Prologue
Kent, 4th of May 1913
The day Pedro Cardoso fell in love with Ella Everett was her 19th birthday. All her friends had been invited.
Pedro spent the best part of the day helping Anna, the Everett’s housemaid, fixing the first floor for the party, emptying one of the rooms of furniture for dancing, putting up a big buffet table in another and listening to Anna’s constant chatter about the invited gentlemen and if they would be suitable for Ella.
At first, he had laughed, but then as she went on and on, intercepted with, “For God’s sake, Anna, the girl has just turned eighteen, she is to dance and have fun, not to be put up for the marriage market.”
What followed was an offended silence while the housemaid dusted the decorations in the drawing room and Pedro was arranging sofas and chairs. But Anna could not keep it up for long.
“She is growing up, you know.”
“And what do you want to tell me with that?” Pedro asked with an exasperated scowl.
“Just, you know, she could have a beau and if she has, we should know it!”
“Should we now?”
He laughed. Pedro was quite sure that he would know. There were a lot of things Ella had confided in him, rather than in her parents. Tomorrow she would banter with him about the ignorant flirting attempts and the stiff conversations, analysing the flaws of any potential suitor. And then she would proceed to try to beat him at tennis or target shooting or whatever best pleased her. He would not rub that under Anna’s nose.
Then, later this afternoon, as Ella was carefully coming down the stairs to greet the first guests, it struck him that she was indeed growing up. She was wearing an emerald green gown that made her eyes shine a little greener than usual and perfectly complemented her auburn hair arranged in an intricate bun.
She had complained to Pedro endlessly about the gown before the fact. It was uncomfortable, the lace was itchy, she would spend all evening worrying about ruining it, and it was simply unnecessary as she had enough dresses that served her very well for an evening of fun and dancing.
“But of course, I’ll have to use it now that Mamma spent so much money on it,” she had sighed, and continued, “I bet you won’t like it, it looks very aristocratic, you know.”
It did look aristocratic indeed, but that did not make him like it any less. When she glanced at him with a kind of insecurity on her face that did not suit her usual confident self, he smiled reassuringly.
“You are beautiful, querida (my dear),” he said, and her face lit up, ready to take on the world.
Pedro spent the evening conversing politely with the elder guests and dancing with two or three of the wallflowers Mrs Everett discreetly pointed out to him. “Would you mind terribly to give her a little attention,” she said, “she has not had a dance for the whole evening yet, I know she’s a little clumsy, but …”
And as Pedro could not very well deny Ella’s mother any wish, he danced with the terribly clumsy Miss Miller and the very shy Miss Walker before going back to nipping on a glass of champagne and observing the room.
Ella was the centre of attention, whirling happily around the dancefloor in the arms of one gentleman and then another, all discomfort forgotten. Pedro was happy for her, but he also couldn’t help but feel a strange twinge in his stomach at the sight.
As soon as was socially acceptable he bid goodnight to Mr and Mrs Everett, saw Ella in deep conversation with some of her friends and decided not to interrupt her. He slipped out of the back door and made his way through the rose garden and the meadow towards the path through the woods that would take him home.
He took a deep breath of fresh air, glad to have made it out. Gatherings like this one always made him feel uncomfortable, participating but never quite belonging.
When he was halfway along the meadow, he heard Ella shout his name. He turned. She was running towards him.
“Pedro, wait, I didn’t even bid you good night.” She was panting when she reached him.
“I thought you couldn’t move in that dress,” he said, slightly raising one eyebrow to tease her.
“Ah, it’s not so bad.”
He smiled at her.
“Do you really have to go already?” she asked.
“Ella, you know how much I hate being in a stuffy room full of people trying to imitate the aristocracy.”
“Yes, but… this is my stuffy room, for my birthday. I thought you might have danced with me before going.”
“Querida, you know that I only dance with perpetual wallflowers, and even that only for the sake of your dear mamma. And you, my dear, cannot tell me that you’ve had a single free space on your dance card so far today.”
She pouted her lips. “I would have had one for you.”
A warm feeling spread in his chest. “Of course you would.”
“You could have made an exception… You could make it now for a fact.”
Ella stretched out her hand as if she were the man asking for a dance.
And in that moment, he realised how much he wanted to take the hand she offered him, pull her into his arms, dance with her, right here on the moonlit path, to the soft music coming from the house. It would be a dance far from all the etiquette and social stiffness that daunted him in a ballroom, and when they finished, he would pull her even closer, bury his fingers in her soft hair and kiss her.
“Is everything alright, Pedro?”
Nothing was alright. He was developing feelings he could never allow himself to have. For far too many reasons. But he could not show her that, so he resorted to the kind of humour they had always shared.
“Miss Eleonora Everett, you never ask a gentleman to dance with you, it is not done,” he said in his best imitation of her former governess’ voice, trying to deflect from the shocking realisation. It worked, she stifled a laugh.
“I am awfully sorry, Sir, please do excuse my impertinence.”
And here they were, laughing together, as if nothing had happened.
“Go back and enjoy yourself, Ella, I’ll see you in the morning. Até amanhã (see you tomorrow).”
“Boa noite (good night), Pedro.”
He watched her going back into the house, waving when she entered the door. Then he went home and pumped ice-cold water over his head.
