Miss Wilton's Waltz

by Josi S. Kilpack

  Aunt Gwen gave Lenora’s arm a squeeze. “I told her I would send an invitation for her and her uncle for dinner tomorrow night.”

  Lenora stopped on the walkway, and Aunt Gwen looked at her in surprise. “Dinner?” Lenora finally managed to say. “She is my student, Aunt Gwen.”

  “Well, yes, is that a problem? Miss McCombie and her family came to dinner last spring.”

  “That was different. Miss McCombie was finishing school.” But that wasn’t the reason she’d come to dinner. She’d come to dinner because Lenora liked her company and Aunt Gwen wanted to hear her play the violin.

  “Is there some rule against students attending dinner parties with their teachers except when they are in their final year?” Aunt Gwen’s expression was expectant, but she already knew the answer.

  There was not a rule, and, in fact, Mrs. Henry felt it was good for the reputation of the school for teachers to have a connection outside of school with the girls and their families when possible. A significant portion of their students were sent upon referral.

  Her heart pounded. Miss Manch and Mr. Asher in her sanctuary? It was that pony walking on its front legs all over again.

  Aunt Gwen began walking again, which forced Lenora to follow. “They are new to Bath, and this will be a good way for them to become acquainted with other families. I will ask the Snows and the Grovesfords, I think. The Snow girl is about Miss Manch’s age, though at a country school, I believe. Still, they will know how to converse, and I would like to hear this prodigy play my pianoforte.”

  Lenora could think of nothing to say.

  Aunt Gwen filled the silence easily enough. “I’ll ask Cook to make that chocolate custard from last week; it would be just the thing, don’t you think? You won’t mind it two Sundays in a row, will you?”

  “I want your assurance that this is not another attempt at matchmaking,” Lenora said as she walked from the window to the settee and back again Sunday evening. It was nearly five o’clock, but none of the dinner guests had arrived, and Aunt Gwen had commented three times now on what a handsome man Mr. Asher was, raising Lenora’s anxiety with each utterance. “You promised me you would not do that again.”

  “And I’m not,” Aunt Gwen said rather too innocently for Lenora to believe it. “As I said, they are new to the city and acquainted with you, so I thought it well-mannered of me to invite them. If I’d known it would put you in such a fit, I’d have never mentioned the idea to Miss Manch, but I could not very well rescind once I’d extended the invitation. Do sit down, my dear. Your anxiety is making my own heart skitter about my chest. I might need an early whiskey if you remain in such a state.”

  Lenora stopped pacing and looked hard at her aunt. “I had just finished telling you how difficult a student Miss Manch was and that Mr. Asher was heavy-handed with his demands that I pay her particular attention. I gave absolutely no indication whatsoever that I wanted to dine with them.”

  “I’m sorry,” Aunt Gwen said, turning out her hands like a magician intent upon convincing his audience he had nothing to hide. “I thought you might see the side of the girl that I saw if they dined at our table.” She shrugged. “I promise I did not mean to offend you, nor do I have any motive other than reaching out to a new family in the city. I will not invite them again without your approval.”

  Lenora resumed her pacing, irritated that she was being so uncharacteristically direct with her aunt and hating that she was looking forward a tiny bit for Mr. Asher to arrive. The man was making her crazy, and she’d only known him a week. Almost exactly a week, in fact, which was another reason she was on edge. She could not have her river walk after tonight’s guests left. And she could not take an evening walk because of the guests. It was easy to put the blame for all of it on Mr. Asher, but as soon as she did, she felt guilty and pulled the judgment back to herself. She did not know how to do any of this!

  Lenora stopped pacing when she saw Mr. Asher and Miss Manch coming toward the house. She backed away from the window, not wanting to look as though she were watching for them. Which she was not!

  Why had none of the other guests arrived? If there were more people, she could keep from being thrust into conversation with the two people she wanted to avoid the very most. What if she were unable to speak? What if she said something foolish? What if Lenora of Leagrave took over and Mr. Asher thought her a simpleton? Why did she care so much about what he thought?

  Jacobson showed the guests into the drawing room a few minutes later, and Lenora adjusted her elbow-length gloves in order to avoid Mr. Asher’s gaze, which she felt lingered longer than necessary. She was wearing a royal blue evening gown with a scalloped neckline, tulip sleeves, and a split skirt to show the black silk underskirt. The gloves and sheer shawl draped at her elbows were required dress for Aunt Gwen’s Sunday dinners, and Lenora had come to enjoy the opportunity to wear such fine things most nights. However, Lenora felt obtrusive tonight. He would not think she’d dressed up for him, would he?

  Mr. Asher wore a traditional black coat and trousers, with silver-buckled black shoes and a deep-green waistcoat that matched the emerald pin in his cravat. His hair was combed back and formal compared to his usual haphazard style. It was irritating that he looked so handsome and comfortable while she felt so overstated and out of place.

  “Good evening,” he said, bowing sharply at the waist. Miss Manch, dressed in a yellow frock with her hair pinned up in such a way that she appeared older than her twelve years, gave a perfectly proper curtsy. Tonight, it seemed she was on her best behavior.

  “Good evening,” Aunt Gwen and Lenora said at the same time.

  Aunt Gwen invited them to sit and offered Mr. Asher a drink while they waited for the other guests to arrive. When Lenora realized Mr. Asher was not going to sit unless she did, she took the seat to the right of her aunt. It put her directly across from Mr. Asher and Miss Manch, who shared the settee.

  “I very much enjoyed getting to know your niece yesterday, Mr. Asher,” Aunt Gwen said. “She says you have been living in Jamaica until a short time ago.”

  “Yes, my maternal grandfather left me a sugar plantation near Port Antonio,” Mr. Asher said. “I apprenticed for three years under my grandfather and took over full management just two years before he died. I have made a few visits to London over the years, but I stayed primarily on the plantation, which has been a successful venture.”

  “And will you return to Jamaica?” Aunt Gwen said. Lenora was eager for the answer, too.

  “I plan to make a visit next year sometime. It is two months’ travel there and two months back, which will take some planning. I took on a partner after my grandfather died, and we have been managing together.” He paused, as though determining what he could say. A quick glance at Catherine seemed to convince him. “I am managing my brother’s estate in Cheshire, presently, and securing distribution for our sugar in Great Britain as well, so there is plenty for me to do here. I plan to make my home in England.”

  Lenora noticed that he said he was managing his brother’s estate, not that he’d inherited, which made sense, since he’d already told her that he and his brother had different fathers. She looked suddenly at Catherine as understanding dawned. He hadn’t said it out loud, but was Catherine the heir of her father’s holdings? For a daughter to inherit was uncommon, but not impossible. If any other male heir on her father’s line had inherited, there would be no reason for Mr. Asher to be managing it. Interesting.

  Lenora noticed that he fiddled with the edge of his coat; his own anxiety coming forth?

  “You’ll remain in England long-term, then?” Aunt Gwen asked.

  He nodded as though it was slightly painful for him to admit it. Sacrificial, perhaps. It seemed he would have preferred to stay in Jamaica. Perhaps he regretted his decision now that he was in the middle of it. “I’ve enjoyed getting to know Catherine and look forward to making a mo
stly-traditional English gentleman’s life here.”

  Miss Manch glanced at her uncle, a look of sincere appreciation on her face. It was perhaps the first glimpse Lenora had seen of an ordinary girl. Mr. Asher smiled back at his niece but also looked a bit relieved. Perhaps she was not so kind when they were alone? Mr. Asher had said she did not want to be in Bath.

  The other guests finally arrived, diluting the attention so pointedly fixed on Mr. Asher. Lenora was actually disappointed. She’d liked learning more about his life—well, anyone’s life, she told herself. There was nothing special about his life in particular. But he’d lived on a tropical island in the Caribbean. Lenora had read about Port Antonio, so different from England. Did he prefer that climate to this one? How large was his plantation? Did he manufacture both sugar and treacle there, or did he sell off the renders to someone else to make the treacle?

  Lenora sat next to the elderly Mr. Grovesford at dinner and allowed him to go on at length about his upcoming travels to Sussex to spend the winter with his wife’s sister. Lenora had never been to Sussex—she’d never been anywhere but Leagrave and Bath—and so she asked him to tell her all about it, and by the end of the meal she felt like an expert on the county.

  The women withdrew to the drawing room, Lenora bringing up the rear. Miss Manch sat beside Aunt Gwen. Mrs. Snow sat on Aunt Gwen’s other side, and Lenora stood near the fire next to Mrs. Grovesford. The woman was always cold, it seemed. The men joined them some quarter of an hour later. Mr. Asher did not seek out Lenora, though she was irritatingly aware of his placement in the room.

  Aunt Gwen invited Miss Manch to play the piano, and the guests were all impressed by her proficiency as she played what seemed to be her favorite piece, Greensleeves. Lenora enjoyed watching the girl play, noticing the way the music brightened her face. Lenora never felt more herself than when she was playing the pianoforte. The guests applauded, and Miss Manch smiled beneath their praise.

  Lenora looked at Mr. Asher, who fairly glowed with pride. He caught her glance, and she looked away, feeling her cheeks turn pink. She was trying very hard not to pay attention to him, but it was proving difficult.

  After Catherine’s performance, Aunt Gwen asked Lenora to entertain them, and she took her place on the pianoforte with relief, choosing from her memory a sonatina that could remain in the background and allow people to continue visiting. As she played, she kept looking at the clock as she typically did on a Sunday evening. Each time she noted the time, she mourned that she would not be going out tonight—or ever again. Oh, how she would miss her private time in the quiet city. She focused on her music.

  Aunt Gwen allowed Lenora to play until the guests began to leave, something Lenora’s family had often done in Leagrave to protect her from anxiety-producing social events. Aunt Gwen was not usually so accommodating, allowing Lenora to play for only half an hour before inviting her back into conversation. Lenora took her aunt’s forbearance tonight as an apology for putting her in an awkward position.

  Lenora left the haven of the pianoforte to share in the farewells. The Grovesfords and Snows left, and Lenora returned to the drawing room to find Aunt Gwen and Miss Manch on the far side where Aunt Gwen was explaining the portrait of her father that hung on the wall. Lenora’s grandfather had been a land owner of some renown in Nottinghamshire. Her uncle now ran the estate, but she had never had the chance to visit. Not only was it some distance from Leagrave, but her father’s duties as vicar and patriarch of eight children also made it difficult for the family to travel.

  Mr. Asher stood near the doorway of the drawing room, as though he were waiting for her. To walk past him would be rude, so she stood next to him and hoped Aunt Gwen would run out of things to say soon.

  “When do you go out?” he whispered.

  She looked at him in surprise, felt her cheeks flame, and faced forward again. She should have been rude and passed him by after all. She was astounded that he would bring it up. It was the type of topic people were expected to sweep beneath the rug and forget existed. She said nothing, wishing she had a fan to hide behind.

  “Please let me escort you,” he said under his breath. “You have been watching the clock all night, and I cannot bear knowing you’ll go out alone.”

  “I am not going,” she said, lifting her chin, though it did not make her feel more confident.

  “I don’t believe you.” He took a sip of his brandy.

  “Well, you should.” She forced a smile and crossed to Aunt Gwen in time to hear her explain how she had been her father’s caretaker after her mother died and what a dear time it had been. Lenora glanced at the clock again out of habit. It was nine o’clock. If last week hadn’t happened, she’d be on the streets in two hours’ time, leaving the frayed edges of her anxiety behind her with every step. But last week had happened, and she would be in her bedchamber in two hours’ time, missing the river, missing the night. Mr. Asher’s offer opened the door she’d closed just a sliver.

  Impossible, she told herself. Last week had been horrifying—crouching in alleys and slinking behind shops. Never again, she reprimanded, but . . .

  Mr. Asher must have followed her across the room, as she became aware of him behind her a moment before he spoke. “Catherine, it is time we made our good-byes.”

  The girl turned sharply toward her uncle, her eyes flashing in a way that brought Lenora and Mr. Asher up short. “It is only nine!”

  “Catherine,” Mr. Asher said in a chiding tone that Lenora found rather brave considering the menace of his niece’s glare.

  The girl let out a heavy sigh, but did not argue. “All right.” She turned to Aunt Gwen and embraced her. Aunt Gwen hugged her back, just as she would Lenora or one of her other nieces, which sparked an unwanted bit of jealousy in Lenora. Miss Manch did not deserve the same consideration as family. “Thank you so much for having us, Mrs. Simmons. It was quite truly the most enjoyable evening I have had in months.”

  “Having you was a delight,” Aunt Gwen said, placing her hand on the girl’s cheek.

  Catherine ducked slightly, as though she were embarrassed by the praise. Was she playing Aunt Gwen as proficiently as she played the pianoforte? But why?

  Lenora forced her smile to stay in place as they walked the guests to the door.

  “Shall you call a carriage?” Aunt Gwen asked as Jacobson opened the front door. There was a breeze tonight, but also a quarter moon. It would reflect so beautifully on the river, as though fairies were skittering across the surface.

  “Not tonight,” Mr. Asher said as he buttoned his overcoat. “The night is mild, and I rather fancy long walks at night.”

  Lenora made the mistake of catching his eye. He raised an eyebrow as though issuing his invitation again. She looked away but felt the renewed tug. The reason she had decided not to go out was because he’d caught her, but if he escorted her, she would not have to fear him, or anyone else. He was already using her walks against her. How could he take further advantage if she accepted his offer?

  “Well, then you are very brave,” Aunt Gwen said, shivering dramatically. “I hate to be out after dark, and I’m afraid the weather is already turning. At least there is no rain yet.”

  “Yes, at least that,” Mr. Asher said. “Though I don’t mind the rain.”

  Lenora didn’t mind the rain either. She’d come home a dozen times from her night walks soaked to the skin. She would simply lay her clothes before the fire and let them dry overnight, packing them away before Dorothea came to wake her. But not tonight. Not ever again. To lose the freedom she credited with developing her courage was painful, and she sensed Mr. Asher knew it.

  “I hope to see you again soon,” Aunt Gwen said as Mr. Asher and Miss Manch stepped over the threshold. “And best of luck in school this week, Catherine. The first week is always the hardest, but now that you know your teachers and classmates and what is expected, I have no do
ubt this week will be far more comfortable.”

  Catherine smiled sweetly, then scowled at Lenora when Aunt Gwen turned her attention to Mr. Asher’s good-bye.

  Lenora clenched her hands at her side. She needed her river. She needed fortification to deal with this girl tomorrow and the four days that would follow. Lenora looked at Mr. Asher one last time and amazed herself by giving one crisp nod. He hid his surprise quickly but nodded back, just once, before stepping toward the street. The door closed behind them, and Lenora followed Aunt Gwen back to the parlor so they might discuss the evening and Aunt Gwen could enjoy her whiskey.

  Lenora’s chest tingled. She’d agreed to let Mr. Asher escort her to the river. Why had she done that? She knew, though. She was eager to get out of the house, to sort her thoughts, to enjoy her river. But she wouldn’t be alone. Would the experience be damaged by the lack of solitude? In that moment, as she sat next to her aunt and commented on how pleasant the night was, she realized she didn’t care. She had regained something precious she thought had been lost. She would enjoy it for every moment she could, come what may.

  When the door to Mrs. Simmons’s terrace house closed behind them, Aiden looked at his niece with grateful relief. She’d been lovely tonight—well-mannered, poised—and he’d been so proud of her performance on the pianoforte. It was the first time he’d heard her play, and she was exceptional.

  He felt as though they had finally overcome the animosity that had been between them since he’d announced she would be enrolled in Mrs. Henry’s school in Bath. He’d told her the day before they left the estate in Cheshire—her estate in Cheshire, though he had not yet disclosed that fact to her—and she’d been livid, convinced in her own mind that, after she’d been turned out of two schools between February and May, he had given up. He hadn’t; he’d only used his time in following up on the only school Miss Keighly thought would give Catherine a chance.