Miss Wilton's Waltz Read online

  “Don’t you agree, Lenora?” Aunt Gwen asked.

  “Oh, yes,” Lenora said, an expert at keeping half an ear to conversation while still absorbing the details around her.

  “The lemon macarons are my particular favorite,” Aunt Gwen added.

  Lenora opened her mouth to share her opinion of the delectable cookies—her personal vice—but Mr. Harpshod spoke before she’d managed to utter a sound.

  “Oh, yes, indeed.” Mr. Harpshod went on to say that while Hoopers’ macarons were very good, they were nothing compared to the macarons he’d had from a confectionary in Portsmouth a few summers ago. He had a house in that city, you know. Left to him by his mother’s uncle.

  Lenora wasn’t offended by his interruption and maintained a polite expression; she never minded being on the listening side of any conversation. She looked at the mismatched button on Mr. Harpshod’s vest again and imagined another scenario in which he was not as well-heeled as he professed to be and could not afford a new waistcoat, therefore he had to make whatever repairs necessary to continue the farce of his wealth until he could land some windfall investment or procure a rich wife. The house in Portsmouth was decrepit and mortgaged. Perhaps he’d come to Bath in time to be settled for the winter season where he would meet the heiresses on display while they waited for the London Season to resume in the early spring.

  Her polite smile did not shift as her mind wandered, and when Mr. and Mrs. Grovesford announced that they had to be on their way, she lifted her eyebrows in the universal expression of “So sorry this lovely evening must come to an end.” And it had been a lovely evening. Aunt Gwen had allowed her to play the pianoforte in the too-warm room during much of the drawing room socializing, and when Lenora had finally joined the conversation, the guests had been gracious and witty, and she’d conversed easily.

  Even Mr. Harpshod was not objectionable, but there was nothing particularly endearing about him either. His sister—a quiet thing of eighteen years—rose when he did. As did Mr. and Mrs. Shelby, who were speaking with Mr. Johnstone on the other side of the room.

  Aunt Gwen loved to entertain on Sunday evenings, and the company was always good, but Lenora was not sad to see the dinner guests leave. Sunday evenings were for Aunt Gwen, but once the house was still and the moon was high, the night was Lenora’s. She’d become quite comfortable in Bath, though no one would ever guess just how comfortable. She was very different from the woman she’d been in Leagrave.

  “What an enjoyable evening,” Aunt Gwen said once the guests had been shown out. Her terrace house boasted four levels, with a large bay window in the front parlor that overlooked Gay Street. Aunt Gwen nodded to the footman standing near the door, and he left the room. She had a secret fancy for whiskey, but never indulged when she had guests. That she didn’t consider Lenora a guest was something Lenora took rather a lot of pride in.

  “It was an enjoyable evening,” Lenora agreed. “The chocolate custard was especially good. I’m glad you allowed Cook to experiment on a company night.”

  “Oh, I am, too,” Aunt Gwen said with a nod. “I shall have Cook put it on regular rotation.”

  “An excellent idea.”

  The footman returned with a tray holding a single glass of whiskey.

  “You are sure you won’t join me?” Aunt Gwen said as she took the glass.

  Lenora answered with a laugh; Aunt Gwen made the same offer every evening. “Yes, Auntie, I am sure.” The smell of whiskey was enough to put her off the foul drink; she was not one for liquor.

  “I would not tell your father,” Aunt Gwen added conspiratorially, pressing harder than usual.

  Lenora shook her head. “You would not have to. He would smell it on my breath when I see him at Christmas in three months’ time.” She winked, and Aunt Gwen laughed. Lenora of Leagrave never winked. Lenora of Bath only winked when funning her aunt, but it was yet another change she could credit to the city.

  Aunt Gwen took a long swallow and melted against the cushions of the settee with a sigh. “Does that mean you will go to Leagrave for Christmas, then? You’ve made up your mind?”

  Mother’s invitation had arrived the middle of August—a full fortnight ago and months ahead of necessity. She would be soon following up on why Lenora had not yet answered.

  “In all honesty, I would refuse Christmas if I felt I could do so without infuriating my mother.” Lenora hadn’t been to Leagrave since Cassie’s wedding.

  “I think you mean breaking her heart.”

  Lenora wrinkled her nose as though considering Aunt Gwen’s concern. Her parents did not seem particularly hurt by her having missed two years’ worth of holiday celebrations, just embarrassed that they could not boast that all six of their perfectly traditional daughters were mothering and homemaking the way God intended for women. Spending Christmas at the vicarage would likely include a few sermons on marriage and family and how the roles were key components of God’s plan for all women. Lenora did not look forward to that, and yet she did look forward to seeing her family, including Cassie and Evan’s new daughter.

  Aunt Gwen finished her whiskey. “They worry about you, Lenora, that is all.”

  “I know.” Lenora did not want to think on the topic any longer. It was late enough in the evening for her to excuse herself. There was a new moon tonight; her favorite nights were the dark ones.

  “And your thoughts on Mr. Harpshod?”

  Lenora looked up in surprise, took in the slightly shamed look on her aunt’s face, and reviewed the evening in the space of a blink. Mr. Harpshod was a single man invited to a dinner party with exactly one unmarried woman, who was not his sister, present. Lenora had noted his buttons and his thinning hair and yet entirely missed that he was . . . eligible. “Aunt Gwen!”

  Aunt Gwen avoided Lenora’s eyes as she beckoned the footman to fetch her empty glass.

  “You of all people?” Lenora continued, frowning. “And him of all men?” She struck a thoughtful pose and put a finger and thumb to her chin for effect. “I would suggest a chiseled jawline, enchanting eyes, and perhaps broad shoulders next time. Yes, definitely shoulders.” She couldn’t actually remember Mr. Harpshod’s shoulders, which meant they must not have been anything remarkable.

  Aunt Gwen narrowed her eyes, joining in the spirit of playfulness. “I had no idea you had such physical expectations.”

  “I have no expectations,” Lenora clarified with a laugh. “But if you are playing matchmaker, at least make it a game worth playing on my part.” Lucky for her, there were very few men of such description in Bath, which had transitioned thirty years ago from a resort of fashion, pedigree, and wealth to a lovely town of cures, comfort, and a decidedly gray-haired population. Few people kept their own carriages, and those who did not walk everywhere were carried to and fro on sedan chairs, like royalty.

  “What a shameless thing for a vicar’s daughter to say,” Aunt Gwen said, but her smile was encouraging.

  “Well, as I’ve said before, I am different in—”

  “—Bath, I know,” Aunt Gwen finished. “You should go home for Christmas and let your family see what a saucy girl you’ve turned into.”

  “If that is not the pot and the kettle, I don’t know what is, Auntie.” Lenora was afraid that when she returned to Leagrave, she would retreat behind the piano, move quietly from one task to another, and spend the majority of her time listening to conversation swirl around her while entertaining her sisters’ children. That’s what spinster sisters were for, after all, and she suspected her sisters all felt a bit put out that she did not travel from one household to another to help each time someone was ill or had a new baby. “I enjoy my independence in Bath, that is all, and that is what I shall tell them. The sauce will not come with me.”

  Lenora glanced at the clock—quarter after ten. She stood and crossed the room to give her aunt a kiss on the cheek.

/>   “So, no to Mr. Harpshod?” Aunt Gwen asked as Lenora pulled back.

  “No to Mr. Harpshod.” Lenora put her hands on her hips. “I must say I’m surprised that you of all people would do such a thing.”

  Aunt Gwen’s marriage as a young woman had not been a love match and had produced no children. When her husband died unexpectedly, Aunt Gwen invested her inheritance and purchased a terrace house, living a gentlewoman’s life without needing to marry again. Aunt Gwen had never goaded Lenora regarding marriage, which Lenora assumed meant that Aunt Gwen approved of Lenora’s choosing against the institution she herself had not found overly enjoyable. The footman arrived with an additional glass of whiskey. Good. Aunt Gwen would be asleep by eleven.

  Once the footman had left, Lenora spoke again. “Who put you up to it—my mother?”

  Aunt Gwen shifted, looking everywhere but at her niece.

  “My father?”

  “Victoria,” Aunt Gwen finally said, placing the blame squarely on the most meddling of Lenora’s older sisters. “She wrote to me and asked that I please help you find a husband, that your parents and sisters are distressed. I thought I would create this one event so I could tell her I’d done as she asked.”

  “Because I can never be happy without a husband?”

  Aunt Gwen looked at the floor. Contrition did not suit her.

  Lenora sighed and sat down next to Aunt Gwen on the plum-colored settee. “I am not angry with you.”

  Aunt Gwen met her eye, repentant and oddly insecure. “Are you sure?”

  “I could never be angry with you after all you’ve done for me, but . . . do not do this.” She held her aunt’s gaze to be sure that she was understood. Lenora’s stomach tightened at giving her aunt an order, but she had spent the last two years teaching obstinate fifteen-year-old girls to play Für Elise. She could stand up to her aunt. “If I have to look out for prospects when I stay with you, I’ll stay at the school on the weekends. I cannot make room for considering marriage again. I wasted twenty-three years of my life on that plan. Let me have the freedom to pursue my own course. Please.” Lenora was impressed with how steady her voice was and how practiced the words felt despite never having articulated them before.

  “Very well, but living alone becomes lonely over time. I have friends and I enjoy my independence, but the evenings are long, and I have no children to comfort me as I grow older. I wonder if I was too determined in not attempting to find love when I had the chance.”

  “I will remember that you told me as much,” Lenora said obediently, but her decision had been made two years ago. “Good night.”

  Lenora placed a second kiss on her aunt’s soft cheek before making her way to the bedchamber Aunt Gwen had given her when she’d arrived in Bath the first time. The school term was starting tomorrow, so Lenora would move back to live in the staff apartments during the week. Her trunk was half-packed; she’d finish in the morning.

  Lenora’s stomach fluttered with nerves until she thought of the river waiting for her in the dark night. She rang for the maid who would help her out of her dress and take down her hair. At the school, Lenora wore plain dresses that she could manage on her own and pulled her hair back in a simple knot at the base of her head. But Aunt Gwen required full evening dress that necessitated assistance. It was like living two lives in Bath—three, if she counted who she became for the river.

  “Thank you, Dorothea,” Lenora said when she was in her dressing gown and her long blonde hair hung down her back. She gathered the tresses and began plaiting them as though it was her final task before bed.

  “G’night, miss,” Dorothea said before closing the door behind her.

  Lenora completed her plait, but then used half a dozen pins to secure it in a flat spiral on the back of her head. She crossed the room and locked the bedroom door before going to her wardrobe and removing the hatbox from the back corner. Inside were a pair of men’s trousers, a linen shirt, a knit cap, and a long, but thin, black coat. Perfect for roaming the streets of Bath and looking to any casual bystander like she was a young man walking off his worries. She wore her own sensible boots.

  She’d promised herself she would not resurrect her Night Walks in Bath, and for the first ten months or so she had contented herself with walking during daylight. But Aunt Gwen often accompanied her, and once Lenora began serving as the pianist at the Pump Rooms every other Saturday, she met so many people that it seemed she was continually stopped for conversation during her walks. Her meditation of the river had become lost in the society of this city of pedestrians. And so, she’d developed a plan.

  The early September night was crisp as Lenora made her way toward her favorite spot on the River Avon. There were men on the street, but she’d expected that and did not lift her head as she casually crossed to one side of the street or the other to avoid them. She pulled her cap down to cover any bit of exposed hair, shoved her hands deeper into her coat pockets, and kept her chin against her chest. She turned the corner at Walcot, glancing around the darker street without slowing her pace.

  A hundred yards later, she ducked between two shops, stepped behind a pile of crates, and climbed over the waist-high brick wall into which was set a sagging wrought-iron gate, chained shut. Once over the wall, she stepped over the crumbled top step, and then walked lightly down the remaining stone steps that led to the exposed section of shoreline she thought of as her sanctuary.

  This little spot was some distance north of Pultney Bridge—the side that did not boast the lovely architecture and façade—and no one came there at night. It was a utilitarian area, free of benches or footpaths, but with a large walnut tree and a small wooden dock with a winch to assist in drawing water, though there was no bucket. The rope was brittle and frayed, attesting to its disuse. Lenora liked to think that no one knew of this place anymore but herself, and the fact that she’d never met another person here made it an easy enough fantasy to believe.

  She’d thought about telling Cassie about her river walks in one of her monthly letters to her sister. She was fairly confident Cassie would laugh over it and even approve of Lenora’s secret independence. As young girls, their differing temperaments had not been well-matched, leading to frustration on Cassie’s part and insecurity on Lenora’s. Maybe as they got older, they were becoming more similar: Lenora more outgoing, though quietly, and Cassie more mild now that she had a family that needed her attention. Or perhaps living apart helped them to better appreciate the other, and, in Lenora’s case, emulate her younger sister. Often when her anxiety began climbing up her chest like a spider, she would think of what Cassie would do and be able to face a particularly overwhelming situation.

  Lenora brushed the surface of the short stone wall beneath the walnut tree with the sleeve of her coat before she sat and pulled her knees to her chest. She watched the dim light weave through the city buildings and reflect off the black water of the river. She let out a breath. Her classes would start tomorrow, and the inevitable energy of her new students would leave her exhausted that first week. The advanced courses were delightful as they were made up of girls who were proficient and eager to perfect their skills. It was the Introduction to Music class that made Lenora’s anxieties rise.

  Mrs. Henry required all new students to take music in one form or another. If they already played an instrument or sang, they took an advanced performance class. If they did not, it was Lenora’s responsibility to teach them notes and composers well enough that they could at least follow a conversation on the topic. Unfortunately, Lenora had found that if a girl had no musical basis by the time she came to school, she had little interest in the topic.

  Lenora had taken to teaching far easier than anyone had expected—including herself. When she’d revealed her plans following Cassie’s wedding, her parents had told her she would not last a full term. But with music as the subject, and small classes respecting her knowledge, Lenora h
ad found her place. The first term had been fraught with anxiety and stammered lessons, but in time she’d learned to lose herself in the instruction, gained respect of the other teachers, and exceeded all expectations.

  Now seasoned and confident, she looked forward to seeing her favorite students again and was excited to try something new with her beginning students. She had prepared a one-handed ditty they could learn to play as proof that everyone had some musical ability. Lenora hoped the activity would work better than her opening lectures of the past had, but it was a risk, and risks always made her nervous. Well, except for her walks to the river at night wearing men’s clothing. She hugged her knees tighter and began mentally composing a letter of confession to Cassie—wouldn’t she be shocked!

  When Lenora smelled pipe smoke in the air, her body and mind froze. All the lightness and calm she’d been basking in was sucked away, leaving cold dread in its place.

  She was not alone.

  In all the months she’d been coming here, Lenora had never encountered another person. She swallowed, her mouth dry as she tried not to imagine what would happen if someone discovered she was not a young man walking through his worries.

  The smoke was coming from the right—on the other side of the wall from the stairs which were her only escape. She stuffed her rising fear away; she had no time for it and must keep her thoughts clear. Carefully, Lenora lowered her knees from her chest and put her feet on the ground beside the wall, grateful that summer had not yet given way to fallen autumn leaves that could crunch beneath her boots. She stood slowly, wondering how she had ever found this subterfuge exciting. The prospect of being caught wiped away all sense of freedom she’d come to take for granted. She took a step toward the stairs. And another.