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Chapter 9
Baldwin found himself once more in conversation with a young woman he’d briefly thought, two or three years before, he might wish to court. Her name was Penelope Sussel, and she was quite pretty and red-headed, similarly sombre and seemingly eager to settle. She looked at him with large green and expectant eyes. She’d never asked him why, when it seemed that they’d been meant to be together, he hadn’t taken the plunge. He was grateful for this, as it was rather difficult to explain.
Of course, tonight seemed to be far different.
“It’s difficult, seeing you again,” she said, after the initial hellos and how are yous.
She arched her brow, which was also red, as he sputtered and asked, “What on earth do you mean?”
“You know precisely what I mean,” she said.
Baldwin pressed his lips together for a long time. How could he possibly verbalise it? He’d been too committed to work; he’d been there for the decline of his father; he’d felt that his time was better utilized when drinking with Ewan rather than sitting quietly in the garden with her; he hadn’t felt a powerful connection; he hadn’t been able to picture his life with her. The words poured from his mouth.
“I really don’t,” he uttered. “But it’s wonderful to see you again, Penelope. Pray tell, how was your winter? Spring?”
Penelope made an annoying hiccup sound in her throat. “You were never one for provocative conversation, dear Baldwin. Those hours we spent together, I so yearned for you to open up. To tell me what you actually felt. But you seemed so void of feeling. It was as though someone else had operation over your tongue—and that someone else wanted only to speak of the weather. I knew you through Ewan and thought that that would be a reflection of who you were. Goodness, wasn’t I incorrect?”
“Have you considered a conversation with Ewan, then?” Baldwin returned. “I think he’s rather alone at the moment.”
“You can’t get rid of me so quickly,” Penelope said. She clenched her glass of wine a bit too hard, an act that made her fingers bright white.
Baldwin so yearned to ask her how many glasses she’d had since the beginning of the party. It was a stroke of luck, then, that when he glanced up, he spotted Marta dancing with the Duke, Lord Remington: a sight that made his heart feel squeezed with terror. Of course, he’d known that Aunt Margaret wanted to suit them up. It was ever her decree to link together her beautiful son and daughter and nieces and nephews with other more powerful and connected creatures. But when Lord Remington had first approached, Baldwin had, for reasons he couldn’t fully fathom, assumed that they wouldn’t stitch together. Yet here was proof that he was wrong.
“I see that I’ve already lost you,” Penelope said. She again clucked her tongue. Annoyance filtered across her face. “What is it this time, Baldwin? Hmm?”
“Terribly sorry. I lost myself for a moment.” Baldwin blundered a bit. “Perhaps…”
The song ended. Suddenly, he watched as Marta left the ballroom with Tatiana. His heart dipped into his stomach. He was grateful that she hadn’t inclined to remain with the Duke. What sort of things had they discussed throughout their dance? Had she given him a piece of herself that she’d been unwilling to give him?
Foolish. It was foolish, all of it. Baldwin hadn’t given Marta any inclination that she should consider him in such a fashion. Beyond that, Aunt Margaret hadn’t planned for it.
Penelope clucked her tongue. “Won’t you ask me to dance at least, Baldwin?” she demanded. “i’ve put up with years of your abuse, and I yearn only for a single swirl…”
“Very well.” In truth, Baldwin would have danced with anyone, such was his glee that Marta had ceased her conversation with the Duke.
Penelope looked overjoyed at this fact. She latched her hand in his—and it was admittedly quite creamy and soft—and he found the crook at the base of her back. In moments, they collected themselves in the centre of the floor. Baldwin focused his feet on the steps he’d learned long ago and hardly listened as she prattled on about this and that: her relationship with her sister, the fact that her mother yearned for grandchildren. In truth, Baldwin hardly remembered anything about her mother and sister. They were merely grey shadows lurking behind his eyes.
When the dance finished, he bowed and thanked her. She said, “Find me again later. I’ll ask for another dance. I think you owe me at least two.”
But Baldwin was assured that this wouldn’t occur. He swept back across the floor, grabbed a glass of wine, and hunkered near Ewan. Ewan himself was amid another conversation with a beautiful blonde girl he’d met previously. Baldwin couldn’t remember her name. When she opened her lips to laugh, the laugh was dreadful and high-pitched, almost animal-like. Why was it he felt that he couldn’t listen to anyone laugh beyond Ewan and, admittedly, Marta?
As he waited, Marta and Tatiana re-entered the ballroom. His heart felt squeezed with delight, yet he ensured that this emotion wasn’t reflected in his face. Tatiana and Marta approached, looking rather sheepish, as though they’d been amid some sort of deep, world-flipping conversation. These were the sort that Baldwin was entirely accustomed to, although Ewan wasn’t necessary keen on them.
“Good evening thus far?” Baldwin asked. He was grateful that his voice remained chipper.
“Quite!” Tatiana returned. “We’ve just heard my sons screaming in the garden. I’m grateful that I don’t have them to myself just now.”
“I don’t envy whoever is at their mercy,” Baldwin said, chuckling.
“My maid,” Marta interjected. “Darling girl. She’ll be back in Austria in a few hours’ time. She’s never really taken to children.”
“What a funny thing! I never imagined that to be any sort of option,” Tatiana said. “Not taking to children. As a woman?”
“She’s a rather different sort of woman,” Marta admitted. Her eyes glowed beautifully.
Suddenly, Theo appeared behind his wife. His hand latched around her back, and he tugged her close to whisper in her ear. Her face cracked with laughter. Seconds later, Theo whisked her across the floor. Their feet took on the dance steps perfectly, and Tatiana flipped her head out, making her curls shake.
“They’re really a beautiful couple,” Marta said. Her voice sounded rather far away, as though the view bothered her.
