At an Irish county ball, the intricate dance of hearts begins. Theo and Nugent circle each other with playful wit and growing tenderness, their banter over supper crackling with something new and uncertain. But watching from the margins is Willy, whose jealousy simmers beneath the gaiety of the evening. The music plays on, but for whom does it play? Somerville writes with sharp observation and genuine warmth about the particular torture of watching someone you love discover happiness with another. The ballroom becomes a stage for glances that speak volumes, for social rituals that both enable and constrain desire. This is late Victorian Irish society at its most revealing: where what remains unspoken matters more than declaration, where a single dance can shatter or make a heart.
