Thanks again for your wonderful reviews, your thoughts and insights on the plot and the characters. It's always a delight. Helen, Carol, LottieDahl and several others have asked for a flashback to the early days of Rhett and Scarlett's reconciliation, which I will try to get to in the next chapter. We also have a tea party to attend.
For Catherine Scarlett, Miss Sincerely, Asline Nicole, AnnaPanag, LMS, WiwitDM, Anon, and guests…here is "The Ball". It will come in two separate pieces ….Rose, and Charlotte. This is Charlotte's piece, in which she finally meets the gentleman Thad had picked out for her. (It'll be a question whether her and his taste overlap.) In a future chapter, we'll do the Ball from Rose's POV, and there will be R&T. (I promise, gbella!).
Charlotte was enjoying herself.
Her latent adventuresome side, which had sent her to enthusiastically explore foreign cities in Europe, was once more fully aroused. Her prominent nose was pressed against the window for much of the train ride, watching the countryside slide past. It was all she could do to keep from clapping in glee. This entire trip to the West had been unexpected, and delightful. For the first time in her life far away from the supervision of her elders, she felt light-hearted, and full of energy.
They had the comfortable first-class compartment to themselves. Ella, who for the first time in recent history showed a touch of animation on her cheeks, had very properly seated herself between Thad and Rose. Rose was also gazing out of the windows at the passing landscape. Unlike Charlotte, she seemed pensive.
The train crossed the San Jacinto River, and the streets of Houston came into view. As the train pulled into the depot, Charlotte's gaze tried to take in everything at once. Like many American cities, it, too was laid out on a grid – a very different effect from the meandering, narrow roads of Europe.
Thad helped them step outside. A liveried coachman with a carriage waited close by, ready to escort the ladies to their seats. He and Thad then transferred the luggage. The carriage was the first hint that Thad's style in the city was different from what he preferred at the Ranch. The horses' harness was gleaming and costly, even to Charlotte's untrained eyes. The carriage was dark blue, and lined with gold.
The city itself, Charlotte decided, was also impressive. Three, even four story office buildings were not uncommon, and the bustle of activity spoke of rebounding business after the collapse of the cattle boom. Charlotte craned her head this way and that. She felt not unlike the young Scarlett O'Hara had, the first time she had arrived in Atlanta. Here was a similar pulse of something new, and vital, in the air.
~~oo~~
It did not take them long to reach the townhouse. It was a three-story building, built in the Second Empire style. Charlotte sincerely admired the well-kept garden, the small towers, and the domed windows.
The inside, as she soon discovered, was decorated in the cheerful Renaissance mode. The smooth, plastered walls were a warm, sandy color. The fireplaces were grey and white marble, topped with gold-framed mirrors. Frescoes covered the ceiling, separated into layers and panels by ceiling cornices. Ornate chandeliers added luster, despite the fact that gaslight already brightened every room. The elegant doorframes were ornately molded. Exquisite Persian carpets dotted the wood flooring. The entirely uniform design of the house proved it had not been organically assembled from different periods, over generations, like almost all the feudal townhouses Charlotte was accustomed to. This, while lovely to look at, had obviously been put together over a much shorter period of time, probably by an interior designer. Charlotte felt as if she were a visitor from the future, walking through a period museum. She would not have been able to put it thus to herself, but instinct told her its beauty lacked weight, and history, and dissonance.
From what appeared to be a preponderance of guest bedrooms in the second story, Thad assigned each of the girls their own domicile. Charlotte's room lay in between Rose's, and Ella's. Thad's personal rooms, he informed her in answer to her question, were on the upper floor. A more suspicious nature than Charlotte's might have questioned the closeness of Rose's room to the well-carpeted stairs.
After a light dinner, served in the dining room downstairs, well-trained maids appeared unsummoned from the interior, helping the girls settle in, and undress for their naps.
Charlotte found her excitement kept her from resting. She turned and turned in the four-poster bed, unable to even close her eyes.
Some time later, she sat with Rose and Ella in front of Ella's vanity, getting ready for the ball. All three girls had received new ball gowns from Rhett – amber-colored for Ella, pale yellow for Charlotte, and blue for Rose. Each, it soon appeared, had been individually designed to flatter each girl's face and figure.
"Daddy has excellent taste," Rose said, with satisfaction, as she petted Ella's gown into place. Even though her most dire predictions about the width of sleeves threatened to be outdistanced by this year's fashion, only Ella's gown actually sported large puffs at the shoulders, to make up for their narrowness. Charlotte, who was broad-shouldered and slim-hipped, had been given a gown with more than a remnant of a back bustle, and almost straight sleeves. The square décolleté nicely enhanced her bust, without making her appear overly top-heavy.
"You both look lovely." Rose pronounced with satisfaction, allowing the maid to pull her own blue gown over her head.
"You look like a vision," Charlotte sighed, when the garment had been properly hung about her cousin's lithe frame. The light damask floated like a blue cloud about her, brightened by sparkling pearls reminiscent of dotted stars, turning her eyes into deep blue sapphires. The silver seashell claps gleamed softly. Two shell-shaped combs, studded with sapphires, completed the ensemble. "Thad's eyes will roll out of his head, when he sees you!"
As it turned out, Thad's eyes were not the only pair to roll out that evening.
~~oo~~
They made their entrance into the elegant ballroom at the strike of eight, warmly greeted by their hostess, a Mrs. Valerie Harper. She seemed genuinely delighted to see Thad, and if she was somewhat taken aback by his introduction of Rose as his fiancée, she did not show it. Charlotte, looking about her, decided the room would not have looked out of place in any of the upscale establishments of Charleston. The ballroom was Neo-Gothic in style, and enormous beneath its domed ceiling, large enough to fit two-to-three hundred couples. A string quartet had been hired to play, and refreshment tables liberally lined both velvet-hung walls.
The girls studied their dance cards. They were not familiar with any of the names, except for Thad's.
Thad, who seemed to know most of the people, introduced them to a whirlwind of faces that Charlotte forgot as soon as they were uttered. She danced vigorously with quite a few of the gentlemen, and was delighted when they flattered her outrageously. She did not know if this was simply the mode of the West, but she was enjoying herself. She did not suspect that her pedigree, and her family's wealth, had been extensively studied, and passed around, before she had even graced the doorway. She was also unaware that her delight was palpable, and infectious. Even Ella danced, though she seemed to spend most of her time in a circle of younger matrons, who chattered animatedly with her, as if they had known her for years. Charlotte did not consider the flush in her cousin's cheeks might not necessarily stem from the exercise.
During a break in the dancing, Charlotte spotted Thad by the side of the floor, speaking in a quick staccato to another unfamiliar gentleman, whose countenance she could not see. As she walked toward them, she heard the other man's reply, but could not make out the words. It appeared he conversed in an unusual dialect, that she had never heard before.
"There you are," Thad said, spotting her, and handing her glass of champagne. "Hugh Rittmeister - meet your next victim. Ma chère cousine Charlotte. From Charleston."
Charlotte cast him a look, almost of confusion. My cousin Charlotte. It had never been said out loud, in company, before. No matter how familiar they had all become.
The other man turned towards her, and she felt a sudden flush rise to her cheeks. She couldn't recall meeting anyone quite like him – not in Charleston, and not here. He was above average in height, and solidly built. Ash blond tresses curled around his face, landing almost at his shoulders, not even perfunctorily held together at the back. Underneath bushy blonde brows gleamed a pair of eyes so pale it was difficult to assign them a color. He wore a full beard, not the pointed chin beard with mustache that she was accustomed to seeing in Charleston. The beard made it hard to determine his age. She tried to decide if he was handsome.
His tailcoat was brown, not black, as would have been the appropriate evening wear. It was also slightly scruffy. His waistcoat (which should have been light grey, or beige at the most) was an unusual, patterned burgundy. A modern long-tie, carelessly bound, added to the casual air of the ensemble. He might have dressed to go hiking in the mountainside, not to attend the most festive event of the Summer. She took a deep sip of her drink.
"Couldn't be more delighted," he replied, evenly, to Thad's introduction.
It could have been the inflictions of his dialect, but somehow, Charlotte didn't quite think he meant it.
"Thad!" An auburn-haired lady called, making a beckoning gesture with her hand. "You simply must play something for me during the intermission. I insist!" There were cries of agreement from bystanders, and scattered clapping.
Thad excused himself, walking the length of the room towards the Grand piano, and Charlotte was left alone with the odd-looking man. She took another sip of her drink, hoping it would fortify her.
After seating himself, Thad - apparently in a mood to show off - started with the Scherzo from Beethoven's Grand Sonata for the Hammer Piano. As the notes percolated through the room, a crowd began to form around the piano.
Hugh Rittmeister did not seem inclined to speak, though they were far enough from the instrument to make conversation possible. Charlotte, who had been reared to a rigid pattern, could have made polite small-talk - but for reasons that would later escape her, she remained silent as well. Perhaps because she found his penetrating stare rather impolite.
"Charleston," Hugh finally said, as if he had never heard of such a place. "On the East coast, I gather."
Charlotte laughed. It was an unaffected laugh, filled with pure pleasure in the absurd. It was too amusing to hear her home-town thus described …. as something of little importance. In a way, she supposed it was.
The thick blonde brows went up at the sound. Charlotte noted he had an odd habit of shifting his weight - as if about to pounce, or to flee - that was at odds with his languid countenance.
"You aren't from Houston," Charlotte said, suddenly. She was not familiar enough with Western speech-patterns to pinpoint his, but it was definitely not local.
"No. I was raised in….. the mountains of Nevada," he replied, diffidently. "But my mother was a Harper. That creature, there, is my cousin Veronica." He pointed to a full-figured, fox-haired little minx, who had draped herself around the piano in a decorative fashion.
Thad had ended the Scherzo, and begun to play a different tune, no less lively. The girl in question trilled a high-pitched, artificial giggle, tossing back her auburn hair. "She seems ….. interested in Cousin Thad," Charlotte said, absent-mindedly, looking at them both.
Hugh threw her another look, this time more penetrating. "Indeed. Had been casting her net for him all of last Season. Until he suddenly left for the country for ….unknown reasons, and did not return. Of course, now we know why." He cast his gaze about for Rose, who stood quietly in the circle of listeners. Her face was as splendidly null as it had ever been.
"Are you …musical?" Hugh asked. Charlotte had to strain her ears to understand him. It was almost as if he exaggerated his speech on purpose.
"Honestly – no," she said, frankly. His lips curled in something that might have been a smile on other people's faces. She wondered if he ever really smiled. "But I do enjoy listening to the more modern songs! If only Cousin Thad would play something other than those dreary classical tunes, I…"
Hugh Rittmeister appeared almost startled. "He couldn't, of course."
"Why not?"
"Because of how it would appear."
Charlotte looked startled. "Why do you say that? I'm sure many people would like it better!"
He shook his head.
"Do explain what you mean. Please?"
"Thad is only half blue blood, and an illegitimate half at that," he clarified, as if surprised at himself for expanding. "Not only that, but he's rumored to have worked in ….saloons in the past. Were he to play that kind of music in company…" He left the sentence dangling.
Charlotte wore a mulish expression, fearful of being talked down to. But she was determined in her quest for comprehension. "I still don't understand. He's allowed to play classical music, but nothing…modern? Why should anyone care? Everyone plays piano."
"Everyone plays piano – but only a few people play piano. Those select few, who have achieved true mastery of the likes of Bach, and Mozart, and Chopin - form an aristocratic society all of their own. In every… upper class, there are a handful who belong to it -and they are usually the ones whose good opinion you want to cultivate. Here in Houston, it is my Aunt, Eugenie Harper." He pointed to the buxom, auburn-haired lady who had asked Thad to play. She was standing attentively next to the instrument, smiling the soft half-smile of those with no need to feign rapture. "And Emil LaCroix, over there." A strange little man, with a pointed chin beard, and a long mustache. "And Mathilde Boesendorfer." A slender, white-haired lady in an impossibly green frock. "Aunt Eugenie plays almost as well as Thad. You should listen to them do a four-handed piece, sometimes."
Charlotte made a noise she hoped sounded appreciative. Hugh threw her a languid gaze, and continued, "it's akin to a ….secret society. One of the few that can be joined on pure merit. And its members hold their hands …..protectively over their own."
"Why does it matter if you can ….play piano?"
He looked at her again. "Because it takes immeasurable patience, diligence,….. and discipline to achieve that kind of mastery. And because you cannot hide your soul, when you play true music."
Charlotte attempted in vain to follow his logic, but gave up. Some things in life would have to remain a mystery.
Thad was playing something rapid-fire and lively – Brahms, had Charlotte known it- and suddenly, Veronica's rich alto filled the night-air.
Nein, es ist nicht auszukommen
mit den Leuten;
Alles wissen sie so giftig
auszudeuten.
Bin ich heiter, hegen soll ich
lose Triebe;
bin ich still, so heißts, ich wäre
irr aus Liebe.
"Liebesliederwalzer. Clever little minx," Hugh observed, languidly. "She has a pretty voice, and she knows it. And of course, she has been practicing daily, since she set her sights on Thad."
"Thad is engaged," Charlotte said, scandalized.
That earned her another stare. By the time the night was over, she'd have to examine herself for holes. "Engaged does not mean married."
With a thud, he fell out of charity with Charlotte. With charity went her tact, and her remaining interest in the topic of music. "Why are you dressed like that?"
He laughed for the first time. It sounded unused and raspy, as if he were choking on something. "Thad wasn't wrong about you."
"Why?" She rarely lost track of a question, unless she wanted to.
"Because I can afford it," he replied, at long last.
"If you can afford it, why not buy something new?"
He raised the bushy eyebrows. "Why do people dress well?"
Charlotte looked puzzled. She had never thought about it. "Because they want ….other people to admire them?"
"Exactly."
"So you don't care if other people admire you?"
"If you are blue-blooded enough, or rich enough ….people will admire you in spite of your dress." That was true, Charlotte thought. There were several people who dressed notoriously poorly in Charleston's Ton as well, and people seemed to like them just fine. However, they were usually much older.
"And which are you?"
"Both."
"Blue-blooded, and rich?"
"Blue-blooded on my mother's side. She was a Harper, as I've said. She ran off with my father of course, which could have ruined her …..until they found out he owned three silver mines in Nevada. Now, he is considered merely … eccentric."
"And Thad?"
"He's here, isn't he?" He cast an enigmatic look at his friend's back. "But it takes all of his grace in playing Schubert, his fortune, and his pretty face to make people forget he is…."
"A bastard?"
He chortled again. "Not merely that."
"I see," Charlotte said, with something like disgust. "If he were ugly, or didn't play so well, he wouldn't be accepted."
"Precisely."
"I thought he was your friend." She would never talk so about Rose, or Ella. Even if it were true.
"He is," Hugh replied, as if that had nothing to do with the matter.
"It's a good thing I'm not illegitimate," she blurted out suddenly, as the thought struck her.
"I take it you don't play as well, then." His pale eyes glimmered with a curious, unaffected interest. It was disconcerting. He wasn't even particularly cold. Something vital about him was just …not there.
"No." she said, icily. "And I'm also not….."
"Few of us are quite as pretty as Thad. Although his little fiancée could probably give him a run for his money. Seems unfair, does it not? All that loveliness, and blue-blooded to boot. If only she weren't so …complicated."
"Complicated?! Rose?" She had heard enough from this person. He was as rude and boorish as…..
"I think that's our cue," he suddenly said. She realized Thad had stopped playing, and the string quartet had once more taken up their dance tunes. Then she remembered Hugh was on her card for the quadrille.
She thought briefly about leaving him standing in the middle of the room, but decided against it. After all, she did not want to embarrass Thad in front of his friends. Grudgingly allowing Hugh to take her arm, she subsequently discovered that he was a decent dancer, who guided her easily through the figures. When they stopped, he did not bring her back to the others right away, but stood once more staring at her. She colored, unsure of what to say.
"I think you'll do," he remarked, suddenly.
She started at the non sequitur. "Do for what?" She was becoming increasingly uncomfortable, and desperately tried to think of a plausible excuse to leave.
"I'm in the market for a wife," he remarked, as nonchalantly as if he were discussing the weather. Again, he was shifting his weight. "Thad implied you might be just what I was looking for." He looked her over again, like a cattle rancher would evaluate a potential bovine purchase. "I believe …..he may have been right."
Charlotte flushed beet red, from anger and humiliation. This was not how she had envisioned her first proposal. "You're in the market for a wife? Perhaps you'd like to examine my teeth, as well?"
"You're youngish," he said, sweeping her once more with that appraising glance, as if he knew it aggravated her. "I'll assume your teeth are fine." Charlotte sputtered, too enraged to think of a sharp retort. He watched her bluster in silence, before he added, "think it over. I hear your living situation isn't exactly ….comfortable, back in the East. You could do your own thing, here." He nodded, in mimicry of politeness, before he turned, and disappeared into the crowd.
~~oo~~
The dark night had fallen over the city. Hugh stepped onto through the double doors onto the veranda that ran the length of the house. A few garden crickets chirped, and a lone nightingale sang forlornly in the bushes by the fence. Against the back wall stood a shadow. "I thought you might be out here." There was no one else to listen, but if there had been, they might have heard the thick mountain dialect fall away, revealing the crisp, upper-class English accept of those who had spent their formative years in upscale British boarding schools.
"I needed fresh air," Thad replied. "Rose is dancing with Marvin."
"A most fortunate young lady," Hugh laughed. "Her toes will be black and blue by the time you get her back." Marvin was a friend of theirs, but was none the less ruthlessly ribbed for his defects, in the time-honored manner of male friendship. "If you're hiding out here, I take it my cousin Veronica is being... difficult? But then again, it was unlikely she would take quietly to your returning with a fiancée from the East, especially one so beautiful, and well-born to boot." He took a cigar-case out of his breast-pocket, and withdrew a slender cigar, which he proceeded to light. He did not bother to offer one to Thad. "And Elaine Patterson looked more than just a little heart-broken."
"I know," Thad said, grimacing. "There is, however, no other choice, if we are to live here. And there is no way I could have married Elaine, even if there had been no Rose. You known how the Pattersons are. " He looked at his friend. "You spoke with Charlotte."
"You were right. I think she will answer nicely." Hugh laughed. "She's no beauty, but not unpleasing to look at. And her figure is excellent. As you know, I've always been partial to tall, full-busted women." He cast a suggestive look at Thad, who did respond. "And as you told me, she says what she thinks, darn the consequences, and she's as easy to read as an open book. A most refreshing quality in a woman. I agree - it even appears she has….principles. So I went ahead and proposed, but …..I don't know if I can persuade her to accept."
The black eyebrows went up. "You proposed? Half an hour after meeting her? Rather ….hasty, don't you think?"
"I tried waiting before….and look where that got me. Emma needs a mother, before she gets completely out of control. And your judgment is usually better than mine, when it comes to women. Must be the….breadth of your experience with the weaker sex."
"You should rely on more than my judgment, when it comes to choosing your wife."
"You're much more of a romantic than I am," Hugh said, languidly. "You always were. Perhaps because no woman ever left you voluntarily."
"One did," Thad murmured.
"I may stop by at the Ranch later this week, if it's all the same to you. I need to work on my new…prospect. And in the meantime, you might consider having me over for supper."
"Be my guest."
"Are you sure you don't want the blondie for yourself?" Hugh laughed. "That little curly-haired porcelain doll you're cultivating has more layers than the Ricercar a 6, which must be fatiguing over the long run – and even the short. Stunning to look at, of course, but all that will buy you is more competition. Before and after she has your ring on her finger. But then you've always liked making things difficult for yourself."
"I would advise you to stop pursuing that subject. At least if you want that nose to remain unbroken."
"Touchy, are we not?" his friend laughed, with a hint of discomfort. He had seen Thad's temper explode before.
"Yes."
"Don't pull that face when you're inside," Hugh advised, with apparent lightness. "It might clue in my aunt Eugenie that your Mozart is merely a veneer of civilization spread over a feral core."
"Don't you forget it," Thad replied, in his most unsettling tone of voice. The one that had no inflection whatsoever.
"Don't worry. I have already added your fair lady to my short list of things that may not be mocked." Hugh added, more softly, "And I apologize for upsetting you. You know I don't mean half the things I say sometimes."
Thad's tense stance relaxed. "I ….apologize as well. I shouldn't have snapped your head off. I admit I'm feeling rather edgy, and defensive on that particular subject. My…..mother has been intolerably critical of Rose. For God knows what reason."
Hugh said nothing, for a moment, as if unsure how to handle such unaccustomed revelation. "Mothers and daughter-in-laws have a history of not getting along," he mused, finally. "My mother hated Allison. Of course, in her case, it turned out she was quite right."
"It's more than that, unfortunately."
"Find out what it is," Hugh advised. "You're always telling me most problems between people occur due to poor communication." He lightly slapped Thad on the shoulder. "You can talk to anybody, if you want to. If it's not working here, it's because you don't."
Thad sighed, but played along. Perhaps to make up for his earlier rudeness. "Don't what?"
"Want to." The music was winding down. "We have to go back inside. The next dance will start soon."
Thad grimaced slightly. "I'm due to dance with Elaine."
"I don't envy you," Hugh said, softly. "If "nice" had been enough for you, and the Pattersons had been different people, she might have made you a decent wife."
"It never has been -and they aren't." Thad replied, firmly. A lone gas light burned by the door, a magnet for suicidal moths. As he stepped into its cone, for a brief moment, his face flamed to life. "You needn't worry, Hugh. I haven't lost my bearings over Rose's beauty, or even her name. I think….she will understand when things….roll out of the circle. And help chuck it back in."
"Good luck," Hugh uttered, as if in answer.
They went back inside, and the night was left once more to the crickets and the moths, its true owners. The lone gaslight was left burning. As the door closed behind them, the light-addled moths continued to circle around the flame.
I loved Dixie's idea of a "key" for her chapter of Girl's World (and found it very helpful), so I will give one as well.
The Ricercar a 6 is a fugue by JS Bach with six separate voices. Ordinary fugues have two-ish.
Liebesliederwalzer is a song cycle by Brahms. For four handed piano, and four voices, but can be adapted for solos. Here is the translation of the one Veronica was singing.
"No, there's just no getting along
with people;
they always make such poisonous
interpretations of everything.
If I'm merry, they say I cherish
loose urges;
if I'm quiet, they say
I am crazed with love."
The term "classical music" goes back to the mid-1830s. Before our times, it mainly referred to the period from Johann Sebastian Bach to Beethoven, which was considered the Golden Age of Music. Charlotte, of course, might disagree.