She blinked. “Like what?”
“Smile. Like that.”
“Was I smiling?” she asked, and her cheeks went pink.
“Yes. As though you were enjoying yourself.”
“Oh. I meant that one, I’m afraid. I wasn’t practicing.”
He stopped dancing, looking down at her, uncertain as to what he should say. “Then you do not need to practice. You seem to come by the right expression naturally.” Her lips curled upward again and her eyes brightened with pleasure. “Yes. Exactly.” He cleared his throat and took a step back. “Very well. That is that.”
“What about a waltz?” she asked. “I have barely learned it, but my aunt assures me that the waltz is done at private balls all the time now. She’s had word it will be permitted at Almack’s assembly rooms. Are there different ways to converse or act during a waltz?”
The alarming sensation of heat rushing into his cheeks made him turn quickly away, pretending to cough into his hand.
Christine’s brows drew together in concern. “Thomas, are you catching cold? Your throat is giving you great difficulty today.”
“Not at all.” He straightened his shoulders and attempted to sound indifferent. “I understand the waltz has gained popularity here in England. But are you certain your father will approve of the dance?”
“Of course,” she answered, seemingly unconcerned. “Anything Aunt Jacqueline approves, he will approve. I am left to her stewardship during my time in London.”
He hesitated, uncertain as to whether he should proceed. The waltz made its way into England during his time away, but he understood the dance well. While his logical mind said there was nothing to dancing a waltz with this young woman, a part of him whispered this would not be a good idea. But why? They were alone, undisturbed, as they had been all along.
Thomas wanted to dance with her, to test the limits of his affections.
Very well. He would waltz with her. Even if it proved his undoing.
∞∞∞
Christine curtsied and hummed the waltz she knew best, a melody played by Julia often. Thomas approached, his hand taking hers, his arm going about her as he placed his other hand at the middle of her back. He drew her in as she slid her hand to his shoulder. The empty air between them became charged with warmth, despite the cool autumn weather. Christine swallowed, her cheeks warming as she met his eyes. “Should I look away during the waltz?”
“Yes. But spend more time looking at your partner,” he instructed, his voice softer than before. “The waltz is an intimate dance. You will not change companions, you will spend the entirety with one man, traveling about the room. His hands alone will guide you with the lightest touch upon your shoulder or movement of your hands.” He demonstrated, the steps seeming so natural to perform with him that she hardly had to think about the movements.
“We stand close,” she said as he changed positions, switching their form, raising their left arms to form an arch above them while their right hands went to each other’s waists.
“And even in a crowded ballroom, it is unlikely for anyone nearby to hear what you say. This makes it possible—” he broke off to clear his throat, sounding slightly hoarse. “This makes it possible to say things of a more personal nature without being overheard. Imagine you particularly like the gentleman you dance with.”
She lowered her eyes, glancing away, willing her cheeks to cool. “That is not too difficult a thing.”
“Excellent,” he said, his voice low. Her eyes darted up to his again, realizing he thought she had already begun her “practice” flirtation. “Now, a gentleman who is waltzing with you will be tempted to pay a compliment, I am certain. Something such as, ‘You look lovely this evening, Miss Christine.’”
Unable to help it, she smiled and tilted her head to the side. “Surely you can do better than that, Tom,” she teased. “If a gentleman wishes me to dance in an intimate manner with him, I should hope he would have conversation at a more intimate level as well.”
He looked disconcerted as they shifted positions once again, his arm back around her, and her hand in his. “We are practicing. Imagine a more outrageous compliment, then.”
Although she felt a trifle disappointed that he would not venture his own, she nodded. “Then I shall say, with my littlest of smiles, ‘Thank you, Mr. Gilbert. I am pleased you noticed.’” He turned her at that instant, hand brushing her waist, and her heart skipped a beat. Somehow, with the dance instructor, she never felt how truly close and personal a dance this was. With Thomas, her dear friend, her heart skipped ahead of each movement with excitement. How would it be to dance this way with a man who had every intention of courting her? Marrying her?
She could not imagine it would be much better than this, as she met Thomas’s warm green eyes.
“What else?” she asked, voice soft, as though there might truly be others dancing nearby to hear. Her heart hammered so loudly she wondered if he could hear it above her words.
He gulped and it was his turn to look down and away. “The movements themselves are flirtation enough, would you not agree?” His hand, holding hers as he led, squeezed hers gently while the other hand, though gloved, radiated with heat at her back.
Her stomach dropped in a strange manner and she had to swallow before speaking. “Yes. Yes, obviously, you are right.”
It had been some time since she hummed their dance music, yet he continued the movements with perfect time, effortlessly gliding her over the uneven ground, his eyes meeting hers again.
We are made to dance together this way, she thought, I have never felt so at ease, so graceful, as I do now. In his arms.
“If you dance this beautifully in London,” he told her softly, “any one of your suitors is likely to be half in love with you before the music ends.”
Her eyes widened and heat rushed up her neck, into her cheeks. Her lips parted, but Christine could not think what to say until she noticed his eyes lower to her mouth. Slowly, he stopped moving, his gaze alternating between her eyes and her lips, the green of his eyes darkened, his breathing became shallow, matching hers as she realized how difficult it suddenly felt to draw in air.
“Tom,” she whispered, still standing with one arm about his shoulders as he released her hand. Would he kiss her now? Her heart ached to be kissed while her mind rebelled, fearing the very idea of becoming more closely attached to the man before her, knowing a romance between them could never be.
His hand lifted to her cheek, lightly touching her skin, and—in the time it took her to blink—he released her and stepped backward, dropping his hand from her waist while hers fell from his shoulder.
“I think you will do well at the balls,” he said, hands going behind him as he turned. He did not look at her, but moved away toward the bank. “Remember to smile, drop your eyes now and again, and offer quiet encouragement to any fellow you particularly admire.” He went all the way to the edge of the water, as though unable to put enough distance between them. “I think that is enough for this lesson.”
Christine watched his back, saw the stiff set of his shoulders, and could not help the confusion which overtook her. She wanted him back at her side, at once, at all costs. But the rational side of her thought it was better, safer this way.
“Thomas, have I done something wrong?” She could not help asking. “You are upset with me.”
He turned quickly, looking at her with a strained smile. “Upset? Not at all. You did very well today.”
“Oh.” She brought her hands together before her and pretended she felt pleased. She doubted she succeeded in her false smile as well as he did. “Thank you. I enjoyed the lesson.”
One side of his mouth quirked upward, his eyes remained on her. “As did I.”
“How are your mares?” Though a particularly inane comment, he nodded quickly enough to indicate acceptance of the change in topic.
“Fine. Very fine. Well exercised and in good health.”
“Good. Excell
ent. Um. I was thinking that I might send my groom over this afternoon to discuss arrangements with you.” This was madness, discussing their horses as if they had not come very near to kissing. Or did they? Would he have kissed her if her father’s wishes did not stand in their way?
“Oh?” He nodded, his smile looking more forced. “Yes. I suppose we are nearing the end of our agreement. Only two more weeks until Christmas and then you depart for London.”
“I am a lady of my word.” She tried to make the statement light and airy, uncaring, yet the words came out far heavier than she intended. “Your help has been invaluable. I cannot imagine what more you could have to teach me. I think I will be a great success in London.”
“Yes. The toast of the season. You can begin at Lord Calvert’s ball.” Thomas’s half-hearted agreement did not make her feel any better. He looked away, across the bank. “We should both probably be going. To make arrangements.”
“Yes, we had.” She went to her horse and turned to speak another word on the matter to prolong their time together, but stopped abruptly, seeing Thomas coming quickly toward her.
“Allow me, Christine.” His hands went to her waist and in one fluid movement, with seemingly no effort, he lifted her onto her saddle. Not once, in all the time they met together, had he helped her to mount except to cup his hands to offer a lift. But today, after dancing, his hands clasping her waist felt like the most natural thing in the world. When he released her to put a hand on either side of her saddle, looking up at her, she held her breath. Looking down into his eyes, a novel experience, made her heart skittish.
“Until next time,” he said, eyes still upon her, the look in them causing both happiness to spark inside and her mind to feel terribly muddled.
“Next time,” she echoed, reaching for the reins. “Good day, Tom.”
“And to you, Christine.” He stepped away, but she felt his eyes never left her as she went on her way through the brush towards home.
Christine knew she would be dreaming of that waltz by the stream for a very long time.
Chapter Eighteen
Julia would not let Christine’s secret continue as hers alone. No sooner did she change out of her riding habit than the elder sister knocked on her bedroom door.
“Julia, there is nothing to tell.”
“The pink in your cheeks suggests otherwise,” Julia countered. The normally staid young woman practically bounced on her toes, her eyes bright. “I am incredibly curious as to what went on today, and you must tell me so that I am able to make certain you and he are behaving yourselves. This is already a very compromising situation for you both.”
Christine sat down at her window seat and crossed her arms, holding herself tight and willing her cheeks to stop blushing. “Nothing of importance happened.”
“Then tell me the unimportant things.” Julia leaned against the bedpost and crossed her arms as well, fixing Christine with a sterner expression. “I will not let you alone until you do.”
Christine looked down at the floor and ran her slipper over the carpet, tracing a swirling pattern. “We practiced waltzing.”
Julia’s entire body jolted and she stood straighter. “You did what? All alone? In the middle of the woods?” She hurried to Christine’s side and sat, appearing more gleeful than concerned. “Christine, that dance is barely considered civilized. What in Heaven’s name were you thinking, to agree to such a thing?”
“It was my suggestion, actually,” Christine admitted softly, watching Julia from the corner of her eye.
Julia’s reactions continued to be more demonstrative than Christine had seen from her in years. Her jaw completely dropped and her eyes widened near to the size of saucers. “You? Oh, Chrissy. And he agreed?” Julia reached out and put her hands on Christine’s shoulders, holding her tightly. “What were you thinking?”
Really, Julia sounded delighted by the idea.
Christine closed her eyes and shook her head. “I don’t know. I told him I wanted to practice flirting and waltzing. I could hardly believe he agreed, but when he did, and when he took my hand—” She could not finish the thought; she felt her cheeks grow warm again.
“You really are in love with him,” Julia whispered. “And now you are playing with fire. What if he loves you, too? Is this fair to either of you?”
Christine stood, pulling away from her sister, and walked swiftly to the other side of the room. But she could not outrun the truth of her sister’s words.
“No. I cannot love him. It can never, ever be. His family is unsuitable. They have no title, no wealth or consequence. Father would never hear of such a match. Thomas does not love me.”
Her sister spoke quietly enough that Christine could barely hear her over the sound of her rapid heartbeat. “You could elope. Make a dash to Gretna Green.”
Christine whirled, finding it her turn to stand with mouth agape and stare at Julia. “Elope? How could you even suggest such a thing? The scandal would ruin us both. Thomas needs to be well respected if he is to be successful. You cannot worry about a waltz in the woods on one hand and suggest eloping with the other.”
Julia continued to stare at her, though all the delight had been replaced with sorrow. “But you love him, Chrissy.”
Christine turned her gaze to the ceiling before closing her eyes tightly, a vain attempt to block the pain Julia’s words caused. She could not admit such a thing out loud, not when it could never be.
“This is not one of Rebecca’s novels. There cannot be an elopement. Father will not give his permission. I cannot, and will not, love Thomas Gilbert and that must be an end to it. He is my friend and nothing more.”
She heard Julia’s sigh. “Then you had better not see him again.”
The words sounded as a death knell in her head, echoing into her heart until it ached. “You are right, Julia. I will tell Thomas —I mean, Mr. Gilbert. I will tell Mr. Gilbert that his lessons are no longer necessary and he’s fulfilled our agreement. Then he can go about his business, and I can finish preparing for the season. You will help me prepare now, won’t you?” She opened her eyes at last and looked to Julia, desperation welling inside her.
She must say goodbye to Thomas. She had to let go of him. But she would do so in person. She would go to their brook and explain things, as best she could, without revealing her feelings for him. That would be the best way, she felt certain, to end their time together.
Julia watched her, eyes shining with sympathy and unshed tears. “Yes, Christine. I am sorry. I should have been helping you long before.” A tremulous smile turned her lips upward. “All will be well. And you will have the chance to practice a little more before London.”
“The Christmas ball,” Christine said, walking toward the small hearth in her room with a need to feel its warmth. Her body felt strangely chilled.
“I am afraid that is not all.” Julia came to stand beside her. “While you were away, we received an invitation to attend the Whitsons’ evening party, and Mrs. Gilbert has offered to chaperone us, since it is a more formal occasion.”
Christine felt as though she’d been slapped and she turned to her sister with what must be a stricken expression, as Julia immediately put her arm around her waist. “We are to attend with the Gilberts?”
“Yes. I already sent our acceptance. Christine, you don’t really have to go.”
“I must. I need to go and show Thomas all that I have learned and be certain he knows I feel nothing for him. I am still just the little girl following him about in Mother’s stables.” Christine forced a smile, hoping it would convince Julia of her ability to see this through.
Julia nodded and gave a final, gentle hug. “It will be a delightful evening. All will be well, Christine.” She sighed. “Somehow, all will be well.”
∞∞∞
Thomas sat between his mother and father in the carriage, hardly believing his mother’s maneuverings to arrange playing chaperone for the Devon sisters. Julia and Christine both entere
d the carriage with assistance from a footman. The Whitsons’ party was to be the last social activity for the neighborhood until Lord Calvert’s Christmas ball. The moment the idea came to his mother to invite the “dear, poor girls” to attend with their family she had talked of little else. Except when she was alone with Thomas. In those instances, she plied him for all the details on his tutoring sessions with Miss Christine.
It took careful wording to say enough to his mother about their lessons to appease her without breaking Christine’s trust. Although Thomas wished to tell his mother everything Christine said about her father and his expectations, he held back. Truly, their family business was not his to spread about to anyone. Even he should not know so much about what went on behind their closed doors. But as Christine’s friend, he also became her confidant.
Now, watching her sit across from him, speaking in an animated manner with his mother, he felt relieved to see her doing so well. Their waltzing by the stream ended their last lesson on strange ground. Evidently, there would be no lingering effects.
That thought alternately relieved and irritated him.
“I am very much looking forward to this evening,” Julia said, tugging her wrap more tightly around her shoulders. “The weather keeps threatening to turn. We will have snow by Christmas, I am certain.”
“I quite agree,” Thomas’s father put in with a smile. “Which will be a great boon to the children and a great headache to the rest of us.”
“Oh, not me,” Christine chirped from her seat. “I love the snow. I love how silent the woods become when it falls, as if the whole of creation is holding its breath to watch.”
In the dark, he had to imagine her expression, though he thought it must be one of eagerness, likely with one of her larger smiles curving her pink lips upwards. Her eyes would be dancing at the very thought of a winter snowfall.
“I love it until I must go out in it,” Julia added, much more practically. “I quite tire of slogging through mounds of the stuff when it serves to make me cold and damp.”
The Social Tutor: A Regency Romance (Branches of Love Book 1) Page 16
