"And last of all, raise your glasses! It is with greatest pleasure that I recognize the reason for our gathering tonight- the engagement of our young Henry!"
Chattering voices rose in cheers as champagne glasses chimed. The many glasses sent spiraling lights around the ballroom, illuminating the tapestried walls and momentarily blinding me. I blinked; throat dry.
Friends strode by one after another as the party resumed. Some came with heartfelt congratulations. Some with tired jokes -- "enjoy your last days of freedom". Another -- "You seem off, dear chap. Thinking of the wedding-night already?"
I made polite excuses and strode off. Tonight, I was indeed thinking our wedding night--but with a knot of worry. A tangle of uncertainty and doubt.
Gerald from prep school had once said on the topic: "I know all about it, Henry. Just be a man, and she should be a woman."
Victor, who's scholarly opinion I usually trusted, had stated "From what I understand, to make a woman with child, it is necessary to.... Um.
See her with bared ankles."
And Father, in a very uncomfortable discussion: "Well you see boy, the woman is your wife, and it is your duty to make her your own."
Across Queen Victoria's England, I'd scant heard two opinions on that mysterious coupling that matched, much less that felt right for Allison and I. She meant so much to me, and certainly deserved more than some clumsy assault. Thankfully, Sandra had traveled far from England.
I found her at the room's corner, drinking heavily from a glass. I'd known Sandra since our days roaming the manor grounds as children, I as the lord's scion, her as the troublemaking daughter of a local merchant. But she much changed from that dirt-faced girl, ever since her travels to the Caribbean five years prior. Her normally hazel skin had tanned to a bronze as dark as her mother's, and her intelligent eyes scanned the room with a predator's insight. When they settled on me, they softened.
"Oh
Henry me boy
, what a gob dah delight to see the man of the hour." She laughed, and I found myself chucking in spite of it all "Now, why the gloomy look?"
I leaned into her ear, and told her.
Sandra's face was an unready mask? "You truly are concerned about this. About you and Melly?"
I was.
Then she was smiling. "Come with me. There's someone I want you to meet."
Across the hall, a noblewoman was chatting with some of more prominent guests. To an observer, she would look like an image of English virtue-- face poised in a meek guise as she listened to a Duke speak, her lace dress a simple white, and her body language kept elegant but unobtrusive.
To me, I recognized her immediately from Sandra's letters. The wavy scarlet hair, the dark freckles against pale skin. This was Rebecca Alistair. This was Sandra's friend, the one she spoke so highly off.
No, I couldn't think like that. Not friends. Sandra had told me in confidence much more besides. And Sandra was someone I always trusted, no matter how unusual the circumstance.
Sandra seemed to ignite when she crossed to Rebecca. Cheeks filled with a smile and giggles spilled from her lips; she pulled Rebecca away from her noble crowd. Rebecca seemed surprised, but not angry.
"Oh, Miss Sandra. What a, er, surprise. Do you have something pressing?"
Sandra leaned into her ear, and told her.
Rebecca's face was a caricature of horror. "
What?
I, I could never..." she quickly dropped her voice to a whisper. "Sandy, are you seriously suggesting...
in front of him?"
My face burned, pink reaching the line of my dark curling hair. I tried to look respectable by straightening in the dress-coat.
Sandy shrugged. "Like I told you, he already knows. Besides he's a good man, just trying to make things easier for our friend Mellie. Come on Reby. You and I have both experienced how horrid it can be. Wouldn't you want to save someone from that?"
Dainty hands ran through heavy hair. Rebecca tittered from foot to foot. I caught her glancing over her shoulder -- there were Lord and Lady Alistar. I knew them from reputation. And a very stern reputation it was.
Then she was looking back at Sandra... and very much not at him. "I... very well. I trust you, Sandy."
Sandy caught our hands in a sudden grip. "Wonderful, my dear ones. Now... let us leave this droll party for some privacy."
We slid the door shut behind us with a giggle. The sounds of the ball dinner; the conversation and chitter of the nobles became hushed. Inside the parlor we were quiet.
Reby's laugh faltered. She looked from Sandra to me, a nervous frown creasing her eyes. Sandra tried rubbing her partner's shoulder, but the stiffness remained.
I remembered what Sandra had written about Reby being a private person. How she had never had anything like what she had with Sandra. I decided to aid her comfort, and strode to the piano. The cover slide back with an echoing thud.
The piano sat at a corner of the chamber, with a beam of moonlight falling directly on the antique instrument. The door to the hall was positioned behind my back, and the only thing in front was a simple sofa tucked into the shadowed corner, cushioned and soft.
I began to play. A delicate melody I'd learned to describe the beginning days of spring. I kept my attention on the keys, and barely noted the girls getting into either side of the chair -- a foot apart. I continued the tune, letting my head bob and sway. Reby was swaying too, much more relaxed. I caught Sandra smiling at me, with that Chesire Grin. Dammit Sandy, she had no shame.
But Reby didn't stir as Sandra's hand casually darted across the couch. Didn't move as delicate fingers slid into hers, just shifting to let their hands interlock. They were holding hands, and it looked natural. Like two grown women I might see sharing a walk through the garden. Sure, their fingers did seem a tightly collapsed. And it might have turned a few heads when Sandra brought pressed hands to her lips. Certainly, when her tongue filled Rebecca's-
My hands faltered, momentarily striking the wrong note. My companions didn't notice. Sandra was fully concentrating, carefully flitting her tongue over the contours of her partner's smooth hand. The tongue tip briefly circled Reby's knuckle, before plunging down into the crevasse between thumb and pointer.
Rebecca made a sound in her throat. For a second, I thought she might pull away, but then she leaned back into the sofa. Her mouth drifted open into a moan as Sandra brought her more fully between her lips, lavishing her smooth skin with kisses.
Despite knowing the sight before my eyes was not for me, I couldn't prevent the heavy beat of my heart. The way the two looked at each other -- lidded eyes, an intimate sense of trust, gazes full of expectation-- alighted a tension I'd scarce experienced. When their lips met, I found myself looking away, shame rising like a stick in my throat.
"Mm--muh"
I shouldn't be here. What these two had was obviously special, incredible.
"Ah-ah- oh
please"
I was nothing but an onlooker, some brash invader on what was purely personal-
"Yes. Yes, ugh,
ugh, UHH!"
Dammit these women needed to
quiet
down before the whole manor came crashing in on us.
I ramped up the strength of my playing.
