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Tina takes another moment to survey her reflection.
Gazing at long, delicate gloves, a string of pearls around her neck, and a blue dress that uplifts her bosom, it’s hard to recognize the finely groomed young woman staring back from the mirror.
Even her hair, usually tousled no matter the occasion, sits in a perfectly manicured nest of curls. Tina smiles placidly, not quite trusting the evening to proceed without impediment.
I have no business here.
The truth is enough to paralyze her if she lets it, so she quickly shakes the apprehension from her mind.
It’s true, this isn’t how she’d foreseen her first formal occasion. Whenever she dared to dream of balls, she’d been accompanied by a kind, handsome, sometimes wealthy man.
Tonight she’s alone, having only secured her invitation because she chanced upon Duke Fischoeder in a compromising position. Tina and the other housemaids had long presumed the Duke was entertaining ladies other than his wife, but never did she expect to have the matter confirmed right before her eyes.
Inhaling deeply, she gathers the courage she needs to head downstairs. This may be the only opportunity she has to attend such an elegant soirée, and she’d never forgive herself if she let it slip away.
“You’ll do well tonight, Tina.” She tells herself before stepping away from the mirror and proceeding toward the hall.
If she listens closely, she can hear her mother’s chipper voice from the downstairs kitchen. In all likelihood, she’s presently engaged in chopping onions and keeping father’s spirits high with her playful asides. Tina can only hope to one day have a partner who can make her laugh even on her dreariest days.
Descending the grand staircase, she listens in on a nimble violin playing below. She recognizes the sound of a familiar waltz, though she’s only ever heard it from the kitchen.
Scouring grease from pans, polishing tables, and getting her knees red scrubbing the floors—that’s how she’s spent balls of the past. To be here now, dressed in her mother’s nicest hand-me-downs, is almost too extraordinary to be true.
As she continues toward the ballroom, Tina nearly convinces herself that the night will turn out as successfully as she imagined. Just as she allows herself to relax, she loses her balance in a moment of heart-sinking terror. Her foot misses the final step, slipping midair instead, and she gasps as she tumbles toward the cold mahogany floors.
Oh, please don’t let the music stop. She thinks, bracing herself for impact. Please don’t let me make a spectacle.
Across the room, she hears the harp reach a startling crescendo. It seems to correspond with her agony, signaling impending, unavoidable humiliation.
Before she can collapse in a forlorn heap, however, Tina finds herself crashing facefirst into the chest of a gentleman. He’s solid, shocking her with an intimate touch of his hands to her waist.
When Tina glances up to catch a glimpse of his face, there’s no stopping the pitiful sound that escapes her lips.
James Pesto, the younger.
The man is just as lovely up close as he is from afar. When Tina’s gaze at last meets his, he seems startled by his own discourtesy. Releasing her instantly from his grip, the young noble shakes his head with regret.
“Forgive me, Miss Belcher.” He says once no longer touching her. “I only wanted to keep you from falling.”
Tina’s head spins, a whirlwind of confusing thoughts rendering her mute. The younger Pesto is dressed with impeccable style, coat a deep shade of navy blue, and his refined appearance makes it all the more shocking that he knows her by name.
“No need for apologies.” She assures him. “You—well—it was I who fell into you. I never did master the art of gracefulness.”
Tina arrived at the ball only moments ago, and already she’s made a fool of herself in front of an honored guest: James Pesto the younger, eldest son of James Pesto and heir apparent to his father’s title.
“Are you not needed in the kitchen?” Lord Pesto asks, face pinching in utter bewilderment.
Tina winces, all too aware of how shocking it must be to encounter her here. The two have shared eye contact before, but only ever in the midst of her work. She can’t fault the gentleman for his confusion, for he knows her only as a scullery maid.
“I’ve been excused for the night.” She says. “I suppose his grace, the Duke of Seymour, grew tired of my feet betraying me. This past week, we lost a delicious pot of porridge when I slipped carrying it to the table.”
Lord Pesto laughs now, the quiet sound brightening his face into shades of pink. His laugh is lovely, and Tina regrets her lack of refinement even more than before.
It’s quite difficult to look him directly in the eye. Though she’s never held such a lengthy discourse with Lord Pesto, he’s long been a steady presence in her most romantic fantasies.
In Tina’s mind, they’ve already wed, been blessed with children, and taken their last breath in each other’s arms. Most shamefully of all, her mind has at times wandered into unsavory territory.
Try as she might, she can’t repress her attraction. Lord Pesto’s face is lovely, to be sure, but his frame is even more captivating. His commanding height is exquisite, and the graceful curves of his posterior—
“You always did amuse me, Miss Belcher.” He says, disrupting her inner musings.
Though there’s fondness in his tone, Tina isn’t sure she can trust his sincerity. As a future earl, he has no reason to spare her a second glance. Much less exchange laughter and pleasantries.
“They’re serving your favorite dish tonight, aren’t they?” She asks, eager to maintain momentum. “I seem to recall you enjoy meat pies.”
Over the years, Tina’s found it’s much easier to remember the culinary preferences of Lord Fischoeder’s more handsome houseguests. A time or two, she’s asked her father to sprinkle extra chives on Lord Pesto’s baked potato.
“Amusing and clever.” The future earl notes aloud. “Am I to assume you memorize every guest’s preferred meals?”
“Only the ones I find most intriguing.” She says, the statement leaving her mouth before she can think better of it.
When Lord Pesto grins again, an unsteady tremor seizes Tina’s chest. His face has often sent her heart aflutter from a distance, but to see it up close is nearly unbearable.
His gaze settles across her face, then scans lower in a moment so brief Tina could almost believe she imagined it. When his eyes find her bosom, a blush burns throughout her body.
“I must confess…” He says.
Tina’s imagination strays quickly into unchaste territory, and she begins to fear the flush may never leave her.
“You look…lovely tonight. If I may be so bold.”
As he speaks, his nose crinkles. Lord Pesto, it seems, doesn’t possess the eloquence his stature would suggest.
His awkwardness hardly matters to Tina. Hearing praise from his lips feels almost unreal, as though she’s living in a waking dream. She stares dumbly, too entranced by his face to form words, before his confused expression disrupts her reverie.
“How—thank you. How very kind of you.” She says quickly. “If you continue this flattery, I might faint. It would be a shame if you had to catch me twice in one night.”
Her manner of speaking has always been clumsy, but the joke draws a smile from Lord Pesto despite its awkwardness.
“I wouldn’t object, if given the opportunity.” He admits. “Tell me, Miss Belcher. Who has the pleasure of accompanying you here tonight?”
The question weighs uncomfortably on Tina’s chest. Should he pry any further, the gentleman could discover how much she doesn't belong here. In an effort to find the most proper phrase, her eyes drift across the room and land on a dark-haired man.
“Surely not Lord Darcy.” Lord Pesto says, a sneer crossing his face. “Word is he’s been gambling his inheritance away.”
Tina’s gaze finds Lord Pesto once more, and one look at his expression brings her to a most shocking conclusion: he’s harboring jealousy, so much so that it’s tarnishing his respectable demeanor.
“Certainly not.” She assures him. “I’m afraid I haven’t secured an escort this evening.”
In truth, she has no romantic experience aside from the poems, plays, and novels she immerses herself in. For Lord Pesto, she’s sure, romance is as common as feathers in a lady’s bonnet.
“I don’t understand.” He says, eyebrows knitting together. “You’re not already spoken for? But you’re so…”
Tina’s stomach churns in anticipation, but he loses his nerve halfway through the sentence. She can’t help but speculate whether this charming discomposure is known to many, or if she is singularly privileged in having seen it.
“Anyhow, these balls aren’t of much interest to me.” He finishes, shifting to a new subject entirely. “The bands play only slow pieces, when they should strike a delicate balance between those and the quicker dances.”
Tina nods, a bit thrown by the abrupt departure from their original conversation.
“Do you enjoy dancing?” She asks.
Lord Pesto’s face brightens, animated by the question.
“It’s my favorite pastime.” He says. “It gives me great joy.”
He falls silent for a moment, then realizes he should return the question. For the son of a nobleman, his social skills are far from perfect.
“And…how do you find it?” He asks.
Eager to please him, Tina can’t quite bring herself to tell the truth: that she’s prone to accidents, and dancing brings her more agitation than pleasure.
“I enjoy dancing.” She lies. “I’m most partial to it.”
Fate intervenes then, and the band transitions into a slower, more romantic tune. Lord Pesto reaches a hand toward her, bowing slightly.
“May I have the honor of this dance?”
Tina’s heart pounds rapidly against her chest. Of course she’d love nothing more than to dance with him, but the risk of tripping is far too high. She can’t mortify herself now and waste the only opportunity she’ll ever have to impress him.
“Would you show me the garden?” She asks.
Lord Pesto’s face wrinkles, his head cocking to the side like a perplexed cocker spaniel.
“The garden? But why?”
He’s frowning now, and Tina feels a twinge of annoyance at his disposition. It’s clear the man scarcely hears the word ‘no’.
“Come with me.” She says firmly, struggling against a desire to roll her eyes.
When he stays where he is, still frowning, Tina takes control of the situation. She grabs his hand, tugging him behind her as she charges toward the exit.
She half expects him to wrench his hand away, but he follows her obediently instead. As Tina pushes open the door and steps into the cool night air, she’s impressed by her own boldness.
She walks further, bringing them deeper into the palace grounds and toward the heart of the garden. Only when they’re in a more private area, tucked away by a bed of roses, does Tina release his hand.
“My word, you’re insane!” The gentleman says, slightly out of breath from their journey.
Catching her own breath, Tina pats her hair and hopes it’s not in too much disarray. She’s afraid to see annoyance on Lord Pesto’s face, but all she sees is admiration.
“I apologize for my forwardness.” She says. “I’ve long wished for an up close view of the garden.”
Lord Pesto stares in quiet awe. Under his gaze, Tina feels daring. Even beautiful.
“It’s nothing, I assure you, but…I see you’re a lady who knows what you want.” He says, begrudging respect in his tone.
Tina hopes the darkness hides her smirk.
“I suppose you could say that. The flowers are beautiful, aren’t they?”
“Oh. Uh…it’s quite dark out, Miss Belcher. I can hardly see them.”
“…right. It’s the thought that counts, though. The thought of…the flowe—well, nevermind that. I’m sure they’re beautiful when the sun is up.”
Lord Pesto spares merely a glance at the roses before fixing his attention on Tina once more.
“You declined my invitation.” He says. “May I ask why?”
Tina feels her cheeks redden. Confronted with the question, she’s at a loss for words.
“You—well—I—”
She sighs, bracing herself. Right from the moment Lord Pesto first looked at her, she should have known their connection would be fleeting at best.
“As you saw earlier, I’m inclined toward clumsiness. I didn’t want to embarrass you in the company of your friends.”
Lord Pesto balks, facing the palace as though it conceals answers to his questions.
“My friends? Those aren’t my friends, Miss Belcher. I only attend the same events as they do because it’s my obligation.”
Now it’s Tina’s turn to feel confused. When Lord Pesto speaks of his destiny, he sounds almost resentful.
“My closest companion is a gentleman by the name of Ezekiel.” He continues. “Because of his family’s poverty, he isn’t welcome in this circle. I don’t think that’s right, in any sense of the word.”
Tina thinks of her own family. Her sister’s stained dresses, and the stale bread they’ve all been rationing for a week.
“I understand.” She says, more comfortable with him now than she has been all night. “I hope you’ll accept my apology for rejecting you earlier. If you’ll still have me, I’d love to dance.”
Sadness vanishes from Lord Pesto’s face. Another song begins, a classical nocturne that Tina is unfamiliar with. She offers her hand, and the gentleman draws her nearer to him. Placing a hand on Tina’s back, he begins swaying their bodies in time with the music.
“See?” He teases. “You have far more skill than you suggested. Though not as skilled as I am, of course.”
“You must stop with the flattery,” Tina says. “It’s difficult to stay composed when you look at me with those eyes. Do you understand? Compose. Like music is composed. The music that we’re dancing to.”
Lord Pesto chuckles at her play on words, his hand rubbing lightly across her lower back. The impure thoughts from before appear again, this time much stronger and more difficult to ignore. Tina envisions Lord Pesto embracing her, the two of them stumbling into the same bedchamber and staying there until sunrise.
“There are times I don’t believe my father has my best interests at heart.” He confesses without ceasing his dance.
“The female company he wishes me to keep…I’ve never felt the affinity toward them that I feel toward you.”
At this, Tina’s heart flutters with the kind of ardor she’s only experienced through the eyes of her favorite literary heroines.
“Do you mean that?” She asks, voice hushed and vulnerable.
Lord Pesto nods, a movement so slight it’s as if a gentle breeze could have caused it.
“I do, Miss Belcher. Never before has a lady stirred such laughter in me. In spite of your status, you…carry yourself with such self-possession. It takes my breath away.”
“My status?” She asks, a touch offended. “I’m not sure you hear yourself.”
She quickly brushes past the ill-mannered comment, focusing instead on the tender-hearted sentiment behind his words.
“Nevermind that. I’ve watched you from afar for so long. I’m pleased to find that your heart is just as lovely as your countenance.”
Lord Pesto’s chest, which has until now been puffed slightly with pride, relaxes. Tina sees an ordinary man before her, rather than a future earl.
“I’ve noticed you, too.” He says.
Tina stiffens, afraid to move lest she ruin this perfect evening. The song is reaching an end, and she dreads the moment his hands leave her body.
“I still remember listening as you spoke in defense of your fellow maid. The Duke was delivering an unjust punishment, and you stood up for her.”
Tina recalls the incident, how her voice shook as she interceded on behalf of a chambermaid. She’d been frightened, but remaining silent in the face of unfairness felt scarier still.
“I’m astonished you remember that.” She says quietly.
Lord Pesto nods.
“Certainly. It was remarkable. I’ve often wished I could possess that kind of virtue.”
Hardly able to believe what's happening, all Tina can do is study his features. She demonstrates compassion wherever possible, but she never once expected a man of his stature to take notice.
“Of course, your beauty is to your advantage as well.” Lord Pesto says.
Just as he makes his romantic overture, the piano player concludes the beautiful song. Tina waits with bated breath for Lord Pesto’s next move, terrified he’ll discard her now that the dance is over. She stares up at him, suddenly intimidated by their vast difference in height.
“I trust you will forgive my boldness.” He says simply.
Slowly, almost timidly, he reaches out for one of Tina’s hands. She watches, a dreamlike trance overtaking her, as he brings it close to his own mouth. Pressing a gentle kiss to her skin, he sends an all-consuming shiver through Tina’s body.
As he pulls away, she’s struck by a momentous thought: tonight may very well be the only chance she ever has with the man she’s pledged her heart to. Relinquishing all fear, she steels herself to act.
“I want you.” She says fervently, before she can talk herself out of it. “No. I need you. It was difficult at first, but it’s becoming unbearable.”
Lord Pesto’s eyes widen, almost frightened. Tina steps back, crestfallen, sure she’s offended him.
“I’m exceedingly sorry.” She says, wondering how quickly she can race through the garden, into the ballroom, and up the stairs.
The gentleman moves closer then, bringing his face so near hers that Tina can hear his ragged breaths. She tenses, feeling more exposed now than if she were laid bare in front of him.
“I want all of you.” He says softly. “Every piece. Even when you wear that filthy apron, your shape is a great temptation to me.”
Tina’s face grows warmer still. The idea that he’d been watching all this time, thinking of her intimately, makes her heart feel like bursting. It’s as though it had been dormant all this time and is coming to life only now.
Lord Pesto approaches even further, placing a gentle hand on Tina’s waist. She gasps, her body responding instantaneously to his touch.
“Kiss me.” She says resolutely, too far gone for coyness.
Lord Pesto nods, eyes already closing, and pulls her flush against his chest. When their lips meet, the ensuing moment is as magical as Tina’s favorite books make it out to be. It’s as if her whole body is ablaze, and the world apart from her and Lord Pesto ceases to exist.
His hands find her hair, and she realizes with a start that the impeccable curls are no longer of importance. All that matters now are their mouths clamoring toward each other, both desperate for more contact.
A sound springs from her mouth, the torrid kind she’s never uttered before. Lord Pesto responds in kind, and the moan from his lips inspires a passionate warmth between Tina’s legs. She gasps again, the unfamiliar sensation filling her with reckless abandon.
She deepens their kiss, wrapping both arms around Lord Pesto’s neck and pulling their bodies as close together as possible. When she feels him harden against her, she fights a wild urge to tear off his clothing.
“My God.” He murmurs, when at last they break away to take a breath. “You’ve always been irresistible to me. Since the moment I saw you.”
As he voices his enticement, Tina’s sure her legs could give out here and now. All she can do is press her lips to his again, eliciting another low moan from deep in his chest.
“You’re the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.” She says, a rush of courage thrusting the words from her mouth.
“And you’re most becoming.” He professes, drinking in the sight of her bosom. “This dress is enchanting.”
“Take me.” Tina breathes. “I want to be yours.”
Impaired by lust, she thinks little of the impropriety of their union. They’re strangers, really. Certainly not wed. And that’s to say nothing of their disparity in status. Lord Pesto appears of the same mind, his hand moving from Tina’s hip toward her breast.
When he grasps her there, they moan simultaneously. Tina yearns for more of him. She wants to abandon their clothes, moving their bodies together in a state of perfect bliss. He moans aloud, the sound sending a tremor of delight through her frame.
“This is so thrilling.” He murmurs. “I feel as though my life is truly beginning.”
All Tina can do is nod. The poems she pours over each night in her bedchamber, and the secondhand novels she indulges in on warm winter nights—the romance they capture feels real now.
“I want more of your touch.” She says. “Please. Touch me anywhere you’d like.”
He pulls back, judging her sincerity.
“Are you sure?” He asks tenderly.
Tina nods again. Her lower half is glowing, her heart aching with yearning. She’s filled with a deep trust the likes of which she’s never felt before.
“Yes.” She assures him. “I want–”
“Lord Pesto?” A man’s voice rings through the night, causing the two of them to scramble apart.
“One of my father’s coachmen.” Lord Pesto says anxiously. “He must be here to escort me home.”
Tina glances behind, listening intently to the steady clomp of approaching horses.
“Your coachmen?” She asks. “What kind of horses does he keep? Thoroughbred, or are they—?”
“Miss Belcher!”
“Right. Of course. My apologies.“
She re-focuses on the matter at hand, staying still as Lord Pesto straightens her dress.
“I hate to leave you.” He says quickly. “This night…it’s been one of the greatest of my life.”
Tina smiles a bittersweet smile. Though heartbroken that their perfect night must end, she’s awash with gratitude that it happened at all.
“Mine as well.” She says. “When shall I see you again?”
“Lord Pesto?” The male voice cries out a second time.
Devastated at the thought of leaving him, Tina takes Lord Pesto by the hand.
“At the first available moment.” He assures her. “You’ll be in my thoughts the whole time we’re apart.”
The horses are closer now, the sound of their feet echoing through the quiet garden. Tina kisses her suitor quickly, and he refuses to release her hand when she pulls away.
“I trust we’ll meet again soon, Miss Belcher.” He says.
She reflects on the intimate night they’ve shared, and an amused smile crosses her face.
“I believe you’ve earned the right to call me Tina.”
She steals another chaste kiss before darting off, dashing away from the rose garden and the object of her fondest hopes.