Page 9 of The Songbird of Wychwood

MISS GEORGETTE

“Come along my darlings, grab your beau and take him for a spin,” I encouraged as Mr. Hugo played another waltz. Three couples took to the floor. The first was an older black-skinned gentleman who wore a stunning lavender silk suit and his younger lover who was a radiant redhead in a lovely green gown. The second couple was both portly older gentlemen who only had eyes for each other, and the third couple was a scowling man with the look of the military about him. He danced with a stiff backed, dark-haired young lordling who looked like he did not want to be here at all.

My admirer watched me as I sat on the grand piano and sang. He was transfixed, wearing a dopey look on his face like I hung the moon and stars. It was ridiculously flattering to have his gaze on me and it made lusty heat coil at my nethers. I told myself he must have had too much to drink cos he’d only just met me and knew nothing about me. I’d dreamed of a man looking at me in that way, as if I was the most ravishing creature he’d ever seen. It quite went to my head, making my pego semi-hard in my silky knickers. I returned his longing looks. When I finished the song, the gents applauded so did a twirl on the piano, pulled up my skirts, and flashed my frilly drawers to whoops and wolf whistles. One of the regulars I knew as number 18 came over and caught me around the waist; and then lifted me to the ground. He took me for a jaunty whirl around the floor as Alfonse began to play another waltz. Members came into the room to watch. They stamped their feet and clapped in time as we all whirled around the dance floor, then suddenly; I was tugged from the arms of number 18 and into the arms of 36. I gasped and looked up into his green eyes, and my goodness, the fire of jealousy that burned there made me harden once more. We stood transfixed like time had stopped, me panting like I’d run a mile, the melody moving on without me. Mr. 36 pressed us, chest to chest and grinned in triumph.

“Well, whatcha waiting for?” I goaded, and then we were off. Mr. Hugo played faster and I was dizzied not only by the twirling waltz, but by my partner’s closeness and his hand in mine. I loved the feeling of his hard chest pressed against me, and the smell of him, the orange and bergamot perfume mingling with his personal scent was intoxicating. I wanted to drink him down like a soothing tea. It felt like we were stepping on air as he whirled me around the floor. This mysterious man could dance me to the stars and back and I’d still want more. When the waltz ended the gents applauded wildly, and even Mr. Hugo stood to applaud. Mr. Joshua had been watching us too. I picked up my skirts and curtsied while my dancing partner bowed. By this time, I was breathless and parched. I’d always had fun at Wychwood and danced with a swell or two who knew not to try anything that would lose them their prized place here, but I’d never been swept up in such a romantic way by a gentleman like 36. He’d gone from being as skittish as a rabbit, to confident enough to take me from the arms of another man. I wish I’d brought a fan because, my god, I was burning up and I desperately wanted to kiss Mr. 36. I hurried off to take a piss and check that I didn’t look like I’d been dragged through a hedge.

When I returned to the music room I didn’t see hide-nor-hair of Mr. 36. I went to join Mr. Hugo, and as it was late, we began on the slower, romantic ballads that put our gents in the mood. During my next break I took a turn of all of the downstairs rooms, yet I didn’t see Mr. 36. I wondered if he’d found a fellow to give him the relief he desired. The thought of it made me feel queasy. I had no right to feel that way. I didn’t know his name and he weren’t mine. He was here to get his end away in a safe space. And even though I knew all of these things were fact and truth, it still stung, cos this was the first time I’d met a fellow at Wychwood I wanted for myself. And I couldn’t have him.

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