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Though the hour had yet to descend into evening, the late November afternoon was ink-dark and thick with gloom. Streetlamps shone through the rain, a line of beacons that the horses followed, whisking Marietta to her ballet class in the Stelle family carriage. Thunder rolled through distant skies and cafés blazed with light and the promise of warmth as passers-by rushed inside. Beside Marietta, Miss Worthers pursed her lips. ‘Such terrible weather in which to be gallivanting about the city. Still, we might as well use our time wisely. Shall we go over the approved talking points for your next conversation with Lord Compton? Your mother has already drawn up a list.’ Marietta turned her attention to the carriage window. ‘I would rather not.’ They were passing through Old Market Square, which was bustling with preparations for the annual Christmas market, large crates unboxed to reveal glimpses of gingerbread and glass baubles. Marietta hoped the rain would freeze into snow in time for its grand opening. She heard Miss Worther’s disproving sniff and awaited the inevitable diatribe. Her former governess turned paid companion was under the employ of her father and she had no doubt the beady-eyed woman was reporting back a log of her activities until she was safely married off. In the meantime, Marietta was forced to endure her suffocating presence like a second corset. ‘I implore you to consider the consequences of your actions,’ Miss Worthers chided. ‘It is most unbecoming at your age to demonstrate such disagreeability.’ ‘I am beginning to suspect that the term unbecoming is used whenever one is met with a difference in opinion,’ Marietta said wryly. Before her chaperone could voice another criticism, before the horses had halted,Chapter Two
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This channel is for book lovers so I guess it will be boring for those of you who don't like to read 🥲. I'll look for an activity for you guys too😂👍
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companions and the Palm Court décor, redolent in soft apricot, panelled
mirrors reflecting the sparkling chandeliers a thousand-fold.
Theodore’s nostrils flared. ‘Might I remind you that Lord Compton is
the Marquess of Northampton. The next time you choose to insult a peer of
the realm, you ought to recall that I have been more than generous in
allowing you to host your upcoming performance in our ballroom. It is high
time you demonstrated a little gratitude. I have invited Lord Compton and
several other suitors to our Christmas Ball in the hopes that they shall find
your dancing an attractive quality in a prospective wife. Perhaps this will
even hasten a betrothal.’
Marietta regarded her father coolly over her crystal glass.
‘Darling, it is most unbecoming to be unmarried at your age,’ Ida added.
‘When I was twenty, I had been married for three years.’ She paused.
‘Perhaps Lord Compton shall give you a second chance.’
Frederick cleared his throat before she could respond. ‘Father, what are
your thoughts on this new battleship? They say the HMS Dreadnought will
revolutionise our navy.’
The soup course was cleared away and the next course brought in, the
footmen fading into the background, ever-present shadows. Marietta tuned
out the politicking between her father and brother, grateful for Frederick’s
interception of the conversation before she had spoken out of turn.
Conversing with her father was a tactical art not unlike a game of chess; it
necessitated clear strategy and focus.
She laid her silver fork down, the aroma of thick pastry and gravy
clotting her stomach. Gazing out the window, she imagined the candle
perched against the dark glass as a star to be wished upon. When she
danced, she was a conjurer, writing spells with the whirls and arcs of her
body. Her dancing was hers and hers alone, not for the enticement of any
man, nor for her father to wield as a weapon against her. When she danced,
she flew on gossamer wings that lifted her away from the dragging weight
of her family’s expectations. Enticed her with a glimpse of an alternate path
to the one she was obligated to tread. When she danced, she had a voice.
And nothing was more fearsome than a silent future.
END OF CHAPTER ONE
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To their parents’ knowledge, Theodore had stamped out Frederick’s
passion for painting before his voice had broken, diverting his path onto law
school. Frederick was now a post-graduate student, following in their
father’s footsteps and eventually bound to join Theodore in presiding over
the courts of Nottingham. It was Theodore’s position as a high court judge
that had led to his being bestowed the courtesy title of Baron,
a too- appealing prospect for the young Ida, who was a woman of means but craved the delicious satisfaction of her sisters addressing her as The Right Honourable. The match had suited the equally socially ambitious Theodore and the pair had been manoeuvring themselves upwards ever since. Having children proved to be another asset which they could use to aid them in this endeavour. Marietta pointed her toes beneath the table, considering whether she ought to have the dressmaker adjust her dress so she might dance in it. The blush roses were the exact shade of her pointe shoes. Theodore turned to her. ‘And how have you been spending your days?’ Her daydream melted away, leaving her with the dregs of reality. ‘I—’ Her thoughts were slow, sticky as caramel. ‘The usual agenda of shopping and luncheons.’ Frederick came to her aid, raising his eyes to the heavens. Marietta smiled at him and he inclined his head. The extra ballet practices that had been consuming her time remained an unspoken truth. ‘That reminds me, your mother has informed me that you failed remarkably in sustaining Lord Compton’s attention over afternoon tea last week, despite her efforts in contriving a meeting between you.’ Marietta’s royal cheddar soup – already cold having been served room temperature so as not to necessitate the unseemly blowing upon it to cool it – turned thick and cloying in her throat. She sipped her sherry in an effort to settle her mood. When she spoke, it was in a more assured tone. ‘Charles Compton is an utter bore and thoroughly ill-natured.’ In fact, he had spent the entirety of their afternoon in the brand-new Ritz expounding on the chestnut thoroughbred he was having shipped from Argentina. Marietta had learnt far more than she had ever desired on the subject of polo ponies and had scarcely uttered more than a word. Though she had observed that his unfortunate macrodontia lent him a certain resemblance to his beloved thoroughbred. Grounds for marriage, it was not. By contrast, Ida had spent a pleasurable few hours drinking in the duchess’s scrutiny of their dining
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