Nine Ladies Dancing (Belles of Christmas Book 4)

by Deborah M. Hathaway

  As she jumped from topic to topic, Matthew did his best to focus on what few words he could comprehend. Why did none of these women Mother had assigned to him know how to converse normally? Well, Meg did, of course. But then he’d always been comfortable speaking with her. Until that kiss had occurred.

  His eyes found her across the room once again. She stood with her fingers laced together in front of her, accentuating her slim, feminine figure and long, slender arms.

  He needed to keep his distance—and his eyes—from her that night. It would do him no good to stare.

  Before long, though not soon enough for the sake of his ears, Miss Lincoln was pulled away by her aunt, and the musicale began. The guests made their way to the chairs lined up in four, straight rows facing the pianoforte.

  Matthew moved to sit next to his family on the front row, but when he saw the only empty seat being at Meg’s left, he paused. How could he sit next to her all evening, smelling that peppermint and risking the chance of their arms brushing up against each other? That wouldn’t help him forget these ridiculous stirrings in his heart.

  He would be better off sitting elsewhere, perhaps at the back of the room. He turned to retreat, but Miss Lincoln, who sat behind the Pratts with her aunt and uncle, reached her hand out toward him.

  “Oh, Mr. Pratt, won’t you sit here by us? I tell you, I’m excessively nervous, nearly more so then when I was ten years old and happened upon Lord Dalton last year in Town. My heart nearly leapt in fright. Oh, please tell me you will accept my offer. I could do with your calming presence. I’m sure I can hardly breathe with all of these strangers. Of course, you and I are not strangers, as we know just how the other is feeling. Please say you will sit beside me. I don’t think—”

  “Yes, very well.” Matthew felt somewhat remorseful for interrupting, but honestly, he’d be standing through the whole musicale if he waited for the girl to stop speaking.

  He lifted the program placed on the chair and took his seat beside her, facing forward. At once, his eyes fell directly on Meg’s petite shoulders, elegant neck, and curled coiffure in front of him. He had the perfect view of her which would allow him to stare without the notice of others.

  Sitting beside her would have been better than this.

  Mrs. Lincoln stood from her seat and moved to the front of the room, speaking far slower than her niece. “Thank you all for joining us this wonderful evening. As you can see by the programs provided for you, we shall have a number of fine young ladies sharing their beautiful talents with us. All of the music played will be Christmas carols, to help us keep the spirit of the holidays alive. I do hope you will all have an enjoyable evening. First to bless us with her talent at the pianoforte will be Miss Paulson.”

  Miss Paulson moved to sit behind the instrument, followed directly by Mr. Richards, who would be helping her move the sheets of music. The dimple in his chin deepened as he smiled at Miss Paulson, who blushed in response.

  Had they formed an attachment? That would certainly be a relief. Matthew had felt rather guilty for how attentive he’d been to her at Christmas. That was the one woman out of the nine who he’d feared giving the wrong impression to, that he liked her as more than a friend. Well, Miss Paulson, and now Meg, what with their kiss.

  But then, Meg had been the one to request it.

  As Miss Paulson’s performance began, Matthew eyed the program to redirect his focus again. Seven performers. He wished there were more. Miss Lincoln couldn’t speak when music was being played.

  Amused with his own joke, Matthew almost wished he was seated beside Meg to share it. She would’ve appreciated it, though a necessary scolding swat would have accompanied her thinly veiled smile.

  At the thought of Meg touching him, even with a pat, his cheeks warmed. He tried to straighten in his seat to view Miss Paulson, but his eyes continually fell to Meg’s smooth jaw as she watched the performance herself.

  He eyed the few, wispy curls that had slipped out of their pins and graced the skin at the nape of her neck. Would it make too much of a scene if he helped to pin them back up? He was only joking, of course. Mostly.

  The music stopped. Miss Paulson stood and bowed her head to the crowd now clapping. Matthew blinked. She’d finished already? He’d hardly heard a note played.

  Miss Russell stood next, beginning her memorized performance of While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks. Matthew kept his eyes on his program. Now he longed for Miss Lincoln’s conversation. With her quick tongue, he hardly had a moment to think about anything—or anyone—else.

  He folded the edges of the program up and down, traced his fingers along the writing, and smoothed the paper between his palms until finally, the next three performances of the evening were completed.

  When Meg and Louisa were announced to perform next, he grasped the program between his fingers so fiercely, the paper became as wrinkled as his cravat had been before Smith had insisted on pressing it that evening.

  Keep your head down. There’s no need to look up.

  He looked up.

  His eyes were drawn instantly to the fluttering of Meg’s skirts as she made for the pianoforte. She sat down behind the instrument, and Louisa stood beside her.

  As Meg arranged the sheets of music on the stand, Matthew waited with bated breath. She always looked to him right before a performance, seeking an encouraging nod. His stomach refused to settle at the thought of her blue eyes on him. Should he look away? No, that would be unthinkably cruel when she needed his help.

  He placed a reassuring smile on his lips and waited for her eyes to find his. Except, they never did. Meg swept her gaze around the room with confidence, skipping right past Matthew, then began playing their piece, The First Noel.

  Matthew’s brow twitched. Why had she not looked at him? Months had passed since he’d been present to watch her perform anywhere, what with his being away at university, but still, did she not need his encouragement any longer?

  He tried to brush aside his disappointment, but the dismissal bothered him more than he cared to admit.

  Deciding instead to focus on the music, Matthew listened to his sister’s smooth voice as she sang out the words to the Christmas carol. Meg said her own voice couldn’t compare to Louisa’s, which was why she always accompanied instead, but Matthew disagreed. He almost preferred Meg’s slightly lower tone.

  Without realization, his eyes returned to hers. How graceful she looked as she played, the candlelight flickering on her face, brightening her pink cheeks and dancing against her curls.

  The music. Pay attention to the music.

  But he couldn’t. All he could think about was Meg and the warmth burgeoning within him like a sunrise.

  When the music finally ended, Matthew clapped with the others, but only Louisa looked at him as the girls returned to their seats. Meg merely sat down without a glance in his direction. As she took her place in front of him, her wrap slid down the side of her chair, falling where his outstretched foot rested.

  Before he had the chance to reach down and recover the wrap for her, her slender, gloved hand slid between her chair and the one beside her. As she felt around for the fabric, her fingertips nearly brushed against Matthew’s shoe. He pulled his leg back, his heart flapping wildly before she found the wrap and slid it around her petite shoulders.

  Only vaguely aware of Miss Lincoln moving to the pianoforte next, Matthew chewed the inside of his cheek, eying the back of Meg’s head. As her friend, he needed to tell her what a fine job she’d done playing, did he not?

  At the risk of the Lincolns becoming cross at him for speaking during their niece’s performance, Matthew leaned forward and tapped Meg’s left shoulder.

  She tipped her head to the side, though her eyes didn’t meet his.

  “You played very well,” he whispered. “As you always do.”

  Her lips raised, but she didn’t respond, merely facing forward once more. He paused, leaning forward again. “Have you—”

&nbs
p; “Excuse me.”

  Matthew pulled back as Mr. Kempthorne slipped into the seat beside Meg—in Matthew’s seat.

  “Do you mind if I sit here?” the vicar asked Meg in a whisper.

  She shook her head with a bright smile then faced Miss Lincoln at the pianoforte.

  Matthew leaned back in his chair, eying the vicar, as the vicar, in turn, eyed Meg. What was the man doing, moving places in the middle of a performance? That was far worse than Matthew’s speaking. So inconsiderate of Miss Lincoln.

  Miss Lincoln. When had she started playing? Matthew narrowed his eyes to look past Meg and focus on his number eight. The speed with which the girl spoke had nothing on how quickly her fingers now darted across the keys as she played the piece Matthew couldn’t even recognize.

  He tried very hard to listen, but his eyes dropped to Mr. Kempthorne, who leaned toward Meg, whispering something in her ear. Meg smiled, nodding her head in response as her curls bounced up and down.

  Matthew tugged at his cravat. Why had he allowed it to be tied so tightly? And why was it so blasted hot in the room?

  As Miss Lincoln’s piece came to an end, he barely managed to give her an appreciative nod before Mr. Kempthorne spoke once again to Meg. The vicar was being very thoughtless to keep drawing her attention away from the other performers.

  But then, why did Matthew care?

  Without an answer, he became increasingly unsettled until the final performance of the night was complete, and each of the young ladies who had played or sung stood at the front of the room for a final ovation. Afterward, he tried to reach his sister and Meg before anyone else, but as the party surrounded the performers, and Miss Lincoln latched to Matthew’s side like a lapping puppy, he lost the opportunity.

  Instead, he drank his tea brought around by the footmen and listened to Miss Lincoln go on and on about how her fingers had trembled during her performance and now ached terribly. All the while Matthew’s eyes wandered to Meg and Mr. Kempthorne, who now spoke alone together at the far side of the room.

  Of what were they speaking? No doubt something dull and vicar-like. Where was Miss Russell when they needed her, with all her knowledge of the scriptures? She would enjoy Mr. Kempthorne far more than Meg was. Although, Meg’s laughter did seem genuine. But there was no earthly way she could be entertained with a man the likes of Mr. Kempthorne. She was probably just trying to be nice.

  Well, he would help her escape. Just as soon as he managed to escape himself.

  “I do think I shall have to put a cold compress on my fingers after tonight’s performance,” Miss Lincoln was saying. “I fear I may have overdone it, but I do not regret playing. I’m fortunate my aunt convinced me to do so. Now I shall simply have to rest my hands, or I shall lose the use of them completely, what with how often I have practiced for this evening. You know, I—”

  “My mother is quite a skilled pianoforte player,” Matthew interjected, seeing his chance to escape and running with it before the subject changed again. “In fact, she was the one who taught Miss Baker and my sister to play. I’m certain she has a few suggestions for how to better rest your fingers. Why do you not ask her now?”

  Miss Lincoln shook her head. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of bothering her, if she is as talented as you say she is. I am not so very confident to approach her. At any rate, I feel—”

  “There’s no need to be frightened,” he said, taking her empty teacup from her hand and placing it on a nearby table with his own. “She will be more than happy to help you, I’m certain.”

  Miss Lincoln opened her mouth, no doubt to protest, but Matthew brazenly wrapped her hand around his arm and pulled her across the room toward his mother.

  “Mother, Miss Lincoln wishes to speak with you,” he said, ignoring Mother’s arched eyebrows and Miss Lincoln’s stunned-into-silence expression, leaving the women faster than he’d arrived.

  As he walked away, he released a pent-up sigh. Mother could disapprove all she liked. He wouldn’t need to speak another word to Miss Lincoln the rest of the night, for he’d learned enough about her to last a lifetime.

  Gathering his energy that had been laid out on the floor with Miss Lincoln’s chattering, Matthew glanced around the room until he found Louisa. He motioned her toward him with a subtle toss of his head.

  “What is it?” she asked when she reached his side.

  He nodded toward Meg. “Our friend is in need of a rescue.”

  Louisa followed his eyes to where Meg laughed with the vicar. “Why? She looks to be enjoying herself.”

  Matthew scoffed. Did Louisa know Meg at all? “She’s clearly putting on a performance. She’d never be so entertained by Mr. Kempthorne, especially for so long.”

  The man had hardly left her side all evening. Matthew usually did the very same, of course, but that was different. Meg wanted Matthew by her side. She couldn’t want the vicar with her.

  “Are you well this evening, Matthew?” Louisa asked. “You appear a little flushed.”

  “Of course I am well. Apart from being upset for the sake of our friend. She’s clearly uncomfortable speaking with him.”

  “Is she? Or are you uncomfortable with it?”

  He pulled a face, maintaining his watchful eye in Meg’s direction. “Whatever can you mean?”

  He barely registered his sister’s silence before she patted him on the shoulder. “I’m afraid you are on your own with this, Matthew. I wish you luck.”

  And with that, she turned and walked away.

  Matthew churned over her words before disregarding them with annoyance. She wasn’t being very helpful that evening, but what did it matter? If she wasn’t willing to rescue Meg, Matthew was.

  He drew a deep breath and strode toward the couple—toward Mr. Kempthorne and Meg, who were decidedly not a couple—with a determined step. As he approached, he met Mr. Kempthorne’s eyes, and the vicar straightened, his hands clasped behind his back.

  “Good evening, Mr. Pratt.”

  Meg turned around, her smile instantly dimming. She must be completely exhausted, filled with relief to see Matthew coming to her rescue.

  “Good evening,” Matthew returned, looking to Meg. “I do hope I am not interrupting.”

  “Not at all,” Mr. Kempthorne said. Did the man answer for Meg now? “I was simply telling Miss Baker here of my time at school.”

  “Oh, I hope you are finished,” Matthew joked. “I fear I’ve had enough schooling to last a lifetime.” How true his statement was. He was only continuing his schooling to avoid Mother’s constant badgering. Now that she promised to stop, he would be able to finish this final term and live out his life comfortably from home.

  Mr. Kempthorne smiled. “Perhaps one day you may grow to learn and appreciate the chance you have to educate your God-given mind, Mr. Pratt. Heaven knows I finally have.”

  Matthew stiffened. He glanced to Meg, who took a sip of her tea with eyes averted. She was still looking for an escape. How had Matthew forgotten? “My sister is like me and is quite convinced that I do not need to educate myself further. Perhaps you may speak with her now about your own view on the matter, Mr. Kempthorne.”

  The vicar glanced to Meg, clearly hesitating to leave her. “Well, we are all free to form our own opinions, are we not?”

  “Of course. My own belief will not change, but you may be able to convince Louisa to change hers.” Matthew turned to the side, motioning across the room toward his sister. “She so often cries when I depart, and though I agree with her sentiments, I would appreciate any assistance you might offer in ensuring her happiness.”

  With a fleeting glance at Meg, the vicar finally nodded. He tipped his head in departure then crossed the room toward Louisa. Matthew watched him leave with a satisfied smile. That would teach his sister to help when next he asked for it.

  “What do you think you are doing?” Meg asked beside him.

  He turned toward her, ready to receive her gratitude, but at her sharp tone and lowered brow
, he leaned back. “What do you mean?”

  “Why did you send him away?” she asked in a vehement whisper.

  She was angry? Whatever for? “I-I thought that was what you wished me to do.”

  She released an incredulous huff, and his cheeks warmed. “Did I give the impression that I was unhappy with his company? Or were my smiles and laughter not obvious enough of my pleasure?”

  Matthew glanced around them, lowering his voice to avoid the attention from others. “I sincerely thought I was helping. How could I have known you would wish to speak with the vicar, of all men?”

  She placed her teacup aside and propped her hands on her hips. Where was that smile that made her eyes shine, the one she’d shared with Mr. Kempthorne? “Why is it so very difficult to believe that I would wish to speak with him? He’s a fascinating gentleman.”

  “Fascinating?” he said with as much shock as if Meg had just admitted to actually despising the cold, which would have been more believable. “You and Louisa have only ever spoken of how dull he is.”

  “Hush,” she scolded. “That is not true. We speak far more of how kind and handsome he is, and humorous.”

  Matthew’s jaw tightened, his fists clenched together. He glanced over his shoulder at Mr. Kempthorne, who was now speaking with a very red-faced Louisa—even redder than when that Mr. Abbott found her in the theatre.

  Mr. Kempthorne was slightly more broad-shouldered than Matthew, but the vicar wasn’t that much taller than him. How could Meg find him attractive? How could she find him humorous?

  Matthew turned to face her again, anger sparking inside him. Why was he reacting in such a way? Normally, he could brush aside his frustrations. Now, he felt out of breath, though all he was doing was preventing himself from marching straight up to the vicar to demand he say something wittier than Matthew. He highly doubted the man could.

  “Well, forgive me,” he said to Meg, “I was unaware that you had feelings for the man.”

  She stared up at him in silence. Not a word of contradiction. Did that mean…