Chapter Five

He may have faked a rather convincing proper English gentleman for his wife and sister, but David had felt increasingly apprehensive about the ball all day. Even though the war had cost him very much, his regiment had not suffered quite like others who had stayed through the winter, and he was afraid he would have to field questions about battles he had not been part of. Fortunately, since he had sold his commission when he was invalided out, he was no longer expected to wear the uniform, which would likely divert some of the questions and prying eyes. He looked around as they exited the carriage and felt his heart sink. There were so many stairs leading to the doorway as the two staircases fanned out to the entrance. While he felt comfortable with his cane, it was still exhausting. Before the war, he would have never noticed the number of stairs or considered how unnecessary and limiting they were.

As they entered, he felt he was looking at a distorted mirror of his former life. As they passed through the receiving line, to his horror, he noticed several women scowling at Elena and several men giving her lascivious looks. He felt a sudden pang of what marriage to him had meant for her. While it had saved her from the battlefields of the Crimea, this was another battle one had to fight over and over again, though instead of cannons and gunpowder, rumor and scandal ran amok. As he watched her, smiling serenely and greeting those she knew, he vowed to shield her from any barbs of the ton. She looked so elegant in a navy silk gown that bore her shoulders and her décolletage, the shine of the deep blue highlighting the contrast with her golden skin. His heart had stopped and started again when he saw her descending the stairs, reminding him of the first time he had seen her, even though she had been wearing a plain gray dress that day.

He watched her out of the corner of his eye as she walked past those who scowled. It was their loss that they couldn't see past her foreignness, accent, or background to know the magnificent being that she was. But then he supposed they didn't deserve to know her, which made him feel slightly better. He wondered if he would have appreciated her in his previous life, in that distorted mirror that it was, though logically, he would never have even met her had he not gone to war. He realized that sharing that time with her outside Balaclava had bonded him to her in some way he could never undo, even if he tried. And he did not want to undo it.

****

Later in the evening, David watched Irene dancing with one of the many young men who had sought her out. He was somewhat concerned with the false smile she had worn in almost every dance, but he did not want to interfere with her night. He wondered if he should have found Irene a sponsor or chaperone, as between him, Sophie, and Elena, they all had little experience with the ton. He ought to, but he had been so busy with the business since he had inherited the title that he had spent little time at social events. Observing Irene's dour expression, he decided that a companion or chaperone wouldn't have made her happier here. He stifled a sigh. He understood how Irene was feeling, how far away this stuffy ballroom was from his life the past few years. The crush of people reminded him of waiting in the trenches with no space to breathe. He suddenly felt the intense need to leave, to get out. Without thinking, he reached out and grabbed Elena's arm. He felt her small shock.

"Are you quite well, my lord?" She covered his gloved hand with her own.

"I'm all right." David took a deep breathe. "Would you like to get some air?"

She looked at him quizzically.

"Step outside with me," he explained. He forgot she did not know all the English euphemisms for things they did not actually want to say. He removed his hand and offered her his arm, which she tentatively took. They spoke briefly with a matron he had long known to keep an eye on Irene for a moment.

The courtyard was silver in the moonlight. He looked around to see if anyone else was out there, then when he saw no one as his eyes adjusted to the moonlight, he inhaled and exhaled. She led him to a small bench.

"Is it so bad?"

"Most of the time, I'm fine, but every now and then," He shook his head as if to clear it. "And to be here, to see everything I took for granted all those years. It feels wrong to be here when others can't."

"Yes," she said softly. He felt the wind change, giving the night an unseasonable chill, and then remembered he was a gentleman.

"You must be cold." He removed his coat, then hung it across her bare shoulders, letting his gloved hand linger across her bare skin for a moment. She did not seem to notice his pulse race as she accepted it and pulled it tighter. She was looking at him with great concern, her brows furrowing, and he realized he needed to shift the atmosphere.

"What do you think of them?"

"Who?"

"Them." He gestured back toward the ballroom. "The ton."

"Oh, I suppose they think me an oddity."

"The scar might help."

"Yes." She winced and touched her scar. "Whenever I feel particularly vulnerable, I make sure my scar is most visible, and I try to look intimidating and mysterious so no one will actually speak with me."

She seemed to weigh telling him something and then looked up at him with a somewhat embarrassed expression. "You should know, they think I seduced you with my brazen foreign wiles. That I trapped you into marriage somehow." She exaggerated her accent a bit at the end of her statement as if also striving to keep things light.

"How dare they say such a thing—" He moved as if to return to the ballroom, but she held up a gloved hand.

"No, please do not concern yourself. Most of the time, it does not bother me. It keeps them at a distance. And what's more, I feel compassion or maybe pity for many of them. To have all this wealth, yet many do not seem truly happy."

She saw so much, quietly watching in the background, making polite small talk as she had done all night. But, of course, it made sense. She was used to adjusting to new circumstances, whether in Scutari, Balaclava, or the drawing rooms of London. She observed other people and learned how they worked, adapting to the environment. She probably had to do that to survive as long as she had. David wished he had that skill. When he was younger, he just did what he liked and thought about other people later. The world was made for people like him and he had not had to think of any alternative. Though he hoped he was no longer that person.

When Elena spoke of the ton, she captured that feeling of the futility in his life that had driven him to enlist all those years before. The day he looked up and realized how little the endless events of the Season meant to him, how little he was engaged with the people around him. He desperately wanted his life to have meaning beyond going through the motions, something to make his parents proud. He wished he could express that kinship to her, but he couldn't find the words. Instead, he gently let his fingers brush her hand. He felt her initial jolt—he didn't flatter himself that it was from desire. He had seen her flinch enough to realize she had some unease with men. He knew, had always sensed deep down, that something had happened to her, but he never wanted to push her to talk about it. He wanted her to tell him in her own time. He carefully took her gloved hand so she could pull away if she wanted, and drew it to his lips. He wished they weren't wearing gloves so that he could feel her smooth skin against his own rough hand. Outside Balaclava, he had always marveled that despite her work as a washerwoman and tending to the wounded, her hands were still soft and smooth. He pressed his lips to her fingers for a too-brief moment, then released her hand back to her. Elena looked at her hand for a moment, then cleared her throat.

"We were speaking of…" She gestured back to the ballroom as he had earlier.

"Yes, I'm sorry I cannot offer to dance with you, my lady." He nodded toward his cane.

"Oh, I do not consider this dancing."

"Blasphemy, Wife. If you keep on like this, the very fabric of English society will unravel," he said, affecting his most imperious dowager voice, and rattled his cane at her.

She laughed, the first true laugh he may have heard from her since he had returned. It hit him square in the chest.

"You found out my evil plan, my long-awaited scheme to tear British society apart, thread by thread, and hail the glory of my empire." She again exaggerated her accent, and he noted that she tended to do that when feeling vulnerable. He couldn't remember her doing that before.

"Which empire? Ottoman, British, Russian?" he asked, genuinely curious. He was delighted they could joke like this, even if it was stilted, and they both were trying a little too hard to cut the tension by making the other laugh.

"Men will not run my empire, thank you, but a council of women. I think Mrs. Raeburn would make a good queen."

"Elena." He felt his lip curling up. "You know you really ought to be the ruler in your own fantasy. But yes, Mrs. Raeburn would make an excellent queen. She almost had me bowing in Balaclava, and I didn't have working legs at the time."

They lapsed into silence. Elena cleared her throat and said quietly, "I did want to say, however we decide whatever happens, I am so happy you have mostly recovered, even if it still keeps you from this dancing ." She said the last word with a sniff of superiority.

"What's wrong with English dancing?"

"It's not like ours. It's very…" She looked to be searching for a word. "Formal? I cannot find the word in English."

"Then show me your kind of dancing." He smirked. "I dare you."

"Out here?" She looked around. "Someone will see!"

"Come now, the woman who walked out of a war and crossed oceans should not be afraid of these old biddies."

****

That comment raised her ire.

"I am not afraid of them. I do not want to cause your sister embarrassment."

She hissed, then caught the laugh in his eye. "Ah, you are mocking me."

"There are no jokes in where you are from?" he asked, the corner of his lips slowly curving upward. She had a feeling he had been trying not to laugh these past few minutes. But was he laughing at her or with her?

"Of course we have jokes, Husband. Not that I was ever very good at them. But to dance out here?"

"We will have to work on the jokes later. But go on. I dare you. No one will see, and if they do, they will think it another one of my eccentricities."

"You were so eccentric when you were younger?" she asked, and for some reason, that thought warmed her.

"Hopeless fribble, me." He shrugged. She smiled as she remembered the word and sighed, wrapping her arms around herself and pulling the coat closer. Now that she knew him outside the hospital, she realized that it smelled of him, like a forest right after the rain. What had Irene called that word? Petrichor? She wasn't sure how she felt about this realization, so she turned her attention back to dancing.

"Well, it would be nice to dance again."

She had never thought to enjoy an evening like this with him. She had been so worried about the events of the Season, as before, she had only attended limited social engagements since Irene was not yet "out." But David had been such a good partner, almost as uncomfortable with the crowd as she was. The only strange moment came when he kissed her hand. She still did not know quite what to do about him, but the moment passed without him making demands on her. He really appeared to be a kind man. No, he was a kind man. She had seen his pride, love, and worry as he gazed at his sister. She had understood that look, for she longed to see her sisters again. Elena supposed she could be with them again now, if only in a fantasy. She breathed in and unlocked the memories she kept hidden away most of the time.

She conjured her sisters and her mother from these memories and held up her hands, palms facing inward as if in supplication, to lock imaginary hands with them. She saw her sister's young faces, one serious and one mischievous, saw her beautiful mother throw her head back in joy in her mind's eye, and her heart pinged in a way she had not allowed it for a very long time. She began to hum softly, then brushed her back foot against the ground. Her feet remembered the steps, just as her heart knew the rhythm. Somehow, she knew in her soul that David would understand, that he would give her this moment and not laugh at her, silly as she probably looked dancing by herself in his coat that dwarfed her. She had no great love for the pageantry and formality of this stuffy English setting, but in this moment, she could see her family again, if only in her imagination.

****

He smiled as his wife closed her eyes and started to hum softly. She began to move unlike any English dancer he had ever seen, singing a soft melody he had never heard before but had occasionally caught traces of at the edge of his consciousness in the hospital. It was almost the lullaby but had a more joyous cadence, even though it still seemed to be in a minor key. She moved as if dancing in a large circle, hands up and locked with other imaginary dancers. While this had started as a joke, a provocation, as he could never resist lightly thumbing his nose at the ton, he couldn't look away. The silver moonlight caught glints of gold in her hair and skin, warming him in the chill night air. As he watched her, he began to feel that overwhelming sense of peace that had occasionally come to him outside Balaclava when he was in her presence. In Bern, he had started to feel desire again when he read her letter and caught a trace of her familiar scent of amber. But tonight, he was sure, sure that he desired her and wanted her, and only her. Not just as a faraway angel but as a woman he could joke and laugh with. A true partner. Perhaps he had idealized her in the hospital and in his memory, but he found this woman dancing in front of him fascinating and couldn't take his eyes off her. He would never push her to do anything she did not want, but "maybe someday" rang in his ears and gave him hope as he had not had hope in a long time.

Even if they could never be married in truth, he had to give thanks to her for helping him feel this way again since just being around her made him feel alive. He felt as if the thread that stretched between them, which had started to spin outside Balaclava, was now gilded in gold, binding him inextricably to her. Her dancing began to slow, and she looked over at him and caught his eye. She raised her right eyebrow as if in question, though he was starting to suspect she could no longer lift her left eyebrow because of her scar. Thus, he could never tell if she was surprised or laughing at him. He returned her look with his own quizzical eyebrow, then gestured with a circle of the finger as if to say, "Keep going." He saw something in her eyes that told him she was far away from this courtyard, across the sea, dancing with ghosts. Up to this moment, he had never truly understood the unique pain of not knowing whether one's family was alive or dead. Even if the news was the worst, one could grieve and possibly move on with life. But not knowing…he suddenly felt the heavy, impossible weight that must be on her shoulders. His heart began to ache for her, but as she turned, he caught the smile that lit her face, and he concluded that the ghosts must be better company than the ton inside.

****

A few days later, Elena walked into the music room, sat carefully, and then stretched her fingers across the keys, some on white, some on black. Then, with all her might, she brought them down. The result was certainly not music. Elena sighed. Irene made it look so easy. Elena wondered why it did not come naturally to her. She had always loved music, loved dancing and singing. Her mind wandered to her dancing in the courtyard the other night. She supposed she should feel silly about it, but it had been rather lovely. She did enjoy talking with David, but she now saw that the power in their relationship had changed. Outside Balaclava, he was dependent on her for companionship, for help. Not that she relished this position. She knew the hospital was full of convalescing men of rank from another society, but there they had merely been sick and wounded men who needed her. It had been a strange sense of power to be able to care for them on her own time when she had been at the mercy of men for so long. But last night, she felt the power her husband held in society. The power he could wield if she displeased him. But he wouldn't use it, would he? He had promised her, and she would like to believe the man she had known outside Balaclava wouldn't break his promise to her. She pushed her fingers down again on the keys to emphasize her conviction. The result was, sadly, still not music.

"I imagine you will hit a chord if you try enough times."

The object of her thoughts strolled into the music room. Even with his cane, he had confidence in his stride, in his position and place in the world. She felt embarrassed, caught at the piano like a child, and could feel heat rush to her cheeks.

"Did you wish to learn?" David asked.

She started to reply and stopped herself. She thought playing the piano was a woman's role, as she had only ever seen women play.

"Do you play, my lord?"

"David," he corrected. "Did you wish to learn?" he repeated gently.

"I did not think gentlemen played."

He considered her for a moment and then sat next to her, playing a few stray notes. She noticed he must have regained most of the weight he had lost during the war. His arms looked muscular and strong as his fingers graced the keys. He was so close that Elena had to force herself not to move away.

"My mother taught me as a child. She wasn't the most conventional lady, I suppose. Her father had bought her lessons as a girl, and she took to it quickly. So, she played with me when I was a boy."

Elena smiled, imagining a small boy playing piano with his mother. It was so different from her own childhood, but she could feel the love there. "What was she like?" she asked.

"Kind, spirited. She looked just like Irene but taller. The ton looked down on her because her family was in trade, but my father came to love her and never regretted his marriage. Rich in wife and wealth, he'd say."

"She sounds lovely." Elena had to crane her head to look up at him. "I'm sorry she is gone."

"She died giving birth to Irene. My father lived for a while after, but he never really recovered from her death."

David played idle notes with his left hand while his right was on the bench beside her. Elena impulsively put her hand on David's.

The notes stopped abruptly.

She froze.

It was the first time she had willingly touched him since he had been back, and now it was with bare skin. She didn't know what she meant by the touch. She had initially just meant to offer comfort, but she sensed an energy she could not name, an energy that had not been there before. Even though she was only touching him with her hand, she felt a warmth humming throughout her body, through her blood, as if something long dormant had just come to life. She did not know what to make of it, so she pulled her hand back to her lap. David stared at the space where her hand had been, then shook his head as if to clear it.

"Would you like to learn?" David repeated.

She nodded, still a little embarrassed.

"You can put your hands on top of mine. It won't be the same because it's your left and my right, but it's a start to gaining confidence. That's how my mother first taught me."

She reached her hand out, then hesitated, unsettled by that energy she felt when she touched his hand just then.

"May I?" He gently took her hovering left hand and placed it over his right hand on the keys.

"We can start with one hand if you like." He began to play something at a measured pace, then began to speed up. Elena could feel the vibrations of the notes, how the keys worked together to produce something more than a single note, something she could feel up and down her arms, throughout her body, thrumming like the energy just a moment ago. She knew she wasn't playing the music herself, but there was something exhilarating about making music on the piano for the first time. And there was something indefinably lovely about her hand on top of his. She closed her eyes to savor the moment.

"Normally, you must keep them open to read the music." She opened her eyes to find that he was smiling down at her. She smiled back for a second. She had never noticed the way his eyes hinted toward brown on the edges. Like the leaves on the trees when the season changed. She blinked and came back to herself, lifting her hand from his.

"Thank you, my lord, that was quite illuminating. I must go prepare for this evening."

He nodded. "I really can help teach you if you like. What are you doing tomorrow?" "I'm going to the hospital."

"The hospital? Would you like me to accompany you?"

She shook her head. "I go every week, if not more."

"Then I should like to come and see what you do every week, if not more."

He seemed set on this course, and she could not find any reason to disagree. But she was still so confused as to why she enjoyed a man's touch so much. She would need to take a little space from him to consider her response.

"Yes, my l—yes, David." She could see the satisfaction in his eyes from what she had said. Dratted man. She would have to avoid him until after the ball that evening.