“I can tell them apart in time, but not, unfortunately, quickly enough for this,” he said shortly. “It appears that I have no possible future on the dance floor.”
“Not necessarily,” she said thoughtfully. “Would it help if you were taught with the terms ‘port’ and ‘starboard’ used?”
Alex chuckled suddenly in appreciation of how ridiculous the situation was. At least the maid seemed to accept his handicap as a matter of course. “No, my dear, the problem is not in the terminology, but rather in the quickness of thought required. The caper merchant says ‘left,’ my brain apparently hears ‘right,’ and the next moment I am crashing into my neighbor rather than pivoting gracefully around my partner. And while crashing into you is quite enjoyable, such behavior is not apt to prove acceptable at a London ball.”
Christa looked at him with her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “It is a problem, but not, I think, insurmountable. Have you noticed that your brother has the same problem in lesser degree?”
Alex was startled. He had been so absorbed in his own failure that he had not realized that Jonathan wasn’t doing much better than he himself. “You mean we are both hopeless?”
“Not at all. It is just that you will need to be taught in a different way. Are you willing to discuss this with your brother and sister? With Annabelle’s help, you and Master Jonathan should soon be dancing well enough.”
Alex thought a moment. After years of concealing his nameless affliction, it went against the grain to bring it out in the open. Still, it would be a good way to prove to his siblings that he wasn’t infallible.
“Lead on, mademoiselle. If you can really teach a hard case like me, you will have a new career ahead of you.”
Tired out by laughter, Jonathan and Annabelle had tumbled onto the sofas and settled down to the tea and cakes that Morrison had discreetly brought in moments before. Christa naturally did not join them, but after the Kingsleys had refreshed themselves she looked expectantly at Alex. This was the kind of occasion for which he often had trouble finding words, but under her encouraging gaze he cleared his throat and said, “I must apologize for ruining our dance lesson. I hadn’t realized how necessary it would be to tell right from left. Unfortunately, that particular skill is one I am lacking.”
Jonathan shot a startled look at his brother. “You too, Alex? I always thought I was the one who inherited all the family clumsiness.”
“We resemble each other more than I realized, Jon,” Alex said ruefully. “Belle, can you tell directions?”
She gave a guilty start. “Most of the time,” she said cautiously. “It helps that I wear a ring on my”—she stopped and glanced at her hand—“left hand.”
There was a pregnant pause before Jonathan said kindly, “Belle, that is your right hand.”
The three confused Kingsleys started to laugh together, and for the next quarter-hour they exchanged stories about their past experiences. Listening, Christa decided that Alex was the most afflicted and Annabelle the least, although, as that young lady said, “I scarcely noticed I had a problem because no one expects a young lady to know whether she is coming or going.”
That produced another round of laughter. As the merriment died down, Alex said, “Christa thinks she may have a teaching method that can help Jon and me. Perhaps if she will explain?”
“It is very simple,” Christa replied, her hands turning out. Alex was coming to realize that her hands were as expressive and enjoyable to watch as her face. “After all, Miss Annabelle has learned how to dance. Do you remember how you did?”
“Well,” Annabelle said hesitantly, “I had problems, but I wanted very much to learn, so I practiced a great deal with the other girls at the school. Eventually I knew the movements so well that I didn’t have to think about them. All that work,” she added wistfully, “and I have yet to show my skills at a ball.”
“Then you will be gratified to hear that the Harringtons have invited us to dinner this Thursday,” Alex said. “They would like to reintroduce us to our neighbors. Mrs. Harrington said there will be music later if any of the young people want to stand up for a few sets.” Ignoring his sister’s squeak of pleasure, he continued, “Let us hope your teaching technique works, Christa.”
“It is not complicated, my lord. If you go through the movements slowly, over and over, eventually your body will remember how to do them and your mind will no longer be needed, so you can concentrate on paying extravagant compliments to your partner.” Christa made a gesture to her mistress. “Miss Annabelle, if you and I act as partners, and your brothers put their hands on our shoulders … ?”
Christa and Annabelle stood opposite each other in the position for a simple reel. Alex moved behind Christa and put his hands gently on her shoulders while Jonathan did the same behind Annabelle. The two girls hummed the music and slowly moved through the steps. Sure enough, it was easier to follow the motion transmitted through his fingers than it was to listen to someone speak commands.
Alex had decided that it was his brotherly duty to be the one working with Christa. Being only fifteen, Jonathan might have been so tempted by her satiny skin that he wouldn’t have learned anything. In spite of his advanced years, Alex found it difficult to refrain from stroking her neck in a manner that had nothing to do with dancing.
Back and forth, twice to the right. And when Christa turned her head, the same tangy fragrance he had noticed on the beach brought a sharp memory of Malta and a sun-kissed hillside overlooking the azure calm of the Mediterranean. Side to side and turn around. Rosemary, that was what the scent was. Alex had found a whole hillside covered with it in Malta. Christa must use the herb on her hair. It suited her—piquant and unusual, but at the same time as straightforward as she was.
Absorbed in his thoughts, Alex followed Christa’s lead through a number of repetitions of the steps, at progressively faster speeds. He was surprised when he realized the practice had stopped. Christa had certainly done a splendid job of distracting him from thinking about his feet!
The four of them danced again, but this time as couples. After so many repetitions of the steps, the two males could get through the reel without mishap. In another half-hour they were dancing with ease, and beginning to converse with their partners.
The lesson ended with a late-afternoon tea tray. This time, by unanimous consent, Christa joined them for the refreshments. The Kingsleys all insisted that she had earned the privilege.
A burst of water splashed her face and Christa laughed with the sheer pleasure of it. She was at the tiller of the Annabelle, while Alex Kingsley was forward, instructing his siblings in the intricacies of sails, lines, and the all-important necessity of avoiding the boom when they came about suddenly.
The day after the first dance class, Alex went to Ipswich to collect his new boat, sailing it home with the help of the former owner. Early the next morning he had his crew down at the cove for their first sailing session. The day promised to be fair and clear—perfect for a new outdoor venture.
Alex started by distributing long-sleeved woolen jerseys to them. An old woman from the Channel Isles lived in Ipswich, and she had knitted the garments out of heavy off-white wool. Alex owned a similar jersey that he had acquired years earlier, and he explained that the natural oil in the yarn kept a sailor warm even when the jersey was soaked. Moreover, the garment allowed free movement. Annabelle had balked a bit at the large shapeless pullover but became a convert to its use when the boat reached open water: the sea breezes were cool but the sailors stayed comfortably warm.
Christa thought that their captain looked wonderfully dashing with his well-worn jersey stretching across his wide shoulders. Before they set sail he had questioned her to determine her level of nautical expertise, then made her second-in-command as they sailed into the nearby estuary that led to Ipswich. It was a good place for novice sailors, calm enough to reduce the possibility of seasickness, and with a steady breeze. After Alex turned the tiller over to Christa, the sailin
g lesson for Annabelle and Jonathan began in earnest.
The salt spray and wind were playing havoc with Christa’s hair, and by the end of the day her curls would be a mad mass that would require patient disentangling and a wash. It didn’t matter. Christa could not remember when she had felt so free—certainly not since before the Revolution began six years before. She might be a servant, but today she would not have changed places with anyone.
It was also, Christa remembered with a start, her birthday. She was twenty-four years old today, and felt half a century younger than on her last birthday, when she was living in depressed luxury at Radcliffe Hall. For all her change in station, life was far better now.
The Annabelle was a sweet, responsive boat. Steering her was easy and left Christa the time to keep a lazy eye on Alex. Clearly he was in his element, his golden hair as windblown as her own, his movements unconsciously graceful as he accommodated himself to the boat’s motions. Raising the jib, he winced slightly and Christa frowned. She had thought he was favoring his left side, and was now sure of it. The whole household knew the viscount had been seriously wounded in the Mediterranean, and she hoped for his sake that the damage would eventually heal.
Having drilled his students enough for one session, Alex left them to their own devices and went aft to sit by Christa at the tiller. That morning when he had seen the two girls in their breeches, it was clear that such garments had a definite place in the female wardrobe. At least, they had merit from a man’s point of view. Annabelle’s long legs were elegantly slender in Jonathan’s old breeches, and she seemed to move with more confidence as she became used to the freedom. As for Christa—if the French fleet at the Battle of the Saintes had sent women with curves like hers into the rigging, they would have carried the day as the British fleet was reduced to lustful wonder.
“What do you think of the Annabelle?” Alex asked as he seated himself on the far side of the tiller from her.
“She’s a lovely lady,” Christa said. “Sails more closely to the wind than any boat I have ever been on. What kind is she?”
“I don’t know if this type of boat has a particular name—there are so many kinds of coastal vessels. She is something like the Thames bawleys that work the estuary waters around here, but larger and with more draft so she’ll do for deep-water sailing. I suspect someone built her for smuggling, actually. Don’t laugh,” he said at Christa’s chuckle. “That is an important industry around here.”
“Do you wish to set up as a smuggler, my lord?” she teased.
“I was thinking of a more legitimate business, actually. Perhaps I’ll buy into a merchant fleet. But not for the Annabelle. She is just for me. Why, I could sail round the world in her.”
“You would need a crew, Captain Kingsley.”
“Then you could come with me.” The comment was light but the warm look in the clear amber eyes was not. Their gazes locked for a moment before she turned to look forward, where Annabelle was hanging over the bow like an improbably beautiful figurehead, spray flying into her face and hair as the boat cut through the waves. Christa was glad that she had braided her mistress’s hair—it would simplify the combing later.
“Your sister is growing lovelier every day. She will be a great success this autumn.”
Alex accepted the change of subject, not sure whether to be relieved or sorry that the French girl had ignored his remark about going off with him. When he was around Christa, his tongue took on a life of its own. “I hope so—Belle will enjoy her Season much more if she is confident and sought-after. My sister has had few opportunities for pleasure before now.”
Christa thought of Annabelle’s fascinated reaction to the coxcomb in the park, and decided a warning was in order. “For that reason, my lord, you had best keep a close eye on her.”
Alex glanced at her appraisingly. “Why do you say that?” In the back of his mind lurked memories of his mother’s unbridled promiscuity, but he could not imagine Annabelle following that course. While his sister had her mother’s beauty, her temperament was wholly different.
Christa seemed to guess what he was thinking. “She is young, she will be much courted. It is enough to turn any young girl’s head, especially one who is not used to being admired. It will be good experience if she goes out socially this summer.”
“There will be no lack of opportunities. We have invitations from half the county. Our family is well-known here, and she should come to no harm.” Alex hesitated, then said carefully, “I know a lady and her woman often share many secrets. I don’t want you to spy on her but … I am sure that you and I both have her welfare at heart.” His tone held a slight question.
Christa nodded, aware of what he was asking. “You need have no fears on that head, my lord. I have seen my share of the world’s wolves, and will do my best to keep them from your lamb.” She rose and added, “The sun is well past its zenith. With your permission, I will serve the luncheon Monsieur Sabine sent with us.”
“An excellent idea. The sea air is always a good excuse for appetite.” Alex watched Christa go forward, admiring her deft movements. Not only was she attractive, intelligent, and exuberantly alive, but she was at home on a ship. He had the dismal feeling that it would be hard to find a woman her equal among the pampered ladies of the beau monde.
* * *
Annabelle was supposed to be resting before her first evening party at the Harringtons’, but instead she tossed fretfully, envisioning scenarios of social disaster. It was one thing to confront her brothers, quite another to face a roomful of strangers.
“But they are not strangers,” Christa said patiently as she sat by her mistress’s bed repairing a flounce with tiny stitches. “Most have known you since you were in leading strings.”
“That makes it worse!” Annabelle wailed. “They will be remembering Lady Serena, and wondering how she came to have such an ugly-duckling daughter.” She pressed one hand to her forehead and closed her eyes. “Christa, how will I be able to face them?”
Christa tied a knot in her thread and clipped it with her scissors. “Don’t you think you are succumbing to vanity? It is one of the seven deadly sins, you know.”
“Vanity!” Annabelle’s eyes flew open in indignation. “When my fear is that the whole neighborhood will think I am dreadful?”
“Well, what is it but vanity to assume that everyone there will be so interested in you? Most people are concerned first of all with themselves, second with those they care about. Since they hardly know you, most will not be very interested in you.”
She laid the repaired dress aside and picked up a stocking that needed darning. “More than that, many of them will be worried about your opinion. After all, you are the only daughter of the most important family in the district. You are coming from London, you will be wearing a gown that cost more than some of the girls’ annual dress allowances, and you will be escorted by a distinguished and indulgent brother. You will be much envied. It will be easy to become popular.”
Annabelle turned her head to look at her maid, fascinated by this novel view of the world. “How will I accomplish that?”
Christa looked up at her, the mending temporarily forgotten in her lap. “Simply be good-natured and not proud. Those who are disposed to like you will be pleased at your friendliness, and the toad-eaters will be enthralled by your condescension. Those who are not disposed to like you will find a reason to condemn you no matter what you do, so they are of no account.”
Annabelle giggled. “You make it sound so easy. Where did you learn to be so wise?”
“I had good teachers.” Christa thought for a moment, then said, “This evening is really your introduction to society, more so than the ball you will have in London. Because that is so, I will tell you a very great secret.”
“What is that?” Annabelle asked eagerly.
“Why, it is the secret of being beautiful. It is what was known by Cleopatra, by Helen of Troy, by Aphrodite herself.”
“What c
an you possibly mean?” Annabelle asked, intrigued.
“Beauty begins in the mind. It helps to have hair and a face and a figure like yours, but it is the belief that one is beautiful that carries all before you. Everyone is beautiful sometimes, when the heart and soul are in harmony. When you have a very special need to be lovely, like tonight, just close your eyes and think of that.”
Annabelle obediently shut her eyes while Christa continued to speak, her voice soothing. “Think: ‘I am beautiful, in my heart, in my mind, in my soul. It is a gift to those around me, and no one can take it from me. Tonight I will know that I am at my loveliest, and that will free me to make others feel beautiful too.’ Think of yourself as you wish to be, loving yourself, helping others love themselves and be beautiful too.”
Christa softly repeated such sentences until the lines of anxiety had smoothed from Annabelle’s face and she fell asleep. After straightening a blanket over the girl, Christa went into her own room to complete the mending. It was remarkable how thoroughly Lady Serena had blighted her daughter’s confidence. Some might think Annabelle’s fears ludicrous, but fear was nonetheless real for having no basis in fact. When Annabelle looked in the mirror, she saw not her own lovely face, but her belief that she was unlovable. That would not be eradicated overnight, but in time, in time …
Christa took special care with Annabelle’s toilette and had the satisfaction of seeing her mistress go off in her best looks and with her nerves under reasonable control. Alex had come to his sister’s chamber to escort her down to the carriage, and he praised his sister’s apple-green dress and fashionable coiffure effusively. Just before leaving the room after Annabelle, he glanced at Christa and gave her a broad wink that clearly linked them in a conspiracy to ensure his sister’s success. She chuckled as his elegantly tailored back disappeared; he seemed to know exactly what Annabelle needed.
Lady of Fortune Page 14
