. They almost viewed it as their duty to society, their responsibility to provide balls and parties for others to attend. And Theodore barely had any time in which to prepare himself, much less the children for this. It was like they woke up one morning with a million tasks to complete in preparation for this event.
The younger children needed to be prepared for the first part of the ball. All the others would be allowed to stay a while longer. And Victoria would be present until the clock struck midnight. All needed outfits, lessons to refresh their etiquette, and to learn the dances that would be performed earlier in the ball.
Theodore was exhausted already, but he soldiered on, teaching the children proper manners and ensuring they would know the correct dance steps.
"No, Eliza," he said with a slight laugh. "No, you do not twirl then."
"But I like to twirl," she said, spinning on the spot so fast that Theodore felt dizzy just looking at her.
"It is after the third step, not every step," he replied.
Eliza stopped spinning and immediately fell on her bottom. "Why do you know how ladies dance."
Theodore just smiled and went back to helping Mabel learn some simple steps. "Because one must learn to dance no matter what the event."
"Can you dance with a man?" she carried on. "Would you?"
"Of course. And when you are older perhaps one day you will learn the man's steps so you can dance with your sisters and friends," he explained.
The dancing was, by far, the best and easiest part of the preparation. After this he would have to make sure Victor's etiquette was polished enough for a young gentleman his age, and that Victoria had not attempted to alter her dress to increase the cleavage again. Besides the kids, Theodore was also expected to act as support to some of the other footmen, lest the housekeeper and butler become overwhelmed.
It was almost mind-breaking, how much there would be to do. But he would, of course, manage it somehow. That was what he did. He stepped up to his challenges and found a way to overcome his own failures and flaws. He made sure to deliver what was demanded of him, no matter how difficult it was. After all, life carried on.
Victoria was being a little difficult, demanding to wear a dress that was a bit too old for her as of yet and even so she was trying to modify her current one. And Mrs. Elridge had asked Theodore, who was deeply respected by the children, to speak to Victoria about this. But first Theodore had to attend to the young ones, inspect the work performed by the maids, and, alongside the governess, make sure they were clean and well-dressed and ready for their brief escape into the ball. They were, after all, not only supposed to enjoy themselves, but also to make their parents look good.
Once the children were in bed, at the end of every day, Theodore worked a little on his own plans for his suit, shirt, and cravat. He had never realized how much work his servants used to put into his suits. It was so hard without their support, even more-so without money.
By the time the day of the ball came, he was finally allowed time to finish up his suit and get dressed for the ball itself. And he had so much left to do.
As he sat in the lounge, sewing a shirt that needed mending, Mrs. Elridge walked in, sighing wearily. "I do not understand the girl," she said.
"Victoria?" Theodore guessed.
"Indeed," Mrs. Elridge replied.
"Modifying her dress again?" he carried on.
"She is," she said. "I do not know why she does it. She knows how a lady ought to act, how she ought to dress, that she is too young for such things."
"And that is precisely why she defies," Theodore replied. "I was the same. Contrarian."
Mrs. Elridge sighed and sank further into her chair. "Why? Why are children so fastidious at her age?"
"She just wants to feel acknowledged. She knows one day soon she will be married and living on her own, and it is scary that you still consider her to be a child," Theodore explained. "She simply wants to be allowed a little space."
"Not if that space is down the front of her dress," Mrs. Elridge replied with a chuckle.
"No, but perhaps you can find another place where she might have some space and authority," Theodore said. "At your own discretion, of course."
"Of course. I am so glad I can speak to you, Theodore," she said, standing and straightening her skirts a little. "It is as though you are the little sister I never had."
He laughed. He knew she had meant it tongue-in-cheek. But he understood precisely what she meant. As she left the room, he turned his attention back to the outfit he was to put on before the ball began.
His clothes were nowhere near elegant enough, and his hair would need much attention. Even if he was to spend the afternoon with the children mostly, he would need to look acceptable. And when the children went to bed, he wanted to look absolutely gorgeous.
Theodore had attended his fair share of balls, even though he had been young. His uncle and adoptive father had wanted him to see as much of the world as possible. He loved them through and through, and always enjoyed himself. It was like every time it was a new experience. Even the same old rehearsed dances, the same festivities, the same cheerful songs and dresses all gained new meaning. Because it wasn't about the ball, or the event being celebrated. It was about the people gathering and catching up.
Where they were in the world and in society, what they were doing or planning on doing, what they had learned could change in a matter of days. So not seeing friends or family for months at a time, only receiving the odd update in the form of a letter, meant missing out on so very much. In the blink of an eye children grew up, betrothed couples got married, fortunes were made and lost. Theodore was glad every time he found out something new, every time he got closer to someone who had drifted away. He appreciated it. Even as a young lad, he understood the human value of a seemingly frivolous event.
He remembered his uncle guiding him out into the halls, and how he beamed when he was complimented on his ties and shoes. He remembered dancing with his friends and family, so happily, so full of life and light, relishing every moment by their sides, knowing it may be months before he saw them next. He remembered the songs changing with the seasons, the people growing ever closer.
Theodore had always basked in the attention he had received, both as a cute little boy and as an elegant adult man. His clothes always had to be perfect, his hair combed back, his shoes clean and shining. He learned every dance and song by heart and remembered all his manners when talking to his friends and family and elders.
As he grew older, he loved dancing especially. He had even been told off by his uncle for dancing too obviously, getting too much attention. But he chastised him with a warm and loving smile, and a hug. Uncle Smithe was good and kind. He understood that a young man like Theodore wanted to live his life and be free and joyful.
He missed those days, those dances, the smiles and laughter and the music echoing around him. He missed his uncle's affection as he played his role of adoptive father perfectly. He missed his warm embrace at the end of the night when he told Theodore how proud he was, how well-behaved Theodore had been, and how eagerly he anticipated the next ball, when all their friends and family would no doubt show him some love.
It was a shame that none of them had a minute for him once he had no money left.
This time would be different, though. He was instead responsible for the Elridges' eldest daughter, a beautiful older girl who was just old enough to get into trouble. A girl much like his own self, who daydreamed of dancing with all the handsome young men at the ball, of locking eyes with one across the room and pleading with her parents to marry him. A girl who wanted to have fun but was distracted by her own blossoming beauty and dreams for the future.
Theodore would have to be the one telling Victoria not to dance too much, or smile too earnestly, not to lose herself. Theodore would be the one trying to be kind and respectful as he protected the girl from men who would not show her as muc
h respect or kindness. He felt like a bad person, like the spoilsport who would rob the girl of her brief, juvenile pleasure of dancing the night away. But now he understood his uncle's fears when he had been younger.
"You seem distracted. Are you well?" Mrs. Elridge asked, walking in on Theodore brushing the lint from his own coat.
"Just thinking of how I shall ensure Victoria does not dance too much. I wish I could spend some time dancing as well," Theodore said with a nervous laugh, feeling bad for putting himself anywhere near as highly as the Elridges' child.
"Would you like to dance?" Mrs. Elridge asked in her usual warm, maternal tone. She was the sort of woman who treated everyone as though they were her children.
"I would love to!" Theodore replied with a broad smile, but then he hesitated. "Although my duties should keep me from it."
"Not at all, the dancing shall carry on well into the night," Mrs. Elridge said with a smile. "And it would be such a waste, if that nice suit does not get seen."
Theodore felt his heart skip a beat. "I may dance with your fine guests, madam?" he asked cautiously.
"Of course," Mrs. Elridge replied. "Once the children are in bed, you may enjoy a dance or two, Theodore. We are not living in my mother's era."
Chapter Five
Edmond thought that his troubles would be over as soon as he burned that pile of letters. But he had been wrong. Another letter arrived and, despite himself, he opened it to see what it was that they were saying. It was almost identical to the last one, as though they assumed he had not received the other one in the first place.
A part of him hesitated before burning it. Perhaps it was fate? Perhaps some sweetly singing angel was drawing him in, up to the ball, for a greater purpose than he could ever imagine? He liked to believe that all things happened for a reason. But he hoped not. At least not on this occasion.
The Elridges were not normally pushy people. They were the kind and understanding sort who never forced any assumptions on anyone. And yet the letters kept coming. He was beginning to feel overwhelmed. Perhaps something was wrong? Perhaps he was needed for some reason?
When they sent a letter with a servant who demanded a reply at the gate, he finally wrote back, saying he would not be able to make it. They replied and pleaded with him to consider the ball, explaining that they were concerned for him as he had not been seen out in wider society for months. Which was true. He wrote back again insisting he was perfectly well and simply did not wish to go.
The next letter arrived and, once again, he burned it, assuming that after their tenth follow-up they wouldn't press for any more contact. But they were like that older relative who knows you better than you know yourself. They kept writing, knowing he would want to go, knowing he would eventually give in. He stopped replying, hoping they would just give in. They were far more persistent than he had counted on, though. More persistent than he was, specifically. It would be simpler to just go.
The thought terrified him. After all, he had already persuaded himself that going to the ball was an absolutely terrible idea. But he had agreed to go, and now he could not back down. He was already regretting it.
It would take much more than just a little sense of obligation to convince him that he was doing the right thing now. Edmond looked at himself in the mirror, having chosen the perfect outfit for the ball. The fabric was fine and fashionable, but not fashion forward. Nobody could accuse him of being outdated, nor of trying to seek attention. It was also in a dull color. So dull, that he would hopefully fade into the background and not be under any obligation to talk to anyone.
Admiring his own form, he was excited to go, if he was being honest with himself. He had always loved balls when he was younger. It had been magical to dance and play and enjoy the music and food.
But this was so different from being a young boy going out for a night of fun. The fear was consuming him. It was eating up his heart and soul. He was an Earl now. Not just some kid. He had a responsibility. A thousand and one responsibilities. And he wanted none of them.
Chapter Six
Finally, the children were in bed. And most of them were even asleep.
It had been a difficult evening, with many intrusions from the governess and maids, and on one occasion the parents. But it had gone well overall, Theodore felt. And he was looking forward to dancing and socializing a little with the guests before the ball ended.
Looking in the mirror, he wondered if he looked overdressed for a live-in tutor on such a modest salary. He was thrilled to finally be able to look decent for the ball, rather than wear his usual simple servant's clothes, and run after children. It wasn't that Theodore didn't love kids, and especially the kids he was looking after. But he needed time to himself.
He walked up to the quiet young man in the corner. Theodore hated seeing anyone miss out, and he had been observant enough to know this lovely young man had not danced all night long. His outfit suggested he had more than a little wealth, but also that he was not a particularly sociable or trend-setting person either. Someone who would go unnoticed most of the time.
Normally, Theodore knew he was not to approach anyone without being properly introduced first. But he felt emboldened both by wine and by the spirit of kindness that motivated him to help this lonely man begin to have fun. He was willing to eschew social norms a little, just as his Uncle had taught him to, if it meant helping others.
"Good evening, I trust you are enjoying the ball..." Theodore began, hoping to be given a name and a title.
The man looked at Theodore with some alarm, a faint blush striking his cheeks. "I am Edmond," he said.
Theodore laughed a little. "Just Edmond?"
The man shrugged and smiled nervously. "Well, Edmond will do for now."
"No title, no surname?" Theodore carried on, wanting to be able to address the man properly."
"Does it matter?" Edmond asked back, face still pink. "If you do not know who I am, I am pretty confident you should not be approaching me. For what purpose do you speak to me?" His words suggested he should command authority, but his tone of voice was still nervous.
"I would like to dance with you," Theodore said. "But it is not appropriate for a man to ask another gentleman to dance."
Edmond froze, looking into Theodore's eyes as though wondering if this was some sort of a joke. "You... you wish to dance?"
"Yes, Edmond," Theodore replied. "We are all having a fantastic time, and I would hope that you would join the merriment, not stand by here and watch others enjoy themselves."
Edmond paused. "What might I call you?"
"Theodore," Theodore replied flatly with a grin.
"Just Theodore?" Edmond pressed.
"Or Teddy for short, I suppose," Theodore said absentmindedly.
Edmond stifled a laugh behind his hand. His smile, before it was concealed, was the loveliest thing Theodore had ever seen. "Well then, Teddy, are you going to find me a lady with whom to enjoy a dance?"
"I was thinking of performing the charitable act myself," Theodore replied. "Considering that the ratio of ladies to gentlemen is not currently at its most favorable and considering that I am the one who wishes to cheer you up, it is natural to assume that I will take the duty upon my own shoulders. Or feet, as the case may be." He held out his hand for Edmond to take. "I shall play the part of the lady, if you know the steps."
It was not unheard of, in private balls, for men to dance with men and women with women. At least not in these days. Theodore knew this. Both at balls where the divide between the sexes was not truly balanced, and at balls where there were many young people with their parents, and married people with jealous partners, it was fairly normal for same sex dance partners to join, so as to not miss out on the fun. Of course, neither of these cases seemed true for Edmond. He was both old enough to be present without protective parents, and young enough to not be yet wed, without a ring on his finger. But it was odd to see him hesitate.
"Very well," Edmond gave in, s
miling a little, taking Theodore's hand. "I am not a very good dancer, but I suppose I might as well humor you."
Theodore felt a little giddy in ways he could not understand as they began to dance at the sidelines, purely for the pleasures of dance itself, not wanting to steal the show from the beautiful young couples who currently danced in the center of the hall. But that slight privacy also meant he could observe Edmond closely, admire his body, his face, his clothes...
Edmond was a handsome man. Handsome in ways that Theodore had not seen before. He was one of the tallest people Theodore had ever met, with vast shoulders, shockingly blond hair, eyes as gray as a storm, and a strong jaw and neck.
And, despite his protests, he was a pretty incredible dancer as well. He seemed familiar with every movement and, with Theodore being barely as tall as the average lady, Edmond needed to make no adjustments to his steps or hands when dancing. Every little step was wonderfully calculated, a bounce of excitement.
"You are a peculiar man, Edmond," Theodore said. "You say you cannot dance and yet you dance beautifully."
Edmond laughed nervously. "I suppose it would have been better to state that I simply do not dance often. To be fair, I am surprising myself."
Theodore was more than a little impressed. So... handsome, unmarried, wealthy, polite, and a great dancer. Why was this man standing at the side, just watching everyone else? "Are you a friend of the Elridges?"
"Of course," Edmond replied. "Why else would I be here?"
"You appeared so silent, I was wondering if you might be an intruder of some kind," Theodore replied.
"Is that why you are dancing with me?" Edmond asked, slowing to a halt as the music stopped. "To catch me out?"
Theodore shook his head. "I simply wished to dance with you. Shall we have another dance?"
Edmond reached out but stopped. "No, I have not danced in some time. I think I shall have a drink."
"A robust, healthy young man such as yourself is tired already?" Theodore asked, raising an eyebrow.
