by Amy Jarecki
Georgiana grasped the Pointer by the collar and stepped back, managing to breathe. “Very well.”
“Good afternoon, Your Grace,” said Dobbs as if he hadn’t witnessed her behaving with unforgiveable impudence.
“Good afternoon.” Evesham peered over the top of the butler’s head. “It may have been my imagination, but I believe the door opened and closed.”
She chanced a glance to the dog—could she find a way to blame him? Wagging his tail, the Pointer stood angelically with his tongue dangling to the side. “Forgive me,” she squeaked as Dobbs opened the door wider. “I was headed out and when I saw you, I was afraid Rasputin might attack he was carrying on so.” There, at least she sounded as if she’d thought before she slammed the door.
The duke’s gaze flickered toward the dog. “And how is the Pointer, my lady?”
At a loss, she shrugged. “How are you, Rasputin?”
He yowled and wagged his tail.
Georgiana looked up with a nervous smile. “It appears he’s quite well.”
“Was there a reason for your visit?” asked Dobbs. Thank heavens someone was attentive to the fact that a guest had called.
“Indeed.” Shifting his attention to Georgiana, Evesham removed his hat and bowed. “In truth, I was strolling past the house and thought I’d inquire if Her Ladyship might enjoy joining me and taking a walk with Rasputin. I do hope he is being exercised regularly.”
“Does any young dog ever receive enough exercise in Town?” asked Dobbs.
“Quite,” Evesham responded, giving Georgiana a questioning look as one black brow arched. What was it about his eyes? They were so unusually expressive and prominent.
“Ah.” She released her grasp on the dog’s collar. “I am sorry, but I was just heading across the street for a dancing lesson. You might recall Lady Eleanor and I made arrangements—”
“Of course.” The duke offered his elbow. “Then please do me the honor of escorting you there.”
Dobbs smiled and urged her out the door. “I’ll take charge of Rasputin.”
“Thank you.” What else could she say? And it was just a stroll across the cobbles. It wasn’t as if he’d asked her to go riding in Hyde Park or to enjoy a romantic wherry voyage on the Thames at sunset. “How thoughtful of you.”
Through the wool of his jacket, his arm flexed like steel. “Are you certain you do not need another gentleman for these lessons of yours?”
They started down the steps to the footpath, though Georgiana’s feet must have been numb because she floated downward, envisaging what it might be like to dance with this man, to stare up into his fathomless amber eyes. To dance in an empty ballroom while elegant music swirled around them as together in perfect step, they waltzed—
“My lady?”
Georgiana blinked. Good heavens, they were already to the far curb. “Sorry, what was that?”
“I asked if I might be of assistance with your dancing lessons.”
“Oh yes…”
His expression brightened. “Yes?”
Shaking her head, Georgiana stepped onto the footpath. “I mean no. Absolutely not…not that I do not appreciate your offer, but you most certainly cannot.”
“Whyever not?”
“Ah...you are a duke…and, and, the last person who should see me stumble. Besides, you most likely are quite attached to your toes.”
“True, though I am accustomed to bruising now and again.”
Good Lord, she needed to find another tack. Clasping her hands, she stood firm and looked him in the eye. “Your Grace. I do appreciate your thoughtfulness, though I must be clear that your attentions are wasted on me. I am not a young lady on the marriage mart. I thought I had been clear.”
“Quite clear.” He bowed over her hand and kissed it, his lips searing on her bare skin.
Why did I not don my gloves?
“Regardless, I will be devastated if you do not allow me a dance at Lady Maxwell’s ball.” Straightening, he kept her hand in his fingers. “Promise me this one trivial thing, or I will sincerely think you despise me.”
Oh, how far from the mark he was. “I do not despise—”
“Then you’ll promise?”
“One dance.” Georgiana held up her finger. “If and only if I feel confident enough to partake.”
Grinning like the devil, he released her hand, stepped back and bowed again. “Agreed.”
As she watched him stroll away, Georgiana’s head swam. Now she not only would be attending Lady Maxwell’s ball to try to explain the benefits of her steam pumper, she would be fending off the advances of a very irresistible duke.
Help. But it was only one dance she’d agreed to, and there’d be dozens. If she fulfilled her commitment early in the evening, she’d then be free to move on to more important matters.
“There you are,” Eleanor called from the doorway. “We’re ready for you, my dear.”
Standing at the bottom of the steps, Georgiana cringed. “I’d hoped it was all a bad dream.”
“And miss my chance to entertain? Not on your life.”
“Entertain?” She held her skirts aside as she ascended toward wallflower’s hell. “This is a dancing lesson.”
“True, but that doesn’t mean I won’t have Cook prepare cakes and tea.” Eleanor led her down the corridor to the old ballroom they’d played in as children. It wasn’t large in the way of ballrooms but since she’d last seen the chamber, it had been painted and bedecked with lavish new chandeliers.
Georgiana took a turn, admiring the display of wealth. “I say, your importing venture must be very profitable, indeed.”
Eleanor gave her a sideways glance and a subtle smile. “Someone had to rescue Father’s estate.” She pressed a finger to her lips. “Shh. Remember, I prefer to keep such matters under wraps.”
When Mr. Walpole turned from the violinist and smiled, Georgiana stopped herself from asking her friend why she wanted to remain anonymous. But it did seem rather peculiar.
“My lady, I hope you are ready to become the belle of the ball,” said the actor, striding forward with open arms. Today, he looked like the man who had auditioned to perform the part of inventor, rather than the half-inebriated wastrel who had appeared at Southwark Fair.
She smiled, giving a polite bow of her head and admonishing herself for being overly critical. After all, being illiterate wasn’t uncommon and Mr. Walpole had promised to be well-prepared for the Richmond Park demonstration. “Avoiding my dance partner’s toes and managing to turn the right direction would be quite an achievement where I am concerned.”
“Nonsense. You mustn’t have had the right dance master in your youth.”
Georgiana directed a dismayed sigh toward Eleanor. “Please tell him. Surely you remember me tripping my way through my first Season.”
“You weren’t all that bad. Only Priscilla Perkins was flawless and made the rest of us look like soldiers marching through a bog.”
“Ha!” Georgiana covered her mouth to keep from bursting forth with laughter. “How dare you exhume her name from the archives.”
“And why not? She may have been the belle of the Season and married well, but she and her husband now keep separate houses in Kent.”
“You know this?”
Eleanor swayed in place. “You’d be surprised what I know.”
“I’m beginning to believe you, most emphatically.”
“Are you ready to begin?” asked Mr. Walpole
“May as well.”
Georgiana smiled at the violinist as the actor made the introductions. “Initially I’d like to forgo the music,” Mr. Walpole explained. “To understand the nuances of motion from waltz to a contradance, we must break it down into simple components.”
“The most important being the feet?”
“Why, yes. One cannot add flourish until one can stop thinking about one’s feet.” The actor took her hand. “Now we shall move forward in a straight line to the count of three.”
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br /> Determined, Georgiana completed the feat, proceeding directly across the floor, managing to step and count to three at the same time. Rather than move on and make it more complicated, Mr. Walpole continued with the same three counts. She hadn’t even noticed when the violin started to play, nor did she notice when Mr. Walpole let go of her hand. She continued waltzing around the room to the count of three until the music stopped.
“My heavens. You looked like a butterfly,” said Eleanor.
“It seems I’m quite adept at dancing in a straight line.”
“One must master the basic principles before one can move on.” Mr. Walpole again offered his hand. “Allow me to introduce our first variation. We shall waltz forward twice, one two three, one two three. Can you do that?”
Georgiana demonstrated.
“Then step across your partner with your left foot, one two three, two more waltzes straight ahead, then step across your partner with your right foot, one two three, and stop right where you began.”
She chewed her bottom lip. “Two combinations straight ahead, one to the left, two more straight ahead and one to the right?”
“Yes, madam. It is nothing near as complicated as your steam pumper.”
She eyed him sternly. “So say you.”
“Let us begin slowly.”
“Slow is good.”
It took a few tries but, with Mr. Walpole’s patient manner, she managed to execute the pattern without stumbling.
Eleanor clapped. “You did it!”
“Once does not a virtuoso make.” Georgiana grinned at the actor. “Shall we go again?”
“Yes, and this time we shall continue to repeat the pattern over and over.”
“Repeat?”
“Just follow my lead and keep your eyes up. Your feet do not exist, only the movement matters.”
By the time they had circled around the room twice, the violinist started again. And once the beautiful music took her away, Georgiana lost count of the number of times they danced past Eleanor, or the door, or the violinist.
One thing filled her mind which definitely had nothing to do with her feet: How glorious it would be to dance in the Duke of Evesham’s arms at Lady Maxwell’s ball.
Chapter Nine
Lady Maxwell’s Ball
“Oh my.” Smiling, Georgiana crossed through the entry of Lady Maxwell’s grand manse and joined Eleanor. “You must wear azure from here on out. I do not believe I have ever seen you looking more radiant.”
Truly, Her Ladyship’s gown was a stunning blue lace over a satin slip, the bottom of the skirt trimmed with a drapery of blond lace entwined with pearl and ornamented with pink roses in full bloom. The bodice was cut very low and accentuated a pearl and sapphire pendant. Red ringlets curled from beneath her matching headdress, trimmed with no fewer than five plumes of ostrich feathers falling to the left.
Eleanor grasped Georgiana’s hands and kissed each cheek. “I’m not to be outdone by you, dearest. I believe your stifled-sigh pink puts every debutante in the hall to shame.”
“Thanks to Mama, not that I’m trying to outdo the young ladies of the ton. But if it were not for her, I’d still at least be wearing half-mourning.”
“I’m ever so glad you are not.” Eleanor pulled Georgiana through the crowded corridor, awash in gossamer and lace. “I know you are here to find an associate, but have you given any thought to your own happiness?”
“I believe I am in the pursuit of happiness.”
“Truly? Have you given no consideration to entertaining a gentlemanly companion? After all, you are a widow, the rules are somewhat eased for you now.”
Georgiana stopped and pulled her friend into a window egress and whispered, “Good heavens, are you suggesting that I have a rendezvous?”
Eleanor blinked like an innocent waif. “The idea has its merits.”
“How on earth can you think of courting at a time like this?”
“My dearest, seeking companionship is entirely up to you. ’Tis simply that at times you—”
“I what?”
“You come across as a tad frumpish.”
With her gasp, Georgiana’s hand flew to her chest. “I beg your pardon?”
“Look at it this way. You are only six and twenty and you are lovelier now than you were in your one and only Season. I oft see men’s eyes stray your way and I’ll tell you here and now they are not worried in the slightest about your grace in a ballroom.”
“Wonderful. If only they were interested in dousing fires.”
“They will be. But flirting never hurt a soul.”
Flirting? Georgiana was about as talented at flirting as she was at waltzing. “Since you are being so free with your advice, may I ask if you are a consummate coquette?”
“Of course.” Eleanor unfurled her fan with a beguiling air. “There is nothing more enjoyable than a nuance with a fan, the shift of the eyes, a well-timed smile.”
“You?” Shocked to her toes, Georgiana popped her head out of the egress and looked both ways before she continued. “But you are a spinster.”
“By choice, mind you.”
“You’ve had offers, then?”
“Several.”
“Then why are you not married? Have you never fallen in love? Surely there’s a gentleman out there who would be sensitive to your father’s care.”
“Perhaps I haven’t found the right one as of yet.” Eleanor rapped Georgiana’s arm with her fan. “Besides, I’m content with my independence.”
“And why should I not be with mine?”
“Isn’t that what I’ve been saying? Take a deep breath and enjoy yourself and stop being a—”
Georgiana whipped out her fan and cooled herself animatedly. “A frump? A bluestocking? A wallflower? A complete and utter bore?”
“Not my words.”
She snapped her fan closed and pointed it under her friend’s nose. “No, they’re my words.”
Eleanor gently pushed Georgiana’s hand down. “I know you to be delightful and amusing. And I want others to see it as well.”
“You and my mother.”
“Lady Derby isn’t as bad as you think. At least you have a mother who cares.” Eleanor leaned out of the egress and looked both ways. “Come to think on it, where is the baroness?”
“Last I saw, she didn’t make it past Lady Maxwell. The two are in cahoots planning some end of Season ball to exceed all balls.”
“Good for her. At least she is enjoying herself.”
“Exactly, and leaving me to your devices, so stop criticizing me and let us start filling our dance cards.”
“And flirting.”
Georgiana squared her shoulders and took in a deep breath. “If that’s what it takes, then I shall do my best.” Good Lord, if she made it through this night without mortifying herself to death it would be a miracle. Flirting? When was the last time she’d ever flirted with a man? Daniel had preferred her to be sensible, helpful, and bookish. He abhorred flighty young ladies who hid their giggles behind their fans while batting their eyelashes and speaking as though they had not a coherent thought in their finch-brained minds…his words, of course.
“Ah, Mr. Webster,” Eleanor said to the very next gentleman who strode past. “How lovely to see you this evening.”
“My Lady.” The man stopped and bowed. He was of average height with small eyes. “I was hoping you’d be in attendance tonight.”
“Oh?” Eleanor gave Georgiana a look that said, “watch this”. “Are you in need of a delivery of libations?”
Rubbing his chin, Mr. Webster gave Georgiana a curious once-over. “Indeed I am.”
“You’re in luck. A ship is arriving in a fortnight. Send a messenger with your order and I’ll see it filled.” Gesturing to Georgiana, Her Ladyship changed tack. “Please allow me to introduce my dear friend, Lady Georgiana. She’s joining us from Thetford, newly out of mourning, she is.”
“I am so sorry for your loss, my lady, but ever s
o glad to make your acquaintance.”
Georgiana curtsied. “Thank you, sir.”
The man took her hand, but leaned in, a pinch forming between his brow. “Were you not married to Daniel Whiteside?”
“I was.”
“Brilliant chap.” Mr. Webster’s gaze shifted aside. “I attended Cambridge with him.”
“Truly?” Georgiana’s heart thumped. “Were you familiar with the work he did on developing a steam-powered pumper?”
“I was.” With a sniff, the man adjusted his neckcloth. “’Tis such a shame he passed before he could make something of it.”
Eleanor leaned in, her ostrich plumes fluttering. “You’ll be surprised to hear that Her Ladyship was able to complete the testing of the prototype herself.”
Mr. Webster’s jaw dropped. “Astonishing.”
“And it is quite functional.” Georgiana smiled, trying to appear composed and not too eager. “I could arrange for a demonstration if you would like.”
“Ah—I—um.” Licking his lips, Mr. Webster glanced over each shoulder. “And did you say you have Mr. Whiteside’s drawings?”
“I do, though I didn’t mention it.” She rolled her hand through the air. “Have them, that is.”
Eleanor walked around the man, drumming her fingers against her chin. “I would venture to guess a fire engine such as a Whiteside pumper might be useful at your gaming hall.”
He tugged on his neckcloth as if it had grown too tight. “It would be something to consider, though—”
Georgiana waved her dance card in hopes he might notice it. “If a public exhibition would suit better, I am giving a demonstration at Richmond Park on the twelfth of June. I do hope you can come.”
“The twelfth, eh?” The man bowed, ignoring the card. “I shall make an effort to attend. Good evening.”
Georgiana smiled at the man’s retreating form. “That went rather well, do you think?”
“I think we may have been a bit too exuberant. There he goes fleeing to the patio.” Eleanor patted Georgiana’s shoulder. “Not to worry. He hides it well, but I suspect Webster is in no position to finance anything more than a delivery of rum barrels.”
