Freddie bowed most elegantly. “Miss Lockhart. Would you grant me the great honor of a dance?”
Violet inclined her head. “I would be delighted, kind sir,” she replied and took his arm. “I will be back soon,” she called over her shoulder to her brother as Freddie began to steer her through the crowd gathered about the edge of the dance floor.
Kate nearly laughed out loud when she chanced a glance at Lord Stanton’s face. His lordship was not pleased at the turn of events, judging by the deep scowl furrowing his brow just above his mask and the muscle working in his jaw. She imagined the short black spikes of his cropped a la Caesar hairstyle were actually bristling like the spines of a disgruntled hedgehog. She hoped Freddie monopolized Miss Violet Lockhart for at least another dance or two. It would serve the pompous Lord Stanton right.
To her astonishment, he suddenly turned his attention to her and bowed. “Miss Woodville,” he grated out between clenched teeth, “would you also care to dance?”
Kate raised an eyebrow. She ought to refuse him—he was obviously only asking her so he could keep an eye on his sister and Freddie—but a wicked part of her thought it might irk him more if she accepted. “How could I resist such a charming invitation? Of course. I would love to, Lord Stanton.”
She took his arm—as hard as forged iron with tension—and accompanied him out onto the floor where a large number of other couples had gathered. Kate looked about but could not see hide nor hair of her brother and Violet. Neither could she see anyone taking up the requisite positions for dancing a quadrille, a cotillion, a reel, or any other type of country dance.
Oh, no. Kate’s heart clenched with horror as pairs of men and women drew very close to each other in holds as intimate as a lover’s embrace. The next dance couldn’t possibly be a slow-turning waltz, could it? She’d learned the steps under the tutelage of Mrs. Brooke’s Academy’s ancient dance master, but she’d never danced it with someone as imposing as Lord Stanton. And certainly not in a public place.
Oh, dear Lord, it was a waltz. Before Kate had time to even think about voicing a protest, Lord Stanton had slipped his large hands beneath her elbows. He drew her so close, she could smell the spicy notes of his expensive cologne, the starch of his pristine white shirt, even the slightly musky scent of the man himself. She closed her eyes and tried to slow her breathing which had grown fast and shallow. Had Lord Stanton noticed she was trembling?
Indeed he had because his warm breath brushed against her ear as he murmured, “There’s no need to be nervous, Miss Woodville. I won’t bite.”
Kate grasped Lord Stanton’s broad, superfine clad shoulders beneath the black satin of his cape as the music swelled. “That’s not what I am afraid of.” Heavens, even her voice shook. She swallowed before continuing. “I’m not a very ... experienced dancer. I know the steps but have never had to put them into practice on an occasion like this.”
With a man like you.
When she looked up into Lord Stanton’s masked face, she was surprised to find he was smiling at her. The expression in his eyes had softened. “Relax if you can and follow my lead,” he said in a low voice. “Are you ready?”
Kate inhaled a deep, steadying breath and nodded. “Ready.”
Chapter 2
Anthony firmly yet gently guided Miss Woodville into the waltz and she followed him quite well for someone who’d just professed she wasn’t much of a dancer. She might be as stiff as a poker in his arms and as white as the starched linen of his cravat, but she was undoubtedly familiar with the basics of the dance and kept in time beautifully. He did not particularly like dancing either but his competency was such that he could steer his reluctant partner safely around the crowded floor.
As they waltzed, he scanned the couples around them but he could not see Violet or Miss Woodville’s deuced brother anywhere. Anthony knew he’d acted like a supercilious ass when Violet had introduced him to Kate and her brother. But dash it all, there was a decided glint of sharp interest in Frederick Woodville’s eyes when he’d looked at Violet. Frederick and Kate Woodville were clearly from the ranks of the practically impoverished lower gentry. After playing the part of a chaperone brother to Violet all Season, he could spot a fortune-hunter at ten paces.
Woodville might have served England well in the Peninsular War, he might be the heir to a barony one day, but Anthony didn’t give a damn on both counts. If the scoundrel even thought about compromising his sister in an attempt to secure an advantageous marriage, he’d have to tear him limb from—
Kate misstepped then stumbled a little and he paused. “Are you all right?” he asked.
“Yes.” Her lips, which had been tightly compressed, lifted into a genuine smile. “You are a very good dancer. You make it seem effortless.”
“Thank you.” It suddenly occurred to him that Miss Kate Woodville was an attractive young woman when she wasn’t frowning. Behind her delicate silver filigree half-mask, he could see her eyes were an arresting shade of light sea green. Quite unaccountably, he wished the lighting was better so he could count the pale freckles sprinkled over her small, straight nose and high cheekbones; they were as delicious as a dusting of cinnamon or nutmeg across cream. And then there was her voice. It had an appealing, husky quality to it; it was the sort of tone a woman used just after she’d been well-tumbled.
Good God. What was wrong with him? It was not like him at all to think like a besotted boy. He must have had too much champagne.
Miss Woodville lowered her lashes, shielding her gaze, and her pale cheeks grew a bright shade of pink. He’d made her uncomfortable with his ungentlemanly, unabashed perusal of her face. Thank God she couldn’t hear his thoughts. He cleared his throat. “Shall we continue?”
She nodded and the light red-gold curls about her face brushed where his fingers wished to touch. “Yes.”
They began to circumnavigate the floor again, and Anthony turned his attention back to the dancers around them. He still couldn’t catch a glimpse of Woodville or Violet. Frustrated anger started to gnaw at his belly. If the rogue had taken his sister outside, or even worse, lured her down one of the dark serpentine walks with the intention of seducing her ...
“Lord Stanton, please, you’re hurting my arm.”
Anthony immediately loosened his grip and met Miss Woodville’s gaze. “My sincerest apologies. I’m not sure what has come over me.”
“You’re concerned about your sister, aren’t you, my lord?”
Anthony stopped at the edge of the dance floor. “Should I be?”
Sparks of anger flared in Miss Woodville’s green eyes. “Of course not! Freddie is a gentleman.”
“Then why can’t I see him and my sister?” Anthony growled. “They are clearly not in the Grand Saloon anymore.” He’d just spied his stepmother, talking to a number of other society matrons on the other side of the room, but Violet was not with her either. Blast Woodville to hell.
“Perhaps they decided to get supper or some fresh air,” offered Miss Woodville. “Freddie hired a supper box. They can’t be far.”
Anthony’s lip curled. “How gentlemanly, to lure a young woman you’ve just met into a private supper box or worse still, a dark garden.” He released her from his hold. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a sister to protect.”
“And I have a brother to defend.” Miss Woodville kept close to his heels as he pushed his way through the throng to the nearest set of French doors. Somehow, she kept up with him as he swiftly crossed the expanse of lawn to the closest supper boxes—a quick reconnaissance revealed Woodville and Violet were not inside any of them—and thence onto the gardens and unlit maze-like walkways beyond.
Devil take Woodville. They could be anywhere.
Miss Woodville stumbled into his side when he came to an abrupt halt at the start of the ‘dark walk’.
“Freddie wouldn’t take your sister in there,” she said gruffly, shaking off the hand he’d put out to steady her.
“Really? How would
you know, Miss Woodville? You can take it from me that young men rarely let their sisters know about their amorous exploits.”
The glow from a nearby Chinese lantern revealed Miss Woodville’s eyes had narrowed. “Well, that speaks volumes about your character then, doesn’t it?”
“You know nothing of my character.”
“I’ve seen enough to know I do not wish to know any more.”
“I could say exactly the same thing about you and your brother.”
“How dare you!” Miss Woodville spun on her heel to go, but Anthony reached for her slender upper arm. Even in the dim lighting, her furious glare scorched him. “Release me at once.”
He immediately dropped his hand but kept pace with her as she stormed across the lawn toward the Grand Saloon. “You clearly don’t think much of me, but a gentleman does not let a lady walk about this isolated part of the gardens alone. I insist on escorting you.”
“How very noble of you.” Her frosty tone could have withered the grass beneath their feet. “Follow me if you must. But I pray, do not to speak to me.”
“Very well. You’ll not hear another word.”
“I live in hope.”
When they reached the saloon, Miss Woodville was out of breath and her cheeks were flushed. She was clearly still fuming but to a casual onlooker, her flustered demeanor might be mistaken for something else. Good Lord, he hoped no one thought he and Miss Woodville had been outside engaging in a tryst. He could think of nothing worse.
He needn’t have worried though as within seconds, Miss Woodville had disappeared into the ever present throng. Then a minute later, he caught sight of her again, her rose-gold curls standing out like a bright flame on the other side of the room. And a blonde woman and a tall, red-headed man stood beside her.
Thank God. Violet was back.
Anthony tried but failed to harness his anger as he threaded his way through the crowd. He clenched his fists so hard inside his silk gloves, his knuckles cracked. If Woodville had besmirched even one fair hair on Violet’s head ...
Violet threw him a bright smile as he approached. “Anthony. There you are at long last.”
It took a great deal of effort to unlock his jaw to speak. “I could say the same about you, dear sister.” He threw a meaningful look at Woodville over her head. “Where have you been?”
Woodville, the cheeky sod, didn’t even blink as Violet answered, “Oh, don’t sound so cross, Anthony. Freddie—I mean, Mr. Woodville—kindly escorted me to his supper box for some fresh air. It’s such a frightful crush in here. And so awfully hot. He even procured a glass of punch for me.” She fanned her face, but she couldn’t hide the fact she’d just blushed as red as a beet at her telling slip of the tongue.
She was calling him Freddie now, was she? Anthony glared at Woodville. “Strange that I didn’t see you both when I looked outside ten minutes ago.”
Woodville shrugged. “As Miss Lockhart said, it’s a crush this evening.”
Crush. What an apt word. Anthony knew what he’d like to crush right now. Fredrick Woodville’s lying mouth. With his fist.
He felt a light touch on his arm. “Lord Stanton,” said Miss Woodville quietly. “Thank you for such an entertaining evening.”
“Entertaining. Is that what you’d call it?” If nothing else, Anthony had to admire the young woman’s pluck. His thunderous glare had turned many a peer into a pile of quivering blancmange on more than one occasion in the House of Lords.
She lifted her chin. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have minced words. Perhaps barely tolerable is a more fitting summation. And on that note, I think my brother and I shall take our leave. As you know, we have a supper box reserved.”
Anthony snorted. “It seems your brother has already had supper.”
“Anthony!” Violet snapped her fan shut and swatted his leg. He supposed he deserved that. “I do not like your insinuation.”
He knew he was acting like a boor but he couldn’t seem to help himself. He took Violet’s arm. “And I do not like our present company. It’s time to go.”
“What about Mama?”
“I’ll send the footman to find her.” He pressed a hand to her back. “Come.”
“Wait.” Violet wrested her arm back and turned to Miss Woodville who stood ramrod straight beside her brother; her mask didn’t obscure her defiant, perhaps even angry gaze that was as sharp as cut green glass. However, her expression softened when Violet addressed her. “Good night, my dear Miss Woodville. It was delightful meeting you again. And Mr. Woodville. It was indeed a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I wish you both well.”
As Anthony tucked Violet’s arm into his again and led her away, he had a nagging sense—almost akin to a premonition—that this wouldn’t be the last time he’d cross paths with the blasted Woodville siblings.
Freddie blew out a sigh. “Well, that was a near miss wasn’t it, Katie?”
Kate barely resisted the urge to poke her brother in the ribs. “You are a dunderhead, Frederick Woodville,” she hissed. “Your level of foolhardiness is astounding. I swear Lord Stanton was about to call you out.”
“I cannot fathom why.”
This time, Kate did poke him. “You know very well why. And don’t try to deny it. Thank the Lord I managed to pick the foliage out of Violet’s hair and off the back of her gown before Lord Stanton reached us.”
Freddie blanched. “Oh.”
“Yes, oh.” She held out her hand and sprinkled the twigs and leaves onto the floor in front of him. “Anyone would think you’d been rolling around ...” Freddie blushed and Kate shook her head. It seemed Miss Violet Lockhart wasn’t as sweet as she appeared to be and Lord Stanton had very good reason to be on his guard. “I don’t want to know what you two got up to.”
Her brother scrubbed a hand through his hair, dislodging a leaf or two. “Time for supper then?” he asked with a sheepish smile.
Kate sighed. She still hadn’t an appetite but it might be nice to see the fireworks. Although, there had already been quite enough of those this evening already. “Very well,” she said then summoned her best school teacher’s voice. “But you will not leave my side, even for a second, Frederick Charles Reginald Woodville. Do you hear me?”
Freddie grinned. “Yes, Miss Woodville. I wouldn’t dare.”
The problem was, Kate knew that it was in Freddie’s nature to be daring. As long as he didn’t risk his neck chasing after Violet Lockhart. Because if the formidable Lord Stanton caught him doing such a thing, it would only end in disaster, she was sure of it.
Chapter 3
White Church House, Whitechapel, London
Early September, 2012
“Please, Miss Woodville. Play us another song.”
“Yes do. Please do,” chimed a chorus of young voices.
Kate smiled at the small boy who had made the first request. “What do you suggest, Peter?”
Peter gave her a wide grin, his tongue poking through the prominent gap where his two top front teeth should be. “How about, I’m Jolly Dick the Lamplighter, miss? It’s right funny.”
Kate laughed. “Indeed it is, Peter. Mind you,” she added glancing at all the eager young faces before her, ranging in age from four to twelve years of age, “you must all sing along too if you know the words.”
A dozen heads nodded their agreement so she turned back to the pianoforte and placed her fingers on the old yellow keys she knew so well. Every week on her free afternoon she would come to conduct a music lesson with the children who boarded here with their destitute mothers. White Church House was run by the adjacent church of St. Mary’s Matfelon and whilst the women—widows and unwed mothers of little means—were at work during the day, the children received a few lessons from a teacher whose wage was paid for by the local parish and The Benevolent Society for the Women of Whitechapel. However, lessons of a specialist nature, such as art, music and French, were conducted by teachers who donated their time freely. Kate always finished up he
r lesson by giving the children an opportunity to choose the songs they wanted to sing or listen to as a reward for good behavior.
Kate had only just finished playing the rousing introduction when the door to the small common room of the lodging house flew open to reveal a beaming Violet Lockhart, resplendent in a lavender blue walking gown and matching bonnet. Behind her trailed a maid and a footman, each bearing a basket which was practically overflowing with oranges, apples, and packages of sweetmeats and shortbread biscuits. The children’s mouths all fell open in shock. As did Kate’s.
“Surprise, dear children,” Violet exclaimed and clapped her gloved hands together. “I’ve brought gifts for you all.” She looked at Kate and added, “I hope you don’t mind me interrupting, Miss Woodville. The proprietress—Mrs. Collins is it?—she said you wouldn’t.”
Kate rose from the piano stool. “Not at all. Your generosity is most appreciated, Miss Lockhart. Children,” she caught their attention as they still sat wide-eyed and mute on the worn rug before the pianoforte; she suspected they’d never seen anything quite like this in their lives, “say thank you to Miss Lockhart.”
Thanks was dutifully voiced in the sing-song fashion peculiar to school children and then Peter asked, “Is it St. Stephen’s Day, milady?”
“Oh, bless you, dear boy. Christmas is quite a way off yet.” Violet waved her footman and maid into the room, and they deposited the baskets on an old deal table to one side. “I simply thought it might be nice to organize a surprise. Just for fun.”
“Are you an angel?” whispered Ruth, Peter’s younger sister.
Violet laughed. “Oh, heavens, no. I’m just a friend of Miss Woodville. Actually, she used to be my teacher too. Isn’t she wonderful?”
Everyone nodded and Kate felt herself blush. To alleviate her self-consciousness, she gestured toward the baskets. “Perhaps your maid and footman could hand out an orange to each child for now, Miss Lockhart. Everyone will get stomachaches if they eat so many treats all at once. I’ll have Mrs. Collins distribute the rest later.”
Dashing Through the Snow: A Regency Christmas Novella Page 2
