Constance Penrose

Ch4: Waltz & Read

Her elders had reached an agreement where she and Mother could stay. In return, Father captained a ship that Lord Walter owned a large stake in. Constance suspected that Aunt Lettice was trying to control her father, again. Mother wouldn't hear it.

Half a year passed with Father at sea with no suitor in sight.

Constance slowly warmed up to her cousins but guarded her mind and heart. Of course, she dutifully loved all three as family. Occasionally, it was difficult. Thankfully, she never wished for their deaths—just their mother's.

Much of her growing closer to the boys was due to Mary Penrose deciding to teach Constance to dance. Other skills that an upper-class wife needed came back into her life with a vengeance. She shouldered the mindlessness of it, vowing to never go back to the workhouse.

James, although young, was still tall for his age, promising to be as big as Walter. It made him perfect and safe as a partner, unlike the older two. He refused to waltz, as that was "adult piffle," and no one could force the boy to do the pretty. Most of the more energetic but complex dances they learned together in a fit of childish giggles.

So the waltz was often practiced with Victor, where Constance learned that proper distance still made her heart skip a beat. If she only had to contend with Victor, she would fall so achingly hard for his compassion.

But with Walter?

"One, two, three! One, two, three! Walter! Center of the back, not gripping her whole waist! One, two...Walter, up by the shoulder blades, you're too tall and looming like a vulture. Constance, if a man doesn't keep his hands properly placed during a dance, you may politely decline ever dancing with him again! Now, ONE, two, three!"

She couldn't decline him, making Walter a clumsy irresistible oaf.

Walter may have stopped being her bully, but he never let her forget that he wanted more from his little cousin. That was a torment of it's own. Constance could have confused the little fluttering her heart did when she danced with him for interest, perhaps. She couldn't forget that he'd willingly send her back to the workhouse as soon as marry her. The bitter taste in her mouth as she leaned into the steps tasted like asking her mother about diseases and prostitutes.

How could she want and loathe someone so equally? Did she understand what she wanted?

Constance was relieved that he otherwise kept his distance since that day. If she had never run into him, would she have learned how cruel young Walter could be or the sacrifices Victor would make? Understanding that Walter hungered for her was something the blind could see. She was less sure where Victor stood.

~~~

Her favorite time with them was in the family library. Any of her relatives would come in and rest while she read out loud in the light from the great windows. Not even Aunt Lettice destroyed that mood, as Constance's voice was low and softly sweet.

Reluctantly, Aunt Letitia decided to find Constance a teacher after hearing the girl stumble over a few words. There was strict instruction to focus on making sure that girl didn't mispronounce or falter on words. It would catch her up on the time she had lost at no cost on the strained relationship.

Having a teacher wasn't enough to make her forget the workhouse or the evils of Aunt Lettice.

But the times between tea and supper were often almost a family experience. If she could squash the bitter resentment of her lot in life? She truly could have come to enjoy her newfound place in the family.

It was something still not afforded to her mother, after all. Constance had an increasing headache, which she hid when thanking her aunt for telling her that Father's blood ran true in her.

~~~

When they had first come home, keeping down the rich food was a daily struggle. Those nights, the nightmare was sleeping to the sound of half a dozen snores. Constance would startle awake in the silence of midnight's grip, realizing that she was safe yet not soothed.

The nightmares changed over the months as she learned to fear more things, but it was the ones late in her 16th year that gave her a grim realization.

She'd dream of the day Walter had pinned her to the west wing wall, but it wouldn't be Walter who looked down at her. Oh, it was often his face, sometimes Victor's, and once or twice that damned little boy, James.

It's what lurked behind their not-right eyes—that bespoke possession would lean in to kiss her.

Just before their lips would touch, she'd wake up with a stifled shriek. She couldn't move at first, and her breathing was too slow for her heartbeat, but eventually she'd be up for the day.

After hastily dressing, she'd run down to the library and stare at the garden outside as the shadows faded into the early light of day. That is, with a hot cup of tea in hand. It was often given to her by the night's servant, who kept the kitchen's fire stoked and dealt with any nightly whims the family had.

Young Walter most often met her there, but said nothing as he stared out the window, shoulder to shoulder. It was as if he knew she needed both his protection and feared him at the same time, and this young man wasn't that keen.

She suspected that it was because he heard her cry out in terror. His bedroom was closest to the new suite she was moved into, to give her parents more freedom. If he opened his door any sooner, she'd run inside and hide under his bed like a frightened kitten.

These dreams highlighted her fears that Victor was right. She was walking into being the bride of a cousin. Although Aunt Lettice's softening was a good thing for their well-being. Still, he was right in telling her to leave for things she loved more than family. Or perhaps it was hated less?

And she was beginning to love them as much as she resented them. That was a recipe for becoming Letitia's shadow, in truth. She was a tangled ball of conflicting desires and strangled justice. It was never a pleasant place in her own mind.

Constance wished she could stifle the burning rage in her, like Mother did.