Miss Wilton's Waltz

by Josi S. Kilpack

  Lenora felt her face flush even deeper, but Mr. Asher seemed to take Aunt Gwen’s encouragement as an answer and put out his arm. She felt she had no choice but to allow him to lead her from the woman who had thrown her to the wolves—though at least it was a handsome wolf. No amount of deep breaths and counted steps could calm her nerves now.

  “I did not mean to put you out,” Mr. Asher said as they stopped at the edge of the dance floor to wait for the set to finish.

  “I did not mean to seem petulant. I am . . . I am not very . . . I do not usually dance.”

  “Why is that?”

  She opened her mouth to give a polite answer, and then wondered why she should be anything but honest. The thought was surprisingly calming. He already knew the worst of her and would likely be leaving Bath within a fortnight once Catherine failed her final chance at school. She watched the dancers as she spoke so she would not have to see his reaction. Honest or not, she did not want to see pity or judgment in his expression.

  “I am twenty-six years old, Mr. Asher, a teacher, and an independent woman. Ballrooms, even in Bath, are filled with more women than men, younger and lighter on their feet than I.” She sounded so pathetic, but it was a relief to tell the truth. Standing so near him made her thoughts swirl like the mist from the river in winter.

  “Would you prefer not to dance with me?”

  Lenora’s cheeks flushed yet again. “That is not what I meant. I would like to dance with you. I mean—” She paused for breath and focus. “I would not not prefer to dance with you, which, as that is a double negative, means I—” Another breath. More focus. “The invitation simply took me by surprise, and I am not very good with surprises.”

  “Well,” he said in a lighter tone, “I find that interesting since you seem to be full of them.”

  The music began, and he led her to the floor. It was a few seconds before she recognized the song as a waltz. She paused, and he interpreted it as her wanting to start where they stood rather than further toward the center of the floor. He put his hand at her waist, and she put her hand on his shoulder. He took her other hand and held it up. She could feel the fire in her neck at the prospect of having to admit yet another failing.

  “I have never waltzed, Mr. Asher. At least, not with a man.” She spoke softly but still glanced about, as though someone might overhear and burst into laughter.

  He raised his eyebrows. “With a goat, perhaps?”

  She smiled despite herself and looked at her feet as he led her into the first steps. “With my sisters. My understanding was that such a scandalous dance as a waltz was not allowed in Bath.”

  “Perhaps someone was feeling wicked and bribed the orchestra quite generously.” He winked, and she pulled her eyebrows together. Did he mean him? He bribed the orchestra to play a waltz so he could dance with her? No, that couldn’t be it. Could it?

  When she didn’t answer, he continued. “No doubt there will be letters of complaint published in tomorrow’s paper. We shall keep it slow, and you may pretend I am your sister if you would like. Right foot back, left foot back and left, right foot back—one, two, three, one . . .”

  She kept glancing at her feet, but her thoughts were tangled in what he’d said. When she’d danced with her sisters, they would tie up their skirts so they could see the steps.

  He let go of her waist long enough to tip her chin up, sending a shiver down her spine. “Watch my eyes, do not think too much about the steps, move with me.”

  The flush in her cheeks spread quickly through the rest of her, but she did as he said and held his eyes. Within a few more steps, she felt as though they were one person moving across the floor. If she held his eyes, she could follow the steps without thinking about them. When she thought about the steps, on the other hand, she stumbled. He resumed counting each time she missed a step in order to get her back in rhythm, and after another minute, she was moving in perfect time with him.

  Looking into his face and being so close to him was thrilling. And frightening. She felt so many things she had not felt before. This closeness made the fantasy of it all too real. Had he truly arranged for this dance?

  She reminded herself that he was blackmailing her—except he’d apologized for that in his last letter and said he would keep her secret without any expectations from her any longer. But then his niece was a nightmare, and she was all but certain that Catherine and Mr. Asher would be leaving Bath soon. But then she was distracted by small specks of gold in his eyes. When he smiled, the lines beside his eyes lengthened like the petals of a daisy. He wore his hair longer than was fashionable, and when it fell over his forehead, she wanted to brush it away.

  Where on earth are these thoughts coming from? She was a vicar’s daughter, for heaven’s sake, nearly a spinster, and an inexperienced woman to boot. That was why his proximity was so overwhelming; she had such little experience to draw from. She’d danced with other men—even her former fiancé—and only felt anxiety. But she’d never waltzed with a man, certainly not a man who had arranged one specifically for her. It was no wonder that Bath did not often include a waltz at these events. It was a wicked dance. She feared she would never recover.

  “You look lovely, Miss Wilton. The color favors you a great deal. Your eyes seem brighter, and your hair reflects more light.”

  Lenora’s cheeks were in a perpetual state of flush. “Thank you.” Had a man ever given her such a direct and sincere compliment? She wished his words were something tangible that she could fold in half and store in her pocket. For an instant, she imagined asking him to write them down. The thought made her smile, or perhaps it was his compliment, but she felt some of the tension ease from her shoulders. He would leave Bath soon, and she would never see him again. She could put a bit more effort into enjoying this moment. A moment he had created.

  “I enjoy seeing you outside of the school,” he said, then hurried to add, “Not that I don’t like seeing you in school, but you are different when you are not there.”

  He was one of the few people who knew how very different she could be. He spread the fingers of his hand at her waist and pulled her an inch closer, sending a shiver up her spine and back again. The way he looked at her made her feel as though he could see every part of her, and approved of what he saw.

  “Will you be going out tomorrow night?” His voice had dropped to a whisper.

  “I would like to,” Lenora whispered back.

  He said nothing, but when he winked conspiratorially, she winked back.

  She winked! At a man. At Mr. Asher!

  Too soon, the waltz ended, and Lenora felt almost drunk—not that she’d ever actually been drunk. She imagined it felt like this, though—unaware of the details of her surroundings, unable to think about the past or the future. Mr. Asher led her back to her aunt and kissed her hand before vanishing into the crowd. Had his lips lingered on her hand?

  When she came back to herself and stopped staring at the square of floor where he’d been standing, she turned to find Aunt Gwen watching her.

  “Did you enjoy your dance, dear?” Aunt Gwen asked, her eyebrows raised. “A waltz, no less.”

  Lenora sat on the bench and tried to avoid her aunt’s eye, afraid of what Aunt Gwen might discover if Lenora let her look too close. She could not stop smiling, nor could she say anything but the truth, even though a lie would have served her purposes infinitely better. “Yes, Aunt. I enjoyed it very much.”

  Aiden moved his knight and glanced at the clock—9:47. Thirteen minutes and he’d insist Catherine go to bed. He should have insisted an hour ago, but she had suggested chess and, with things being so difficult, he couldn’t refuse an opportunity to spend time with her any more than he could forget the connection he’d felt with Miss Wilton when they’d waltzed last night. The click of two chess pieces making contact drew his gaze back to the board, where he quickly assessed what had happened dur
ing his musings.

  “You moved your pawn two spaces,” he said, looking at his knight that now lay on its side. He’d noticed that Miss Wilton could give equal attention to numerous conversations and activities going on around her. Apparently, Aiden did not have that ability.

  “No, I didn’t,” Catherine said innocently—too innocently. “It was right there.” She pointed to an empty square between where her pawn had actually been and where she’d moved it.

  He held her eyes. “I will not play with you if you are going to cheat.”

  Catherine rolled her eyes, let out a heavy sigh, and reset the pieces. “I was trying to determine if you were paying attention to the game.”

  Well, he couldn’t offer much argument. He wasn’t paying attention. His thoughts were already on the river, and although he told himself the tension he felt about tonight’s escort was due to the drizzly weather and Catherine’s desire to stay up late, he suspected it was more about his anticipation to see Lenora Wilton. It seemed every time he was with her, he saw some new facet of her personality, some hidden aspect of her nature that intrigued him in a way no other woman had.

  Catherine moved her piece correctly, and Aiden quickly captured it with his rook. She grunted and propped her head up on her hand as she surveyed the board. She moved another pawn one space to the left. Aiden could have captured it, but decided to be merciful. She was still learning the game.

  “How are you feeling about school tomorrow?” Aiden asked, hoping the topic would keep his mind focused on his niece and the game. He glanced at the clock. Eleven minutes.

  “I hate school,” Catherine said flatly. “And I especially hate Miss Wilton.”

  Aiden felt his defenses rise up, but he forced himself to take a breath. He moved his knight again. “Miss Wilton has been very fair with you, Catherine.”

  “She hates me.”

  “I assure you she does not.” At least, he didn’t think she did. Certainly, she didn’t praise Catherine, but then Catherine hadn’t given much effort worthy of praise. “She has tried harder than anyone to help you be successful at Mrs. Henry’s school.”

  Catherine huffed. “She’s put me on the point system. I am certain it was her idea.”

  “You are the reason you are on the point system,” Aiden reminded her. “You could have easily been dismissed instead, but you have been given another chance.”

  Her fingers pinched the head of the pawn she was in the process of moving. “I do not want another chance. I hate it there.” She moved the piece, taking out Aiden’s rook. He hadn’t noticed that his mercy toward her pawn had left him vulnerable.

  Instead of taking his next move, Aiden folded his arms on the edge of the table and leaned forward. “You would rather go to the school in Germany? It is little more than a sanatorium.”

  She didn’t meet his eye and began lining up her “fallen” pieces along the edge of the board. “I would rather not go to school at all,” she said, too casually to actually be a casual comment. “Why can I not simply go to the estate in Cheshire?”

  “You need an education.”

  “In needlepoint and etiquette?” She rolled her eyes.

  “In literature and French, in music and poise. In a few years’ time, you will make your debut, and the match you make will determine your future. You must be able to make a good presentation.” Yet she could not even read. Was it folly for any of them to expect she could learn so much now when she hadn’t thus far? She was fighting them every way she could.

  She narrowed her eyes. “What if I don’t want to make a match? What if I simply want to be a homely music teacher at an all-girl’s school?”

  Aiden clenched his teeth, ignoring the barb at Miss Wilton. “You still need an education.”

  “Which I could get in Cheshire with a private tutor. I do not like living in the city. It is too crowded.”

  “You need to learn how to socialize.” She’d been isolated most of her life, interacting with adults who did not treat her well. She needed to learn how to exist in the polite world—that was how Miss Keighly had explained it. Miss Keighly. He groaned in his mind, thinking of Miss Wilton and how he felt when he was with her. He did not feel the same with Miss Keighly. He had not expected to feel it with any other woman. He would need to resolve that situation.

  “I can learn to socialize in Cheshire so long as you do not lock me in the linen closet.”

  His head ached. Catherine needed to learn how to behave. Could he even find a tutor who could not only control her but also teach her to read and everything else she needed to learn without beating her as the others had eventually done? And yet, schools were not working either.

  He had circled such thoughts a hundred times the last few days and found no solution. He straightened, looked at the board, and then pushed it away. “It is time for bed.”

  “But we aren’t finished with the game!”

  Aiden stood. “It is time for bed,” he repeated. “Tomorrow is an important day, and one I hope you will appreciate.” He rang the bellpull, and then moved to the sideboard where he poured himself a brandy. He raised the glass, but then looked at his niece, glowering by the table. “I do not understand you, Catherine. You are surrounded by people who are doing their best to help you, yet you refuse to take advantage of it.”

  “I am surrounded by people determined to make me miserable, is what you mean.”

  He put down his glass sharply, nearly breaking the glass, as the temper he had tried to keep in check leaped up hotter than he could control. “You think I am trying to make you miserable? I have turned my entire life on its ear for you, Catherine. Miss Wilton has made great sacrifices to give you the best opportunity to improve, and you continue to be completely rotten. I am running out of ideas, and if you had any sense in your head, you would be trying your very best to make this school work!”

  Her expression did not change. She did not show remorse, or hurt, or irritation. In fact, if anything she looked pleased at him having lost his temper.

  Paulette appeared in the doorway, eyes wide. Aiden turned his back to her and to Catherine, finally lifting the brandy and taking a long swallow.

  A crash behind him caused him to spin around. The chessboard and all the pieces lay scattered across the floor. Catherine smiled smugly at him, then stood up from her chair and walked toward the maid, not even trying to avoid the pieces but stepping on them instead. They were pewter, and unikely to be damaged, but she had made her point.

  His hand tightened around his snifter.

  Catherine passed Paulette in the doorway, who, after some hesitation, turned to follow her charge.

  Aiden held back a curse, finished his brandy, and then set about righting the board. Exhaustion overcame him. What else could he possibly do? Perhaps nothing. Perhaps this was the end of his options and Germany was all that was left. The idea made him sick to his stomach. He wanted success for Catherine. He wanted to make up for the cruelty she’d experienced and find the girl he knew lived behind all her defenses. But if she would not meet him halfway, all his efforts would be for nothing.

  It wasn’t until he’d placed the final piece in position that he glanced at the clock again and remembered the river. A flash of energy coursed through him, anticipation and relief making up for the heaviness of the last several minutes. He hurried toward the front door and retrieved his coat and hat himself rather than ring for Martin to assist him. Tomorrow would come, but tonight, he would escort Miss Wilton to the river and find some peace.

  Mr. Asher was waiting for Lenora as he had the previous Sunday evenings, as though last night’s dance had not happened. It was cold and drizzly, but Lenora needed the river, and she wanted to see him before having to face his niece again on Monday. Every time her dread of the coming week rose up, she thought of Mr. Asher and the river until the dread went away. She would have to face Catherine one way or a
nother, but why spoil the day with anticipation of misery?

  Lenora wondered if he would walk with her now that they had shared their waltz, but he waved her ahead of him as usual without a word. As on the other nights, he followed her from a distance and stayed near the shop when she reached the stairs. As she went down the stone steps alone, she wondered if perhaps he hadn’t felt the same connection. Perhaps he’d orchestrated the dance, but found it not nearly as enjoyable as he’d expected. But it wasn’t her imagination that there had been something between them. Was the something enough? Was that something what love grew from? Was this the something her sister Rose had tried to explain? That Cassie had found with Evan?

  Her thoughts embarrassed her, and so she watched her feet, placing them carefully on the steps slippery with rain. She chose a spot on the stone wall that was further from the river but protected by the leaning trunk of the walnut tree.

  She wrapped her arms around her knees, rested her chin, and thought about how she’d felt the warmth of his hand at her waist through the fabric of her dress. The way he’d looked at her as though he wanted them to be alone. Wanted to draw her closer to him. The way her whole body shivered and tingled, and how her anxiety had fallen silent—like the way snow muffled the air on a winter morning. Lenora had never felt such things before and wanted desperately to know if Mr. Asher had felt them too, but she could never ask him. She was being ridiculous.

  What a relief that Lenora had supported Cassie and Evan being together despite not fully understanding their connection until now. What if she’d denied them because of her own embarrassment and pride? What if they’d never been able to have one another because of her?

  What if she could not have Mr. Asher even though she felt this way?

  She pushed aside the memories of how astoundingly aware of him she’d been and forced herself to consider the fullness of the situation. She was his niece’s teacher, and Catherine was volatile and dishonest, sneaky and disruptive. And Mr. Asher’s ward, which meant any woman who chose to spend her life with him would have a life sentence with Catherine, too.