Swept off Her Feet

by Hester Browne

  The music shifted up a gear, and he steered her with old-fashioned courtesy; as she turned, her eyes traveled over her shoulder to stay with him as he moved across the circle to In-grid.

  She really loves him, I thought. And he totally loves her. In that moment, I realized what Alice had meant when she’d said I only ever had crushes on men I couldn’t have. That soul-warming glow I felt when I was near Fraser wasn’t a proper emotion; it was just a reflection of what they had. A breathing, caring relationship.

  I didn’t feel jealous of Alice having Fraser. I was glad she had Fraser, and that Fraser had her. I watched them turning their shoulders to pass in the figure eight, eyes following each other greedily.

  Then I spotted that Robert was looking at me, and another wave of intense longing rushed through me; it made the crush I’d had on Fraser feel like vanilla ice cream. Melted ice cream, at that.

  Sheila nudged me. “Just as well I managed to pick up my mother’s engagement ring from Berwick earlier this week.” She gave me a stagy wink. “I hope Kirstie didn’t get the wrong idea about the box. . . .”

  “It could be an expensive night for Janet Learmont,” said Kenneth unexpectedly. He nodded toward the reel, and I saw what he meant: Catriona was holding Robert’s hand with a proprietorial smile, her neck arched as if she knew everyone around her was whispering about the old tradition.

  He wasn’t looking at her, though. He was only looking in two directions: at me, or into space.

  I saw Janet on the other side of the circle. Her eyes were fixed on the dancing, but she was nodding to a couple of very aristocratic ladies with diamond brooches on their sashes. I could virtually hear the words wedding registry at Jenners forming on her pink lips.

  The evening was already half over, I thought with a pang. The dinner, the first reel—done. Now it would be downhill fast to “Auld Lang Syne,” and then I’d be on my way home, in jeans and Max’s car. I wanted to cling to every single moment.

  Fraser was the last man to dance, and the band was speeding up as the reel drew to a thundering close, the spectators urging them on. All four couples spun in perfect time, the ladies flowing as if on invisible wheels, the men stepping flamboyantly round them. White hands flew up and were clasped by stronger ones, skirts swirled, hair floated out behind.

  And then there was a loud final chord, and it was over. Alice sank into a deep curtsy to Fraser, a graceful action spoiled only when she tried to stand up, not realizing she was treading on her own hem. He grabbed her before she could slip, and turned it into a hug of welcome.

  Good job he had strong arms—he’d be doing that a lot over the next forty years, I thought.

  As the rest of the crowd swarmed onto the floor to repeat the reel in their own sets of eight, I made my way over to Alice, now explaining herself to a bewildered but happy Fraser.

  Robert and Catriona were diplomatically ignoring the tricky conversation going on next to them, and were instead congratulating Duncan and Ingrid and the visiting dignitaries. When they saw me, Robert’s eyes lit up, and he reached out a hand to guide me through the crowd.

  “Evie! That was some impeccable reeling. Wasn’t it, Cat?”

  Catriona smiled, as she could afford to now that it had all gone off without me head-butting Duncan. “It was a strong seven out of ten for me.”

  “Seven out of ten?”

  “Well, she didn’t finish the reel, did she?”

  “Yes, well, I need to talk to Alice about that,” I said, grabbing Alice’s arm. “Can I have a quick word? Sorry, Fraser, you can have her back in a moment.”

  I pulled her through the circles of dancers forming as the rest of the guests prepared to repeat the same reel. The room seemed very small now that it was filled with warm bodies, and we had to weave our way out into the empty hall.

  “Limp!” I hissed.

  “I was not! I was very good!”

  “No, limp. You’re meant to have sprained your—Oh, forget it, just hurry up.” I came to a stop underneath the portrait of Wyndham McAndrew in his powdered wig and with matching spaniels. “What on earth are you doing with that ridiculous eye patch? You look like Long John Silver, the Studio 54 years.”

  Alice had only one eye to glower with, but she really only needed one. “What else was I supposed to do? You told them I had an eye infection.”

  “No I didn’t.” I boggled at her. “Why would that stop you dancing?”

  “You tell me! You’re the one who left the message.” She pulled a me face. “ ‘Alice, you selfish cow, just FYI, you’ve got chronic conjunctivitis that has laid you up—’ ”

  “Tendinitis!” I roared. “I told them you had an old dancing injury that had flared up! Don’t you ever listen to anything I say?”

  “Oh!” said Alice. “I didn’t think it was one of your better on-the-spot fibs. Tendinitis . . . Anyway, it’s growing on me.” She admired her reflection in the speckled mirror opposite. She still had that peachy glow about her from Fraser’s welcome. “Bit David Bowie, bit Lady Gaga.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” I demanded. “I thought the trains had been canceled from Newcastle!”

  “Tell me about it. Do you know what time I left Clapham this morning? Six! I’ve never been on so much public transport in my life. Train, cab, bus, tractor . . . bigger tractor. I had to negotiate pretty hard to get here in time.” She nodded at me. “And you don’t want to know where I got changed. There is a shed with a very surprised gardener in it.”

  I had no trouble picturing Alice urging some poor unsuspecting farmer through the drifts, Dr. Zhivago hat and all.

  “And at no point in all this—this cavorting—did you think to ring me and let me know I should do a one-eighty turnabout in my covering-up-for-you strategy?” I spluttered. “It’s not like I’ve spent the last couple of days tying myself in knots!”

  Alice grabbed my hands. “Oh, listen, I am sorry. You were right, that’s why I’m here. I have been really, really stupid.”

  She paused, and I basked in a rare moment of Alice apologizing, and in such a beautiful, cinematic setting.

  “I thought of what you said about Fraser, and about how he might get the wrong idea and be hurt, and then I thought of you and how lonely . . .” She trailed off, then restarted more diplomatically. “I’ve been seeing Zoe, the therapist Mum refers sensitive clients to, and she said I had to reset my relationship parameters.”

  “What does that mean in English?”

  “We have to stop believing that we’re doomed to be as boring as Mum and Dad.” Alice shook my hands for emphasis. “We don’t have to be like them! I didn’t sleep a wink last night, making a list of pros and cons, and then I got up and thought, Right, I’m going to tell Fraser exactly how I feel about him, even the stuff he does that really winds me up, like the sock issue, and—”

  “Too much information,” I interrupted, but her eyes were shining and she wasn’t listening. From the expression on her upturned face, Alice seemed to be hearing my own imaginary strings of emotional climax. There was something in the atmosphere at Kettlesheer, clearly.

  “—then I realized that making lists was the whole problem. I don’t need a list. I just need Fraser!”

  “I’m so happy for you!” I roared, mainly to make her stop talking. “Come here!” And I grabbed her in a massive hug, and we jumped up and down a bit together, which made a lot of secured ornaments rattle.

  “So, what about you and Robert?” Alice demanded, breaking free.

  “Me and Robert?” I gabbled. “Nothing.”

  “I’m not stupid, Evie,” said Alice in a much more familiar managerial tone.

  The blush that gave the pair of us away was sweeping over my neck and up my face like I’d been dipped in dye.

  “He was staring at you the entire time you were dancing. Wasn’t I right about stepping out of your comfort zone? Good on you! Robert is miles out of your usual league, no offense!”

  “No, hang on, he hasn’t�
��we’re not—”

  She grabbed me by the shoulders, the mad light of zeal in her eye. “Tonight, the Nicholson sisters do it for themselves!”

  “No, no, no.” I shook my head emphatically. I actually preferred Alice buttoned-up and in control. “Robert has a girlfriend. You know, Catriona—um, the girl he was dancing with?”

  “So? You were born to live in a castle. Think of the space you’d have for your collections!”

  I wavered, caught up in Alice’s glee, then forced myself to get a grip. It wasn’t up to me to decide what Robert’s fairy-tale ending was. This wasn’t a fairy tale anyway, it was his life. And I didn’t pinch other people’s boyfriends.

  “Don’t say anything.”

  “So you do fancy him.”

  “Don’t say anything.”

  Inside the ballroom, the music stepped up a gear into big-finish mode.

  “So, what’s the next one after this?” Alice asked.

  “The Duke of Perth,” I said. All eight reels were printed on my brain in letters of fire. “It’s the one where you just keep your arm out and everyone turns you round. Sheila says, if in doubt, put both hands on your hips and let everyone else do the hard work.”

  “Who’m I dancing with for that?” Alice adjusted her eye patch in the mirror.

  I checked the card. “Douglas. He’s pretty fierce in the turns, but quite exciting once you get—hang on, what do you mean, who are you dancing with?”

  “I’m letting you off. Consider yourself excused.” She gave me a generous beam. “I won’t put you through another seven rounds of that.”

  My mouth opened.

  “No, it’s okay,” she said. “Just accept before I change my mind.” She held out her hand for the dance card.

  “But what if I want to dance?” I heard myself say.

  Alice exploded in raucous laughter, then nudged me. “You’re funny! Come on, let me see who you’ve landed me with.”

  I clapped the card to my chest. I had a dance with Robert lined up, a whole eight minutes of being his partner. Everyone else was booked for all eight dances; if she took my place, I really would be sitting out the whole thing like some moldy spinster, and after the dizzying revelation in the ballroom, that suddenly felt unbearable.

  “No, I don’t mind,” I said.

  “Well, I don’t mind either.”

  “It’s fine—why don’t you spend some time with Fraser, now you’re here?”

  Alice gritted her teeth and—seriously!—began to pry the card out of my hands. “Evie, I appreciate you stepping in to save my bacon and everything, but I didn’t hitch a lift with Northumbria’s scariest gamekeeper just to watch my—”

  We were actually struggling in a polite, evening-dressed fashion when I felt a masculine presence looming over us. Well, I smelled aftershave.

  “What’s going on here?”

  Alice and I sprang apart. Robert and Fraser were standing behind us. Fraser was carrying two glasses of champagne and Robert was carrying Catriona’s evening clutch. He didn’t look thrilled about it, although I noted it was a particularly expensive Lulu Guinness number, a pair of red lips that I had down as a future collectible.

  “Evie was just filling me in on my dancing duties,” said Alice. She held out a menacing hand. “Weren’t you?”

  What else could I do? I handed over the card.

  “You’ll be relieved about that, are you?” joked Fraser. “Did you two draw straws to see who had to dance?”

  Robert’s expression wasn’t so amused. “You’re not going to be joining in, Evie?”

  I pressed my tongue against my front teeth to stop myself saying anything stupid. “Doesn’t look like it,” I managed.

  He glanced at Fraser, his sardonic eyebrows raised. “We can’t have that. Fraser, get your dance card out, let’s see if we can’t make room for Evie.”

  “No, honestly,” I said, but Robert was trying to get Catriona’s bag open, unsuccessfully. “Do you need a hand? The clasp is inside. Here.”

  I showed him, and our hands touched. A shiver rippled through me as the bag sprang open, revealing Catriona’s pared-down essentials. I handed it back before I could look further than the breath mints.

  “Thanks.” Robert poked about, then pulled something out: a dance card complete with teeny-tiny pencil. “There! She’s carrying a couple of spares, in case of emergencies. Right, let’s have a look. Who’ve I got for Hamilton House?”

  That was the flirty one. I swallowed.

  Fraser looked at me, clearly conflicted about what the polite response was. “Evie, you don’t have to,” he said. “Not if you don’t want to. I know you’re not a huge fan of the old dance-floor gymnastics.”

  Robert’s head jerked up. Alice also stared at me. I could virtually feel Wyndham McAndrew’s eyes boring into the back of my head.

  It wasn’t just that I wanted to dance, it was that Robert wanted to dance with me. To dance with them, actually. It wasn’t about being one person, making a fool of myself while everyone else watched and sniggered. It was about being one part of a team, breathing and moving to the same rhythm.

  “I would like to,” I said.

  I don’t think Robert realized what a monumental turning point this was in my life. “Fine,” he said briskly. “So, how about Hamilton House? I’m supposed to be dancing with my mother, but she won’t mind sitting it out. She gets all flustered about the flirting thing. Some of those old goats take it a bit too far.”

  He was scribbling on the card, then glanced up at me with a wicked glint in his eye. “Watch out for Tam Dalton. He’s already met five wives at these balls. He needs an English girl to make up the full Six Nations.”

  “I can give you a Reel of the Fifty-first,” offered Fraser. “Kirstie did block-bookings so her card would be full before Innes Stout got to her over dinner. She prefers to stay down in the disco in the kitchens for as long as she can get away with it. Ah, there’s Dougie—now, I know he’ll definitely want to have a dance with you, just to make up for the other night. . . .”

  “ ‘The other night’?” Alice cut me a scandalized glance as Fraser handed her the drinks and strode off to find Dougie in the crowds of thirsty dancers now thronging round the drinks table.

  “Dougie swept Evie off her feet,” Robert explained. “And she fell quite hard for him.”

  “Not like that,” I said.

  “Head over heels,” he went on.

  “Stop it.”

  “Quite a crash. Crush, rather.”

  “Stop it!”

  I pretended to glare at him, even though I was cheering inside that he wanted to make private jokes with me, and the air between us sizzled. Had I been wearing a corset, I would have swooned then and there. Luckily, Catriona’s dress was, as advertised, stretchy.

  Alice’s head swung back and forth. “What did I miss? Or don’t I want to know?”

  “You missed an interesting week.” Robert gave me a private smile and handed over the fresh dance card. “There you go.”

  “Thanks,” I said, and tucked it straight into my evening bag without looking. I didn’t want him to see me studying his handwriting or any of the very uncool things I might do.

  “Drink?” said Alice, offering me one of the glasses. “Since you’re throwing caution to the winds tonight?”

  “Thanks,” I said, not even looking at Robert’s face, and took it.

  I’d crossed the line between real life and fantasy now. Maybe if I drank enough champagne now, I’d actually end up back in 1902.

  Twenty-six

  Fraser was as good as his word and returned with a willing volunteer for the next dance, as well as promises of partners for the rest of my card.

  It helped my delusions of Jane Austen that the willing volunteer was a handsome captain from the Border Regiment called Strachan; he was in full dress uniform, and though he didn’t say much, when he did he had a proper porridge-and-cabers Scottish accent that gave me a mild flutter.

  C
ocooned between the Grahams and the McAndrews and their guests, I started out the Duke of Perth nervously; but as Sheila had said, as long as I kept my arm outstretched, there was always someone there to take it. The formality of the opening set reel had evaporated in the warmth, and now the ballroom was crammed with people. No one wanted to sit out a reel when they could be skirling wildly round the floor. There was so little space to maneuver that I was just spun from partner to partner as the music swirled us round like a fairground ride. It was rougher than I remembered—quite violent toward the end—but I never once thought I’d fall with so many hands to catch me.

  As Strachan and I worked our way down the lines, setting and turning, setting and turning, the faces became unfamiliar but the smiles were the same, and the hands were warm and guided me even when I went a bit wrong. White ties, kilts, regimental buttons, hunting jackets, bow ties—I could have been right back at any one of Violet’s balls, or even earlier. I’d never felt so uncomplicatedly happy as when, right at the end of the Duke of Perth, I suddenly knew what I was doing, and my hands were reaching out to the next partner.

  And then it was over, with a final crash of fiddles and drums. Breathless and pink with effort, I let Strachan kiss my cheek in thanks, and then impulsively kissed him back. I’d never actually done that before. I’d imagined it plenty of times, never actually done it.

  “Hey, Evie, let me know if you find yourself at a loose end for the last reel,” he said with a wink. “Can I get you a drink?”

  “Thanks, but . . . I should . . . get some air,” I gasped, fanning my face. How was everyone else so cool? I felt like I’d just done a spin class.

  I made my way out to the main hall, scanning the crowd for Alice, or Robert. The crush at the champagne bar was seven or eight deep, and all the alcoves were filled with couples flirting or groups of girls gossiping. Sheila and Ingrid had opened up the grand drawing room, and cliques had gathered round the deep sofas and chaise longues, in echoes of the bare-shouldered ladies and black-jacketed men in the old portraits above.

  Part of me wanted to sit and people-watch, to imprint as many details of tonight as I could in my memory; but the champagne had gone to my head, and I really needed some fresh air.