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“What would you have me say, Miss Tooting? Should I flatter the tune? Or your playing of it? You know I am not musically inclined, and such sentiments would ring hollow.”

Made bold by the touch of the keys beneath her hands, she said, “I would have you speak of how you felt.” 

“How I felt? Madame, I would not disclose that for the world.”

“Not even for me?” 

Too bold. That was too bold.

“You would have me tell you that I cannot give you the comfort of music, Miss Tooting? That, yes, all I can offer you are dry books on economy and prudence?”

“If that is the truth, sir.”

“It is, and it is therefore better for us both if I remain silent.”

Her mind upon her fingers, she let her mouth run on the themes she normally kept locked within her heart, “And yet I do not believe that I would have it so.”

“Have a care, Miss Tooting.”

“Mr Thornton, it is often said of my sex that we are the weaker and more timorous. I see no evidence of that here. So, sir, please. If you have something to say to me, then by all means, say it.”

“I believe you are laughing at me.”

No. She was almost in tears. 

“Would that injure you so very much?”

“More than words can express.”

She stared at the small black marks on the manuscript paper, although she knew this piece so well, she did not need to see them. “Well, I can make no promises.” 

His breath was on her neck again, cold, “Neither can I, Miss Tooting.”

“I’m afraid I do not follow you.”

“I cannot promise you music, Miss Tooting, nor any of the other comforts to which you are accustomed. I cannot promise you a declaration, for I am in no position to make one to you.”

Her hand trembled, and she pressed too hard upon a key.

“Your father would never grant us his permission.” The words came from him as though he were unable to stop them. “And I cannot fault his prudence upon the matter. I should withdraw entirely, for your presence gives me nothing but pain - yet, for all that it goes against all propriety, against all sense and all hope, I cannot stay from your side. Please, Miss Tooting, believe me when I say that I am deeply, and sincerely devoted to you.” 

He was shaking. She could feel him through the muslin of her gown. 

There was no way that words could answer this, no possible response but to surrender to him, to allow him to hold her. It was only the presence of her mother that prevented her.

“If it is pleasing to you to laugh at such things, madame, might I have your permission to depart?”

“No,” she said, trying not to tremble herself. “No, you do not have my permission, sir. But to love me? How could I prevent you doing that?”

“I do not speak in jest, Miss Tooting.”

“How could I prevent you,” she went on, as though she had not heard him, “when every fibre in my being adores you? When had you permitted yourself to make a declaration, I would have fallen to you like a... like a star from heaven? When if you had… Please turn the page, or my mother will suspect the matter of our talk.”

Again, his arm, so close to her.

“When, if you had proposed marriage, then I would gladly defy my father, or any other force on earth, to oblige you.”

He said nothing. 

For a long time, he merely stood beside her like an immobile thing. The muscles in her arms ached from the tension. Her back was stiff and sore. Her fingers continued their work. One kiss, there merest touch of his hand would bring her melting into ease once more.

Then, at last, “These are your true feelings on the matter, Miss...” He paused, as though tasting the word, “Serafina?”

“Yes,” she said, and, “of course,” and “How could you doubt me?”

“Then I must go.”

“No,” she said, “No, I don’t think that follows.”

“Serafina… Miss Tooting, I cannot remain. I am sorry for the pain this must cause you - know that it is only matched by that in my own heart. Yet, as I can offer you nothing, I cannot permit myself to remain. I beg your forgiveness for having brought you any discomfort, any sorrow. But it is better that I remove myself from your life so that I damage your prospects no further. My love has been presumptuous, selfish, cruel. I could not bear to be apart from you, but I did not hope, I never dared not hope that you… that you would ever-”

“Then hope, Mr Thornton. For I am neither so impatient nor changeable as you appear to believe.”

“I am secure in your heart?” He reached out to turn the page for her again, but the piece was a short one, and almost at an end.

“Secure? Sir, if my heart were any more your prisoner, it would be in manacles.”

“I see you do not keep yourself entirely aloof from sensational literature.” 

His tone was low, intimate, and although she tried to draw out the last breve to cover it, her mother caught the words.

“What are you two whispering at, over there?” 

“Mr Thornton was commenting upon the breadth of my literary interest, mama. While instructive manuals meet with his approval, it seems that novels of terror do not merit such benevolence.”

“Quite right, too, Mr Thornton. Some of these books that she seeks out… Honestly, I’m not quite sure they can be proper. It’s a wonder that publishers allow them.”

Mr Thornton straightened to awkward respectability once again, “While I am sure Miss Tooting would never permit herself to enjoy an outright impropriety, madam, I cannot help but agree with you.” It was as though he thought speaking with the pedantry of a schoolteacher would win her mother’s approval. “There is something of morbidity to such works. They encourage an unhealthy fascination with the darker aspects of life. Indeed, they present such things as desirable, and this is… I feel it to be… unwholesome. It is alarming the number of girls who now concern themselves with such unpleasant fantasies.”

“But surely, sir,” she said, “it is better that they experience them safely, between the pages of a book, than seeking them out in the real world.”

“The question is rather whether such thoughts would ever have occurred to an upright, Christian girl had such deplorable material never being placed in her hands.” He had his head up, chin raised in a way that was nothing like the bowed posture he had assumed a few seconds before. There was something haughty to him in that moment - his jaw was smooth, his lips were barely darker than his skin. 

Seeing him so, she wondered whether he might not have a point. For yes, she rankled under the reproach, and the pompous fashion in which he stated it; yes, she felt all her old frustration at the way men always felt she would accept her argument without question, but all the same, she would gladly look on him like this all day. There was something of the Ambrose about his manner, a touch of that wicked magnetism.

“I believe,” she said, and her voice was a simper when she would sooner have had it be a sneer, “that the propensity for finding good or evil in a text lies entirely in the mind of the reader. A virtuous mind will draw the lessons of virtue from all they encounter. Take Miss Radcliffe, for example...”

“I do apologise, Mr Thornton. Serafina is merely a young girl with very little knowledge of the moral character of man.”

“By no means,” said Mr Thornton, and she watched him fold back into that servile stance, “Why, Caxton made a similar argument in his preface to the Morte d’Arthur, where he argues…”

“Yes,” she said, “I know.”

“Serafina.”

“I’m sorry, mama. Mr Thornton, please, do tell me what Mr Caxton said on the matter, I’m sure you’ll put it much better than I can.”

Jones had come in to the room with no-one noticing him, and said, “There is a Mr Valance presenting his card at the door, Ma’am."

Had Serafina not been watching Mr Thornton’s face, she would have missed the flinch that passed across it, swift as an eye-blink. “Who?” 

“A Mr Valance, sir,” said Jones, carefully impassive.

“Ah,” said Mrs Tooting, “Now, wasn’t he the young gentleman who accompanied you to tea at the Lady N---’s, Serafina?”

She was still watching Mr Thornton. “I suppose it does sound familiar, mama, but I really couldn’t say.”

Her mother nodded.

“Are you at home to him, ma’am?”

“Yes, yes, by all means.”

Mr Thornton had clenched his hands about his gloves, as though he were wringing the life out of them. The silence in the room was oddly tense.

“Ah,” said a light, affected voice, “My apologies. I do hope I’m not interrupting anything.” The fair-haired young man bowed to them ostentatiously, then said, “My word, Dickie Thornton. Fancy finding you here.”