Some Enchanted Waltz, A Time Trave Romance

by Lily Silver

  He helped her from the high seat of his Phaeton, and led her inside without a word.

  After ordering for them both, he gave her a sympathetic smile and said in the lowest whisper. “You seem upset, my lady. Do you wish to talk to someone about it?”

  “I don’t think so.” Tara sipped the hot chocolate he had ordered for her while waiting for him to lead the conversation elsewhere.

  He didn’t, he merely regarded her with those, kind, compassionate eyes.

  “Lord Edward,” Tara began. “I appreciate your kindness.” She stopped, not knowing quite how to put it. Society was so full of rules and strict codes of behavior.

  “Call me Edward, please.”

  “Edward, I’m concerned. Is it … does this seem … scandalous. The two of us together here? Will we be damned by society for …” She blushed and looked quickly away. All she needed was to have Adrian or his mother infuriated with her for going off with a strange man for the afternoon. She hadn’t thought about it until, now, as they sat together in the shadows of the coffee shop.

  Edward leaned forward, so that his low whisper would not carry beyond her ears. “Not at all. We aren’t puritans here. A married lady is given a generous amount of social freedom. We have been discreet, have we not? In full view of the public at all times? Your husband is a friend of mine and we are both married.”

  He sipped his chocolate slowly, continuing his social discourse. “Had I taken you to my residence or a hotel, that would have been another matter. We have nothing to hide, do we, now?” He gestured to the full room of patrons surrounding them.

  “A single girl, on the other hand, is subject to another set of social barriers. She may not reside under the roof of a single man unchaparoned, unless he be a father, uncle, brother, some type of blood relative. The exception being only those who for want of anyone else have a male guardian appointed to them by the courts. Again, it is almost always a relative.”

  “How quaint.” Tara quipped, rolling her eyes at the primitive mind set. She stirred her chocolate to disperse the cinnamon that had settled to the bottom of the cup.

  Lord Edward was quick to pick up on her smile. “You find our ideas of propriety amusing?”

  “Yes.” Tara offered. “I find them barbaric. Adrian and his mother wouldn’t even allow me to walk about the town on my own the night we arrived here. They swore it was most improper for a woman to be out at night without an escort. Mrs. Dillon said I’d be mistaken for a prostitute. It’s ridiculous.”

  “And more sadly, quite true, my dear.” Edward added. She allowed him to order her a second cup of hot chocolate with a twist of cinnamon as she turned the conversation to her own advantage.

  “And what of the Irish cause? I know you are involved, as is my husband, yet both of you expect me to sit by the fire reading romances, ignore the danger you are in when in fact it could make me a widow at an early age.”

  It was his turn to become moody and circumspect. Edward stirred his chocolate. “I would caution you, Madame, not to raise such an issue in a public place.”

  Tara scanned the room. “We are not observed, nor is anyone near enough to hear our conversation.”

  Edward gave the room a casual perusal. “I beg to differ, my lady. That man over there, with the bowler hat, is reading his paper, yet his eyes stare vaguely, as if he is concentrating on something else and merely giving the appearance of reading. He is a government official, a low one, something slightly above dog-catcher. Nonetheless, such men are wont to covet higher positions and the English government pays dearly for information leading to the capture of insurrectionists. He could become the mayor overnight. And that gentleman to our left, the one with the monocle, he’s been watching us most curiously for the past hour. Granted he may not be able to hear our conversation, yet suppose he could, madam. And so it is with the waiter and the matrons there by the window. They’ll be telling society of our little outing, of that I have no doubt. I would prefer it was under the guise of being lovers rather than co-conspirators.”

  “I see, so instead of leveling with me, you brush off my inquiries, as does my husband.”

  “You are too beautiful, too delicate to have to endure the lash … or worse. Those who are suspected of merely possessing knowledge are subject to the most heinous torture, to the extent that they often times make up information merely to stop it. Your husband wishes to protect you, be glad of it, Madame.”

  Tara knew that was to be the only enlightenment he intended to give her on the subject of the United Irishmen. The subject was closed. Edward turned the conversation to the ladies near the window, discussing their appalling choices of headwear and comparing them to the most empty-headed dandies about town. Tara soon realized that if the gentleman with the monocle sitting in the corner were indeed listening in, he would believe Edward was only a self-centered fop, hardly a danger to society.

  As the afternoon shadows deepened in to dusk, Edward rose and commented that it was time he returned Lady Dillon to her home on Merrion Square.

  Adrian didn’t realize he had nodded off in the parlor, not until he was awakened.

  “I say, he does look a fright, doesn’t he.” Lord Edward’s voice intruded at the same moment a soft hand touched Adrian’s arm. He must have dozed off. It was dark outside.

  “Tara.” Adrian yawned, his mind muddled with confusion. “You’re home.”

  “When Lord Edward came by you were sleeping. He offered to take me for a ride in his buggy.”

  “Phaeton, my dear, it is not a buggy, a Phaeton, the finest racing curricle to be invented.” Edward interrupted with pride.

  “You didn’t race with her along.” Adrian was wide awake instantly. Edward knew no bounds where caution was concerned if a wager were placed on whose horse was the fastest.

  “Give me some credit, old friend, for being discreet with a lady.”

  That smug smile plastered on Edward’s face, and his disturbing words about being discreet deepened Adrian’s ire regarding their little outing. “And where did you take my wife this afternoon?”

  “We rode through the park,” Tara answered. “He introduced me to the local gentry, and brought me up to speed on who’s who, and afterward we stopped at the Coffee Shop. Lord Fitzgerald was kind enough to take me to the apothecary so that I could purchase some peppermint leaves to settle your stomach.”

  Adrian looked from her to Edward, and back at Tara. She seemed at ease with her explanation, as was Edward. Neither had the appearance of guilty lovers hiding a secret.

  It wasn’t fair to think ill of her, his conscience chided. She was being nice to his friend. And hadn’t she thought of him during their outing? She went to the apothecary to buy him medicine. He felt foolish for his jealousy, and yet, being married to a beautiful woman was bound to make a man fearful of losing her.

  “I’m sorry.” Tara offered. “I didn’t mean to worry you. I left word with Rupert. He assured me you would sleep most of the day and the fresh air would do me good.”

  That sounded like something his old Methodist valet would say. To Rupert, exhortations to exercise and partake of fresh air were as common as the Bible passages he felt inclined to share aloud on occasion. Tara hadn’t left him after all. It was just his imagination running amuck from a mixture of bad poteen and brandy.

  “You look pale. Perhaps you should lie down.” She touched his brow.

  “I’m fine.” He pulled Tara onto his lap, enveloping her in a possessive hug for the benefit of Lord Edward, who stood a few feet away. “I was beginning to worry whether you would return at all.”

  “Why?” Her innocence made him feel like a cad.

  “You were rather angry with me this morning.” He reminded her.

  “Lover’s quarrel, hey?” Edward smirked.

  Of course the rake would not fail to remark upon that part of the conversation. Adrian quelled the strong urge to order the dandy from his house. Instead, he gave him a cool look of reproach.

  Tara
stroked his forehead with tenderness. “I hoped you would forget that. I was up half the night worrying and I took it out on you when you were suffering from the effects of the poteen. Edward explained it to me. I apologize for my sharpness with you.”

  The glacial stare he was directing at Edward was deflected by Edward’s ridiculous smile, so he turned his attentions back to his bride. Tara was sitting on his lap with her arm about his neck, running her fingers through his hair in the most casual and relaxed manner, as if they had been married for years. She had a faraway look in her eyes as she gave him her sole attentions, forgetting Edward standing near the parlor door. Adrian could only gaze back into her sweet emerald eyes. She came back to him, after he’d made a fool of himself the night before a thousand times over.

  “Egad, I’ve a dinner at the Muckrosses townhouse. Must dash.” Edward intruded upon the magic. He stepped forward, waving his cane at Adrian in warning. “A word of advice, my friend; never drink Jasper’s poteen, its positively wicked. It gives me indigestion for days afterwards.” Lord Edward gave him a pensive blue gaze before whispering, “I dare not wander far from the chamber pot, if you catch my meaning. I dumped mine in the philodendron planter last night.”

  “From what Edward said about that vile brew, I was concerned that you might have food poisoning. The apothecary has never heard of sulfa drugs. That’s what they use in America to treat E-coli.” Tara said as she stroked his long mane.

  “Jasper would not poison me.” Adrian assured her. “He’s an old friend.”

  “I didn’t mean deliberately. Food can have bacteria in it.” Tara looked from Adrian to Edward, appearing perturbed, as if trying to explain something very simple to children. “When it’s spoiled and you eat it, or in your case, drink it, the bacteria is incubated in your body, it grows, spreads and poisons your blood, your liver, your kidneys …”

  Adrian looked to Edward, who shrugged, intimating he was also lost by her queer explanation.

  Tara sighed with annoyance. “Never mind. I’ll make you some peppermint tea.”

  Lord Edward took his leave. Tara went into the kitchen to prepare his tea. The idea that she would take the time to care for him herself instead of ordering a servant to see to it pleased Adrian.

  She returned within a few moments, bringing tea and a tray with sandwiches and milk for them. Adrian balanced a cup of tea on his knee, feeling genuinely blessed by the presence of such a caring, considerate woman in his life. The fire crackled in the hearth. The tea soothed the gremlins in his belly. He knew contentment just sitting here with her, a feeling he hadn’t known for ages.

  Tara nibbled at her sandwich and worried about the man beside her. He didn’t wish to eat. His black velvet smoking jacket only enhanced his pallor. She hoped he wasn’t suffering from food poisoning. The apothecary acted as if she were speaking in another language when she’d explained E-Coli to him. No one here seemed to understand the grave importance of such an illness or the concept of bacteria growing in food and making it poisonous. They all looked at her as if she were touched in the head.

  Adrian appeared wrung out. He didn’t have the severe abdominal cramps or diarrhea associated with food poisoning. He just looked very pale, and very tired.

  “How is your stomach?”

  “Better. This is quite soothing.” He lifted the teacup to his lips. “Thank you.”

  They sat together in a companionable silence for some time before Tara realized their tranquil evening was due to the absence of Lady Fiona. “Where is your mother?” She asked in what she prayed was not too hopeful a voice.

  “She’s spending the night with friends.”

  Tara nodded, hiding her relieved smile.

  “Quite pleasant, is it not?”

  “Ah … yes … I mean …” Tara stammered, guilty by her own admission.

  “Very peaceful.” Adrian continued in a relaxed tone. “Just the two of us, no arguing, no weeping or accusations.” He turned his head slowly to her as he spoke. “A man could come to love to such a serene existence.”

  Tara offered him a reticent smile. She wasn’t about to comment further.

  “Thank you for making this.” He lifted the cup and saucer in his hand.

  That the simple act should solicit profuse gratitude was not lost on Tara. He seemed deeply affected by her care for him. Hadn’t his mother made him a soothing cup of tea or warmed milk to ease his childhood hurts? Had he been raised by servants, people who didn’t love him, people who were paid to attend his needs? Was that what brought this man to his knees with gratitude when someone treated him with genuine kindness that was not prompted by a paycheck?

  A sharp pang of anxiety grew within, a raw undercurrent of remembered pain. Endless loneliness and the yearning for love. For comfort, nurturing and tenderness. The need to belong to someone, the yearning for a family.

  Arms wrapped about her, pulling Tara back from the rocky precipice of terror as the overwhelming sensation of vast emptiness threatened to consume her. “What is it, darling?” He whispered in her ear. “You look so … lost.”

  “I don’t know.” Tara said quickly, trying to dispel the horrible feeling of abandonment that had just swept over her. It was so real; so incredibly and frighteningly real. It felt as if she didn’t even exist until she’d come into his world. She allowed him to pull her closer as she sought the shelter of his embrace.

  “Did you remember something?” His words were soft as velvet.

  Tara shook her head, unable to explain the feeling of utter dread and emptiness that had washed over her moments earlier, of being utterly alone and unloved. It was real, and so painful she didn’t want to face it by admitting it to another.

  “Sweetheart, you looked so frightened. Did I say something, or do something to bring such fear to you just now?”

  Tara sought his eyes for the answer to the questions he was asking and those in her own heart. “I don’t know how to explain it.” She whispered, her voice shaking. “Just hold me. It feels so good, so right.” Those gentle gray eyes caressed her. Tenderness was reflected in his eyes, tenderness, understanding, and something more complex.

  His hand pulled her head to rest beneath his chin. Adrian just held her as she’d asked. Only the fire crackling and sizzling in the hearth intruded upon this rare serenity.

  The minutes passed slowly as the clock on the mantle kept a steady beat. Tara kept her eyes closed, savoring the peacefulness of his arms about her, of being close without demands of intimacy as payment for the service. She listened to his heart hammering steadily beneath her cheek, the soft, consistent rhythm lulled her.

  At last Tara pulled away to look up at his face. She shifted until her head was resting on his velvet shoulder.

  Adrian adjusted his position and his arm to accommodate her. His features were stern. His skin had a bronze cast in the low firelight. “Tell me what is troubling you.”

  His words and the gentle rumble of his voice beneath her cheek evoked pleasant, soothing sensations. This man cared for her. He might not come out and say I love you, yet Tara understood that he did care; deeply. If he did not, he wouldn’t be troubled by her melancholy or her fears. He wouldn’t have sunk into seething jealousy when she returned with Edward. The reality brought comfort and fear.

  “I’m all right, now.” Tara sat up, allowing him to drop his arm about the back of the sofa and rest his hand on her shoulder.

  “We leave for Seafield House the day after tomorrow.”

  His declaration brought on a whole new set of fears. She didn’t want to face all those snobbish people. She imagined them all being just like Fiona Dillon, watching her every movement with those cold gray assessing eyes. Tara didn’t know much about Georgian society or the strict codes of conduct a ball would dictate. And she was weary of their restrictive manners. “I’m not sure I want to go to the ball at Seafield House.”

  “We’ve accepted the invitation.”

  “I don’t believe I know how to dance, not y
our complex quadrilles and such.”

  Adrian straightened, releasing her from his arms as he took her hand. “Then it’s time to learn, Lady Dillon.” He pulled her to her feet. “Just follow me, and count, one, two, three … one, two, three … and turn …” He whirled her about with his hand raised above her head. “Like so.”

  And they were dancing. Simply whirling about the room with Adrian leading her.

  After a few exhilarated moments, Adrian paused to explain the steps to the quadrille, a complicated group dance where partners were changed at certain signals. It began with two lines of dancers, with partners facing one another. First, they bowed to the partner, and then in unison the females glided forward to meet between the two lines to press palms with the female directly opposite and walk in a circle before moving to take their place at the opposite side of the line. Next, the men moved so, and then the couples came together again, palm to palm, round about, then darting gracefully back into the line to face one another.

  They practiced it over and over. Adrian directed her and had her raise her hand to dance with a ghost partner as he remained in line and directed her. He counted out the steps, and glided into the ‘center’ to dance with her. Under his direction the confused chaos became an elegant, graceful ritual dance. Step forward, palms together, walk in a circle, step back. The clock struck midnight as the chimes of St. Anne’s church could be heard throughout the city. Tara whirled about, mis-stepped, laughed at her own clumsiness, and Adrian patiently began again. And again.

  At last, Adrian suggested they try it when his mother was home and she could have real partners to change with instead of imaginary ones as the clock chimed one-thirty. He began to waltz with her, his eyes becoming dusky. “The waltz is frowned upon in the stricter London circles.” He explained, holding her close. “The waltz is popular in Europe. We may have an opportunity to dance it at Seafield House, as Lady White is very stylish and modern in her tastes. She was in Europe last year. “If the scandalous waltz is offered before the supper break, please save it for me, only me.”