The Romany Heiress

by Nikki Poppen

  The knock came, summoning her to join the houseguests downstairs to mingle with the guests arriving from neighboring homes before the dancing began. Cate rose from her place at the window seat and smoothed her skirts once more, squared her shoulders and raised her chin, doing her best to glide across the floor and glad that she’d sent Magda below stairs earlier so that the woman couldn’t see her “putting on airs.”

  Cate opened the door, expecting to see a maid. She had not expected to see Giles. He was the host, after all, and, had myriad responsibilities. Yet there he was, resplendent in dark evening clothes, his hair combed to burnished perfection, not an inch of him askew from what appeared to be a very complicated knot in his cravat to the neatly pressed line of his evening trousers. Cate blushed. She was sure real ladies didn’t stare in such an obvious manner. She hadn’t been able to help herself. He looked entirely magnificent.

  “Are you ready to go down?” Giles asked, either unaware of what she’d been doing or showing his impeccable manners yet again by overlooking her blunder.

  “Yes. I don’t suppose I can be any readier. The longer I wait, the more nervous I’ll get”

  “You look splendid. There’s no need to be nervous. The other ladies who opted to take dinner trays in their rooms and rest before the entertainment are just starting to come down as well.” Giles offered his arm to her and Cate, after two days in his company, easily took it, laying her white-gloved arm on his right sleeve.

  He covered her hand briefly with his left and whispered, “Remember, this isn’t London. It’s merely a country ball, much less formal, although I daresay it’s likely to be rowdier. You will do fine”

  His sincere encouragement caused Cate to hazard a sideways glance up at him while they walked down the long stretch of hall to the main staircase. “Why are you being so nice? You don’t have to be. I hardly think I’d be as polite if I were in your situation.”

  “First, Cate, let me be clear. I am not in any situation. I am the Earl of Spelthorne, and I will remain so. If it is anyone who is in a situation, it is you. Your claims will come to naught. However, I am intrigued by you. I made it clear that I would have liked to have met you without these entanglements. There is nothing we can do about your situation until the vicar arrives, so why not enjoy the opportunity? With the right guidance, I am sure you will find the experience enriching.”

  A dozen retorts vied for the right to be heard on her tongue. Did he know how arrogant he sounded? She didn’t dare tell Magda for fear of the older woman having the chance to say “I told you so” She might have given free rein to the retorts if his one thought hadn’t paralleled hers so nearly. Why not enjoy the hiatus between her claims and the vicar arriving?

  “I suppose there’s no harm in playing Cinderella for a bit,” she said, hoping he realized how lucky he was to get off so lightly for his high-handed behavior, but realizing he probably had no idea.

  They were nearing the staircase. Giles chuckled at her reference. “Cinderella? When I think of you, I think of Snow White.” Cate felt the weight of his stare on her and felt her body grow warm. Her usually glib tongue could not think of anything witty with which to respond.

  Giles covered the silence with a witty response. “Well, Cinderella is probably appropriate for tonight. It is a ball, and you’ll get to dance with some nicely established men, although I doubt any of them will turn out to be Prince Charming. We’re all remarkably normal folk around these parts”

  They had come to the top of the stairs and Cate looked down into the throng below. She gasped. “Remarkably normal” had nothing to do with the hall below her or the glimpses she could catch of the drawing room-cumballroom through the flower-festooned archway beyond.

  Sometime between the group of guests returning home from a day of hiking around nearby follies and the supper hour, the hall had been transformed into an indoor garden complete with low stone benches, topiary trees planted in large urns and cut into spiraling shapes, lanterns placed about the entry to give it the look of a lit garden at night and she even heard the tinkling of a fountain-a genuine fountain at the center of the hall.

  Giles leaned forward towards her ear and whispered, “Champagne”

  At first she didn’t understand the reference. What did champagne have to do with the fountain? Then she noticed guests dipping goblets into the streams of liquid, noticed the golden hue of the “water.” Her eyes widened at such invention.

  “Not as fancy as London?” She turned to Giles and raised a doubting eyebrow. “I can hardly imagine how this could be surpassed.

  They neared Isabella, where she and Tristan stood greeting the guests near the arched doorway leading into the drawing room. Upon closer inspection, Cate could see that the flowers garlanding the entrance were roses in all shades of pink and red. She had never seen so many roses in one place.

  “Many of these are from Tristan’s greenhouses,” Isabella supplied, catching her attention. “Aren’t they perfect for Giles’s “Last Rose of Summer” ball?” She smiled, looking confident and lovely in the gauzy seafoam green confection she wore. “Your gown turned out well.”

  “Oh yes” Cate said, only just beginning to see why Isabella had chosen the color for her. The lovely rose hue of the gown was the perfect foil for the room beyond the archway, ablaze with lights and filled with brass urns of floral arrangements featuring roses in the niches lining the walls.

  At the far end of the ballroom, musicians began tuning up their instruments on the raised dais. Giles slipped a stiff piece of paper into her gloved hand. When she looked down, she discovered it to be none other than a dance card and, horror of horrors, it was filled in. Entirely. Not a blank slot was to be found. Casting a quick glance at Isabella, Cate noted she had looped the card about her wrist. Cate quickly followed suit and fumbled for a believable protest. “But I don’t know any of these gentlemen.”

  “No need to know them,” Giles said urbanely. “It would look amiss if my own cousin, no matter how far removed, was a wallflower at my party.”

  There was no chance for further protest. Giles was too busy organizing. “Cate, I’ll need to leave you here in Gresham’s capable hands. As hostess and as the highest ranking male present, Isabella and I need to lead off the dancing. Tristan will dance with you this first set”

  Cate gaped at him in astonishment. For a man who remembered every last detail when it came to supplying her with clothing and accessories, could he truly have overlooked the likelihood that she didn’t know how to dance in society? Her fairy tale was getting off to a rocky start. Cinderella had gone to the ball knowing how to waltz!

  Swallowing her pride, Cate reached for Giles, trying to keep him from moving off before she could confess her lack of ability, but he was beyond her grasp, sailing toward the orchestra and the top of the ballroom with Isabella on his arm.

  Slowly, she became alarmingly aware of Viscount Gresham at her elbow. His interrogating brown gaze seemed to know all in a glance. “A quadrille’s not near as dreadful as a minuet. Thankfully those are becoming less and less the dance of choice for opening these affairs,” he drawled, making no attempt to put her at ease like Giles had done or to befriend her as his wife had. It was no secret he held her in contempt. Anything he had done at the fair for her had been mostly for Giles’s peace of mind.

  “I find both the quadrille and the minuet insufferable.” Cate opted for taking the high ground. Perhaps she could convince him she simply didn’t care to dance.

  He wasn’t fooled. “A quadrille is easy enough to learn. It’s just a collection of country dances when you break it down, nothing all that sophisticated really. Just watch the other couples” With that, the viscount took her by the elbow and insinuated them into a group forming near the door. The music started, they bowed and curtsied, and Cate discovered the viscount had been right.

  There were things to be thankful for with the quadrille. They danced with three other couples, saving her from having to be in close proximity
with the viscount and one didn’t dance with any partner too long as to truly show their ineptitude. Afterwards, the viscount escorted her back to Giles’s side, commenting in a low voice meant only for her, “One dance down, fourteen to go until the intermission.” She was not naive enough to take his parting sally as a sign of support. He meant it as an illustration of her lack of breeding. She read all that he meant to imply. Real ladies, even if they didn’t dance effortlessly, knew the steps. How could she expect to claim Spelthorne when she couldn’t manage a basic dance?

  That fired her blood. She wasn’t about to let his galling comment ruin an evening she’d waited a lifetime for. When her next partner came to claim her, she lifted her chin and let him sweep her onto the floor. This dance was a polka, and she fared better than she had with the quadrille. She quickly found that there were no expected figures or patterns and that her partner, the squire’s son, was willing to throw himself into the fast-paced dance. Soon she was breathless and quite enjoying herself as he spun her about the floor.

  The polka was followed by other gallops and other rowdy polkas and other men who seemed eager to dance with her. She knew she was succeeding with fitting in. They smiled with her, charmed and flirted. “How was it,” they said, “that Giles had managed to keep such a lovely cousin hidden all these years?” Oh yes, she was succeeding.

  The orchestra played a waltz, the first of the evening, and Cate didn’t dare to push her luck. She convinced her partner, an older gentleman this time that she’d prefer to sit and sip a glass of champagne. He seemed all too happy to oblige. Cate suspected he too was feeling winded from all the energetic dancing.

  There was another polka and then another waltz. Giles materialized at her side and this time there was no escape. “I believe it is finally my turn,” he said, drawing her to her feet from the chaise where she sat chatting between sets with Cecile and Alain.

  “I don’t need to dance. I’ve danced all evening,” she protested. To her credit, she had watched the dancers through the first waltz, trying to catalog their steps. The dance didn’t appear to be overly complicated but it did appear to be overly intimate. With any of the other gentlemen she’d danced with that night, she would have been willing to try it. The intimate contact of hands on waists or hands nestled against the small of backs would have been pure mechanics with any of them. Not so with Giles. She doubted she would be able to concentrate on the new steps with Giles so close.

  “One cannot attend a ball and not dance the waltz,” he cajoled, although it was clear he wasn’t looking for her assent. He had already decided she would dance with him; another fine example of his high-handed attempts to organize everyone around him. Of course, he knew she couldn’t protest. Just as it would look awkward if his cousin had an empty dance card, it would look incredibly suspicious should his cousin refuse the courtesy of a waltz.

  They joined the throng on the dance floor, mostly younger couples with stamina. “I must warn you-” she began as they positioned themselves, his hand at her back, feeling as warm and strong as she’d known it would.

  “Ah yes.” Giles smiled down at her. “Tristan told me. You can’t dance, although you’ve been doing a credible job of faking it. Perhaps too credible. All your vivacity is quite noticeable. I thought we’d agreed you’d not call attention to yourself.”

  Cate felt the joy she’d garnered go out of the evening. “What is wrong with vivacity?”

  The music started and Giles guided them down the floor with quick, expert movements.

  “I was simply enjoying myself, no small feat after being put in an untenable position. One that I was put in on purpose, I might add,” Cate challenged. “How dare you fill my dance card, when you must have suspected that I had no notion how to do any of these dances. Then you complain when I succeed in performing the role you laid out for me. Did you want me to fall on my face? Did you mean to humiliate me with my own ignorance? If so, I must inform you that you’ve failed dreadfully.”

  Giles whirled them through a corner, his pique showing in the jerky turn. “I did not set you up to fail. I am a man of honor,” he ground out. “I may have overlooked the fact that you wouldn’t know the dances, but you’ve shown yourself to be capable and a quick study. I merely wished to caution you against such lively dancing,” he repeated.

  The small orchestra began playing a second waltz to an Irish folk tune. “Ah, `The Last Rose of Summer,”’ Giles said. “A very good selection before going into supper. Shall we sit down? Have you had enough waltzing?”

  A spontaneous plan formed in her mind. A saucy smile quirked at her lips. “No. I find I like waltzing very much,” Cate responded.

  Giles pulled her back into the fray, and Cate took advantage of the moment to fit herself against his frame so that thighs touched thighs through the thin layers of her gown. Then she pushed the limits of his honor. She’d noted with earlier partners that gentlemen felt required to match their steps and pacing to that of their partners. Cate sped up, gradually pushing them both to a rapid whirl of turns and revolutions. It was an exhilarating battle-she trying to speed them up and Giles desperately attempting to keep them respectably sedate.

  “I must tell you, Cate,” Giles scolded as they fairly raced by another couple at the bottom turn, “that the woman is always in pursuit and that the male leads. He is responsible for setting the pace”

  She snorted at that. How ridiculous and egocentric of men to place women in the position of “pursuit” “Are there no lengths a man will not go for the sake of flattering himself?”

  “It is hardly a matter of ego. It is a matter of honor,” Giles said curtly. “A woman is in the position of pursuit because it allows her to dance forward and remove the risk of tripping over her skirts.”

  Undaunted, Cate fired back, “A good reason for allowing women’s dresses to be shorter. Then positions wouldn’t matter unless of course such a requirement really was designed for promoting the male ego after all.”

  “Cate, I must insist that we slow down. We’re drawing attention, and we must keep the appropriate distance.” Giles’s voice held a hint of warning that suggested he was not even remotely amused by her antics. “If you do not allow me to control our movements-”

  “Then you’ll do what?” Cate broke in, flashing a coy grin that teased, even as she urged him to greater speed and refused to give into the steely strength of his arm as he tried to readjust her position away from him. “I don’t see what all the fuss is about. I find it much easier to dance closer anyway, especially if one is worried about tripping.”

  They swung past the doors leading out to the verandah, and Giles maneuvered them neatly into the darkness outdoors. Too late Cate knew intuitively she’d pushed him too far. His anger was palpable as he led them down the length of the verandah to a shadowed place where they wouldn’t be noticed.

  “Is all this a joke to you?” Giles began. “I talk of discretion and you constantly flaunt it. You make a mockery of my requests, you call attention to yourself in the most inappropriate fashion. I don’t want my houseguests to leave tomorrow remembering my `cousin.’ However, after your performance tonight, it will be impossible for the male population to forget.”

  “You’re quite the priggish scold, you know,” Cate said coolly. “I will not be taken to task by a man who’s a slave to propriety.” She turned to walk back to the ballroom, determined to not let his blue mood sour the evening.

  He grabbed her arm. “I am a man of honor who is bound by his gentlemanly obligations to offer you protection while you’re under my roof, whether I like it or not. Are you curious to know why those men in there are not likely to forget you? Or do you already know?”

  She said nothing, somewhat numbed by the ferocious warrior-lord who now replaced the carefully manicured gentleman. She thought she’d understood Giles Moncrief perfectly-a genteel, handsome, honorable man who had lived a soft life, faced with few worries or concerns, and consequently, a man ultimately lacking in intensity. S
he was beginning to see how wrong she was. His honor was not the soft spot she’d envisioned. It was his suit of armor and it was without a chink. She had been wrong about being able to exploit his gentlemanly code, and she began to worry over what else she might have been wrong about. Worse, if she’d been wrong, was Magda, with her cynical explanations, right?

  “They think that your vivacious dancing is an invitation for certain attentions of a less gentlemanly nature. A lady is more circumspect with her dancing and is conscious of how she displays her virtue.” His voice was at a low roar.

  “Nonsense,” Cate countered. “That is the most outlandish assumption I’ve heard. I was merely having a good time. Where I come from dancing is for celebration. It is an expression of joy. There are, of course, dances of a more seductive nature, but I have never engaged in them and I certainly did nothing more tonight than enjoy myself.”

  “I assure you, you did far more than enjoy yourself. It may have escaped your notice that the polka and the waltz are both closed dances, meaning they involve an embrace of one’s partner. The polka is saved from scandalous repute because of its speed. However, the waltz is still considered by many to be shocking because of the amount of touching.”

  “Everyone was doing it. I don’t see the fuss, Giles.”

  “No one was doing it your way. There are rules, Cate. For instance, there must be distance between the partners so that touching is reduced to the bare minimum.” Exasperation rang in his voice, the secret language of dance clear to her now.