Chapter Text
The first time she sees her, it’s from across a busy dance hall, mid turn, whilst in the arms of someone else. All evening, the music has been too loud, overwhelming as she tries to enjoy the dancing, a feat now rendered impossible by the presence of one unknown woman. Her smile is what she notices first; open, genuine as she converses with the gentleman standing next to her.
And then she’s looking right back at her, Lottie is sure of it, the wide smile falling slightly as big brown eyes watch her. It’s as if the world narrows, focusing on only her in a moment of pure, blinding clarity.
(She will, months later, whisper between breathless kisses how difficult it was to remember the steps, to keep turning her head away from the beauty that had ensnared her.)
The dance finally comes to an end and she barely remembers to thank her partner for the dance, his request for another fails to reach her as she scours the crowd for her again. It doesn’t take long, for the tall woman is easy to find even amongst all these people; standing near the edge of the room amongst instruments more valuable than Lottie has ever seen. A small smile pulls at her lips as the relief washes over her. Her pulse quickens as she takes the figure in, both anchored by her presence and set adrift by the fluttering need to know her bursting from within.
If this is what the poets speak of, their words are not enough to capture the truth of it.
She edges slightly closer, breath catching in her throat as she notes a loose curl of hair falling into her soft, serene face - tries to banish the accompanying need to tuck it back behind her ear - and elegant fingers skirting over the pianoforte. Silver rings glint in the light, holding her focus as she watches the gentle caress of the keys. She doesn’t press down, the instrument makes no sound, but her fingers ghost over the ivory as if playing a song from memory. Lottie wishes she could hear her music.
Tearing herself away, she searches the room for someone - anyone - who might be a mutual acquaintance, attempting to maintain an air of calm through the urgent hammering of her heart.
She needn’t have worried. Salvation finds her.
“Miss Fitzwilliam?”
Lottie spins on the spot at the sound of her name, skirts swirling around her, and finds herself facing her. Tina Poname, an old friend, who had spoken Lottie’s name is stood beside her and Lottie tries to control the smile from taking over her entire face.
Lottie tears her eyes from the woman’s face, from the quirk of a smile on her lips - beautiful is not a good enough word, she thinks - and desperately tries to remember her manners. “Miss Poname!” She gives a curtsey. “I did not know you were in Bath, I am delighted to see you.” Her eyes, unbidden, flick back to the deep brown ones behind him to find they are watching her.
“And I you.” Lottie doesn’t miss the smile on Miss Poname’s face as she begins her next sentence, “May I introduce you to Miss Natalie Sewell? Miss Charlotte Fitzwilliam.”
She curtseys again as she looks back to Miss Sewell, her name - Natalie - running through her mind, wondering how it would feel to say, how it would sound. “I’m honoured to make your acquaintance, Miss Sewell.”
“The honour is all mine, Miss Fitzwilliam.” The deep voice, saying her name so softly, sends a flutter through her. “I have not seen you in Bath before, are you often here for the season?”
“Never. It is my first time.”
The smile on Miss Sewell’s lips - oh those lips, she could stare all day - grows at her words. “Well, I hope we’ve made a good impression so far?”
“It’s a beautiful city, I have yet to see much of it though.”
“Indeed, it is.” Tina’s voice forces Lottie’s gaze away from Miss Sewell. She had almost forgotten she was there. “My apologies, you will have to excuse me,” She leans in close to Lottie as she passes, “I have just seen Mr Verda dancing of all things and you know I can’t bear missing a chance to tease him.”
She gives a brief bow to them both and walks off, skirts rustling. Lottie turns back to Miss Sewell, has a moment to take her in as she watches Tina reunite with their friend. Lottie has to crane her neck a little to look at her face. Her skin looks impossibly soft, warm brown almost glowing in the candle light.
Miss Sewell turns back to her and she feels herself grow warm at being caught staring, but can’t bring herself to look away. “Is there anywhere in Bath you would recommend going whilst I’m here?”
It’s been mere minutes, but Lottie is already accustomed to seeing the smile on Miss Sewell’s lips; hopes it’s a result of her company, though she suspects it’s more of a permanent fixture. “I would always recommend the library, I spend much of my time there. I suppose there’s the obvious: the Roman Baths. They are quite beautiful, though the city has become more of a resort in recent years, they are certainly worth seeing. The history of the hot springs is fascinating, formed from water fallen thousands of years ago.”
Her brown eyes, wide and bright, are enchanting. Lottie feels as though she could fall into their depths as she listens to her explain the intricacies of rainwater reacting with limestone, her soothing tones like a sweet wine.
“I apologise,” She looks bashful for a moment and looks away. “You don’t want to hear the history of how rainwater turned into hot springs -”
“On the contrary.” Miss Sewell raises an eyebrow as her eyes flicker back and forth between Lottie’s. “I would happily listen.”
One side of Miss Sewell’s mouth quirks up, and she nods at Lottie. “I’m grateful for your kind words, however a tour guide may be better equipped to explain the science behind it if you are interested.”
“Perhaps you could be my tour guide.” Lottie watches as Miss Sewell rolls her lips together and avoids her gaze.
There’s a moment where she wonders if she’s been too bold, too forthcoming with what burns inside her. The suggestion was light, hopeful even, but it’s a dangerous thing. A risk worth taking, she thinks. Lottie has rarely been one to hold back from temptation, no amount of admonishment could quit her from chasing her desires. And this, this is no fleeting want.
She feels a twinge of regret bubble up inside her, hopes to rectify what she has done, almost prays that she has not ruined the chance of even friendship between the pair, when Miss Sewell looks up.
When they make eye contact again, those brown eyes seem darker. “Perhaps I could be.”
That night, when Lottie is home and under her covers, replaying the evening in her mind, watching it play out on the ornate ceiling above her bed, she lets her mouth form her name. Just once in a whisper barely audible even to her.
“Natalie.”
---
The Assembly rooms are busy again. It is by far the most popular place for a social occasion in Bath, or so Lottie’s aunt is wont to tell her. She would roll her eyes if it wouldn’t earn her a reprimand.
Though, in this instance, she probably wouldn’t complain at being brought here again. The possibility of seeing one Miss Sewell set her heart aflutter.
She had never been a fan of romance novels, though she was always expected to have read the latest by those around her. She preferred an adventure, something thrilling. The feeling of anticipation, the possibility of something exciting with every turn of a page, it was like no other.
But even that feeling was nothing to this.
They are barely in the door when Lottie is craning her neck to see over crowds. She should be thankful her brother and aunt are too consumed by each other’s conversation to notice her distraction.
“Are you looking for someone?” A soft voice comes from behind her and she closes her eyes briefly to savour it.
“Miss Sewell,” Lottie turns and inclines her head at the taller woman, more beautiful than her memory could do credit.
“Miss Fitzwilliam.” She bows her head in return, her smile widening. “So, were you looking for someone?’
“No, I was merely looking around.” Matching grins tell another story.
“Have you met my brother and aunt?” The two step forward beside her to be introduced. “Mr John Fitzwilliam, Mrs Anne Fitzwilliam. May I present Miss Natalie Sewell.”
Lottie watches as Miss Sewell curtsies and begins easy conversation with them. She struggles to look away as her new friend charms her infamously hard to please aunt, her endearing countenance putting all at ease. Her soft laughter pulls at Lottie’s lips, and she should try and compose herself lest someone catch her looking like a lovesick teenager, but it’s too hard to care at this moment.
When the Fitzwilliams eventually excuse themselves, Lottie lingers for a moment, looking up at the taller woman, heart beating so loudly it drowns out the music in the next room.
“I hope to see more of you this evening, Miss Sewell.”
“And I you, Miss Fitzwilliam.”
There’s a moment of silence between them. They both refuse to be the first to break eye contact and it is not just the corset that’s making it hard for Lottie to breathe.
“Your aunt is waiting for you.” Miss Sewell eventually breaks it and nods towards the doorway.
“Yes. Of course.” Feeling herself flush, she finally steps away. Sparing one last look, she smiles to see she is still being watched.
---
Lottie finds her near the pianoforte again on their third meeting, can’t stop the words that slip from her lips in her eagerness, foregoing any formal greeting. “It’s a beautiful instrument.”
An easy smile graces Miss Sewell’s lips. “Indeed. Do you play?” Her eyes are still on the instrument. It’s a grand thing, though it seems untouched in this corner of the hall.
“Not as well as I should like.”
“I’m sure you’re far better than you care to admit.” Miss Sewell turns to look at her then and the crinkle of her eyes tells Lottie that she relishes the blush blossoming on her pale cheeks.
The younger woman lowers her eyes, a small smile appearing on her face “I would hate for you to be disappointed, Miss Sewell. So I shall venture never to play in front of you and prove you wrong.”
“Oh, but that should surely break my heart.”
“You leave me in an unfortunate position, Miss Sewell. I must either disappoint you, or break your heart, neither of which is remotely desirable to me.” They’re both smiling now, and Miss Sewell’s eyes flash with something , darkening as Lottie continues. “Perhaps you could help me improve.”
“It would be my pleasure.” Lottie barely contains the shiver that courses through her at the words.
---
The pair have formed a ritual of sorts by their fourth meeting, unspoken - though the words need not leave their lips for them both to agree, each seeking only the other on nights like these.
They spend the first few hours fulfilling their duties, dancing and mingling. Lottie can barely stop herself from looking Miss Sewell’s way, though she feels her gaze oft pulled. Round and round she goes, dancing with men who may as well be faceless for all the draw they have.
Balls and dances tend to last upwards of six hours, and it’s remarkable to find someone able to dance the whole night. It is even more unlikely to find someone willing to do so. Miss Sewell, a lover of dancing, would happily spend the entire time on the dance floor were it for the right partner. As it was, the right partner was occupied and, regretfully, off limits.
Although it isn’t unheard of for two women to dance together, she dared not ask the Master of Ceremonies for permission. Want as she might, Miss Sewell was of the belief that even the opportunity to touch Miss Fitzwilliam, in the tender way that dancing requires and not merely in an accidental brush of fingers in a busy room, would render her incapable of letting go.
The company they find when obligation is finally fulfilled is easier than any Lottie has ever known. She can’t help but feel a lightness in Miss Sewell’s company, a happiness founded on merely the others’ presence.
Lottie closes her eyes, a smile growing on her face as she hears the opening notes of her favourite piece. Dancers gather on the floor and she watches as the pairs bow to each other before taking up the first position.
“Are you to abandon me for another dance?”
“Well, I know few others here, save for my brother and aunt, and otherwise preoccupied friends.” Her gaze flickers towards Miss Sewell who is still watching the dance floor, a small quirk to her lips. “I think you can be safe in the knowledge that I will remain in your company.”
“Now that is a wonderful reassurance.”
They watch a little longer and Lottie can’t help but wish she was watching her companion on the floor instead.
“Will you not dance, Miss Sewell?”
Dark eyes meet hers, smile fully blossoming on curved lips. She can’t help but watch them as her friend speaks. “Are you asking, Miss Fitzwilliam?”
She feels herself redden, and the smile on Miss Sewell’s face grows wider. She leans close, and Lottie can feel the heat of the whisper on her skin. “Don’t tell me either way, I couldn’t bear to know if not.”
She turns away again, leaving Lottie to stare.
Two women who find comfort and fulfilment, not in the attentions of those around them, but in each other, have more power than any man in their presence could hope to wield. For what is man if his attentions are unneeded? Undesired? Unwelcomed? He is nothing.
It is, however, another matter entirely for man to know that.
“Good evening, Miss Sewell.”
Her head turns slowly to face the voice.
“Mr Marks.”
A handsome man with blond hair and brown eyes stands before them, his approach gone entirely unnoticed by the women before him.
“I trust you are well this evening? Is the Miss du Mortain here in Bath too?”
“I’m afraid not, she preferred to remain in London for the season. And you, Mr Marks? Have you been in Bath long?”
“Only a fortnight, I’m due to be here for the rest of the season.”
Miss Sewell only smiles in response, leaving the man looking between the two women. Lottie wonders for a moment why she doesn’t introduce them when Mr Marks’ smooth voice interrupts her.
“I should rather like to ask your friend here to dance.” He gestures to Lottie, inclining his head slightly, and she blinks, taken aback. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees a cool mask wash over Miss Sewell’s usually friendly features.
“Is it not presumptuous that you should ask a lady to dance without having first made her acquaintance? Some may consider that rather bold, sir.”
“Fortune favours—”
Lottie lifts her hand to her mouth so as to cover the smile growing there as Miss Sewell cuts him off. “Oh, you can do better than recite an old proverb, Mr Marks. A learned man such as yourself must have a plethora of words at your disposal. I’m sure you can enchant my dear friend here with a few of your own.” She folds her hands in her lap, long brown fingers sitting neatly against the dusky green of her gown and holds his gaze, a smile firmly set on her lips.
They both watch as the man before them reddens, opening his mouth and then closing it abruptly. He looks away.
“No? Perhaps your time will be better spent with women already in your acquaintance, Mr Marks.” Lottie has never heard her speak like this, still all politeness in her words, but there’s something underneath, a finality in her tone that sends Mr Marks on his way. “It was a pleasure to see you, I will pass on your regards to Miss du Mortain.”
Mr Marks finally finds his voice, “Forgive me, Miss Sewell,” He nods first at her companion, then at Lottie, “I forgot I already promised this next dance to another.” His eyes linger for a moment on the latter, offering a tight smile, before he turns away, coat tails swishing behind him.
Silence falls over the friends as they watch him depart, neither needing to look at the other to know they have matching smiles on their faces.
“Do you have a history with Mr Marks, Miss Sewell?”
Her smile falters slightly. “I suppose you could call it that.”
“A scorned lover, perhaps? One of many of yours, I’m sure.”
“Scorned -” She turns quickly to look at her, mouth open and brow furrowed in protestation when she sees Lottie’s smirk. “Oh, you’re teasing me.” She purses her lips and shakes her head, narrowed eyes not leaving Lottie’s. “Ironic, as you should be thanking me.”
“Oh? You didn’t want the two of us to have an acquaintance? I couldn’t tell.”
She scoffs. “I would not deign to introduce you to the likes of Robert Marks. I only wish I had been afforded the same privilege, then we might have avoided the altercation altogether.”
“Don’t say that, I rather enjoyed the altercation , as you call it.”
Miss Sewell watches her, brown eyes flickering between hazel ones, the smile that Lottie is beginning to associate with her own happiness working its way onto her face. “Have you plans this week?”
Lottie only shakes her head in response to the sudden topic change and looks toward the dance floor, cheeks still tinted pink from Miss Sewell’s previous attentions.
“I will be going to the Circulating Library tomorrow. Would you like to join me?”
“Only if you do not laugh at how few great works of literature I have read. You will have to give me recommendations.”
“Do I ever laugh at you, Miss Fitzwilliam?”
“Frequently.” Lottie forces her lips in a frown that refuses to hold.
“How can I ever earn your forgiveness?”
The smile is inescapable now, the corners of her lips pull up on their own accord, and Lottie turns to face Miss Sewell, not expecting her dark eyes to already be focused on her.
Before Lottie can think of anything to say, they are interrupted once again. Her brother approaches with a man whose name she pays no attention to, requesting a dance. There is no escaping this time.
Lottie stands, sparing a wistful, apologetic glance at Miss Sewell and she takes the arm of her partner. She watches as Miss Sewell, never alone for long, is approached by someone.
Lottie can see her from the other side of the wide circle as her eyes look up under those dark lashes. Miss Sewell watches her instead of her partner, inclines her head and curtsies, a smile pulling at her lips that makes the butterflies in Lottie’s stomach take flight. Barely remembering to bow herself, Lottie’s eyes finally find her own partner, who doesn’t appear to have noticed her distraction.
They dance in circles, stepping in, and around their partners. At one point Lottie finds her fingers barely brushing against Miss Sewell’s as they pass each other, in a moment too quick to hold onto, though her mere presence warms her through.
It’s a slow, measured dance; one focused on maintained eye contact between partners and hands held up, close to their partner, but never quite meeting.
Lottie later remarks, in a rare, treasured moment of privacy whilst waiting for their respective carriages, that the dance is needlessly complicated and Miss Sewell smiles at her, drawing close.
She whispers, careful to not quite touch — lips so close that Lottie can feel her breath on her skin, “It’s about the anticipation, Miss Fitzwilliam, the build up to that moment you are allowed to touch.” She reaches a hand up, brushing a loose curl back from Lottie’s face. She feels her eyes flutter closed as fingers just barely ghost over the back of her neck. “And then,” her lips are so close, she knows if she turned her head she could feel them, soft against her skin, “it’s about relinquishing it,” Miss Sewell moves away, and Lottie’s body moves of its own accord, attempting to follow, “just when you’re eager for more.”
She does not need to open her eyes to know the smirk on Natalie’s face.
Once again interrupted, their carriages pull up. “Tomorrow then?”
“Tomorrow.” The word is sweet on her lips, a promise of something more .