Midnight in Everwood(14)
‘You are most welcome to accompany me,’ Marietta said, glancing back at the house. It loomed at their backs, a commanding presence in Georgian stone and columns. She half-expected to see Miss Worthers peering from one of the uppermost windows, as if her chaperone could sense Marietta was in the company of a suitor alone.
‘I have been given to understand that I am to devise a set for your rendition of The Sleeping Beauty at your annual Christmas Ball.’ Drosselmeier paid close attention to Marietta as they walked through the gardens. She shifted away as he continued to speak. ‘I confess, I am very much looking forward to attending.’
Marietta smiled. ‘You are too kind. I myself am eager for my first glimpse of your set; I’m sure it will be nothing short of wondrous.’ Each year the Stelle’s Christmas Ball was the talk of the city but this was the first year Marietta’s ballet studio had been invited to perform. As it was her final year of dancing, it was customary to perform on a stage in the theatre but Theodore had swiftly put an end to that notion. Marietta had persuaded him it would be more appropriate to dance at their ball and, in a rare moment of sentimentality, he had concurred.
Drosselmeier’s frosted eyes lingered on her face. Marietta shifted their path onto a trajectory that circled back towards the house. She glanced up at the clouds haunting the sky above. ‘Such unfortunate weather we have been suffering through lately,’ she said, attempting to shift their conversation, puzzled by the change in his demeanour.
Drosselmeier stepped up onto the stone mezzanine outside the morning room. He towered above her. A light wind tossed up Marietta’s hair, left free and trailing down her back in a moment of rebellion. Drosselmeier tracked it. His slender fingers opened and closed. ‘And yet my set will pale in comparison to you,’ he said, his voice silkier.
Marietta’s smile was tight. ‘I hope it will be a performance worthy of your praise,’ she said by rote, her manners grafted on her down to the marrow.
Drosselmeier’s answering smile was slow, his eyes never leaving her face. Marietta could almost feel his attention; a tangible beast with an overpowering appetite. His voice pitched lower. ‘I must tell you, your earlier surmise was quite incorrect. I have long found myself fascinated with Romanticism. One of its influences arose from my homeland, after all; Sturm und Drang.’ He took her hand, holding it between his.
Marietta had been about to sidle past him to gain entry into the house but his hands gave her pause. Her breath caught in her throat and disappointment scudded through her at the thought, sudden and unbidden, that he might be on the verge of a proposal. ‘Forgive me, my German isn’t up to the same standard as my French. Storm and ambition, was that?’
Drosselmeier stepped nearer. ‘Very close. Though drive would be a better fit. I’m a driven man, Miss Stelle. What I covet, I find a way to possess.’
‘How fortuitous for you. Now if you’ll be so kind as to excuse me, I have a pressing matter to attend to.’ Marietta forced a pretty smile. The gardens suddenly felt too large and empty, the house too silent. There were staff in every room; why had none passed the windows and given her reason to demur?
Drosselmeier retained a hold on her hand. ‘I was hoping I might steal a moment more of your time.’
She glanced up at him, searching for a polite refusal, one which wouldn’t cause offence, when a prickling awareness took root in her. One that whispered of something unnatural, something uncanny. She froze, staring at his irises, storming around his pupils, at the shadow-twitch of a mouse tail whipping back inside his coat pocket. It was as if he had been wearing a mask since that first dinner and now it had unfurled once more. Long enough to afford her a glimpse of something else beneath. Her senses flared; a shiver darted down her spine. ‘What are you?’ she whispered without thinking.
Drosselmeier started and dropped her hand. His mask of careful pleasance snapped back in place. The sudden motion reclaimed Marietta’s senses and she shook her head. ‘Forgive me, I am quite fatigued from rehearsals,’ she said with a light laugh, smoothing the edges of the conversation back together, even as her heart still beat sparrow-quick in her chest.
‘There is nothing to forgive,’ Drosselmeier said smoothly. ‘I shall enjoy watching the result of your diligence. Watching you.’ His hand lingered against the small of her back under the pretence of guiding her back to the house. Her discomfort deepened as she felt him wind a lock of her hair around his finger.
Marietta walked upstairs to the drawing room she shared with Frederick. The memory of Drosselmeier’s touch swam inside her, slippery as jelly sweets. Upon opening the door, Frederick and Geoffrey’s conversation startled to a close.
‘My apologies, it wasn’t my intention to intrude.’ Marietta made to leave.
‘Nonsense, there’s no need to leave on our account,’ Frederick said, pouring brandy from a decanter into two glasses and handing one to Geoffrey, who was surveying Marietta.
‘I am certain you would rather enjoy your privacy,’ Marietta said, knowing that for the two of them, these moments alone were scarcer than they would like.
‘Are you quite all right?’ Geoffrey inquired. ‘You look rather out of sorts; perhaps you had better rest a moment.’ With a head full of dark curls, golden-brown skin, sharp cheekbones and full lips, it was no wonder Geoffrey had commanded the attention of many ladies before he had become engaged. A brocaded gold waistcoat over his white shirt and scarlet necktie did nothing to dispel his attractiveness and Victoria had been among those that were greatly disappointed to learn that he was now betrothed. It amused Frederick to keep a tally.