by Anne Gracie
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Epilogue
About the Author
Praise for the novels of Anne Gracie
An Honorable Thief
“She’s turned out another wonderful story!”
—All About Romance
“A true find and definitely a keeper.” —Romance Reviews
“A thoroughly marvelous heroine.” —The Best Reviews
“Dazzling characterizations . . . provocative, tantalizing, and wonderfully witty romantic fiction . . . Unexpected plot twists, tongue-in-cheek humor, and a sensually fraught battle of wits between hero and heroine . . . embraces the romance genre’s truest heart.” —Heartstrings
How the Sheriff Was Won
“Anne Gracie provide[s] pleasant diversions.”
—Midwest Book Review
“An excellent story with an engaging plot and well-rounded characters.” —Romantic Times
Tallie’s Knight
“Gracie combines an impeccable knowledge of history, an ability to create vibrant and attractive characters, and an excellent storytelling ability. Tallie’s Knight is far and away the best Regency romance I have read in a long time.” —The Romance Reader
“Gracie’s writing style is charming and wonderful and the love scenes are very sensual . . . a special book with excellent writing and characters that touch the heart.”
—All About Romance
Gallant Waif
“A great heroine . . . This is as polished a piece of romance writing as anyone could want.” —The Romance Reader
“I loved everything about it.” —All About Romance
A Virtuous Widow
“A wonderful, warm, emotionally stirring Christmas story of love found, wishes fulfilled, and promises kept.”
—Romantic Times
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
THE PERFECT WALTZ
A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author
PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley Sensation edition / November 2005
Copyright © 2005 by Anne Gracie.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
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eISBN : 978-0-425-20680-5
BERKLEY® SENSATION
Berkley Sensation Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
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BERKLEY SENSATION and the “B” design are trademarks belonging to Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
http://us.penguingroup.com
With thanks to all my writing friends
in whom I feel immensely blessed.
And to Linda B., Barbara H., and Bron J.,
who talked me over the bumps.
Prologue
If one scheme of happiness fails, human nature turns to another; if the first calculation is wrong, we make a second better.
JANE AUSTEN
MANCHESTER, ENGLAND. MARCH 1818
HIS LITTLE SISTER WAS ABOUT TO PLUMMET TO HER DEATH ON the cold, gray cobblestones at his feet!
“Stop, Cassie! Don’t move!” Sebastian Reyne kept his voice calm as he dismounted and passed the reins to the groom. What the devil was she doing on the roof? “Just keep still, and I will come up and rescue you.”
“I don’t need rescuin’!” Cassie yelled scornfully and to prove her point moved farther along the steep ridge of his tall, stone house.
“Then go back inside, immediately.”
“I won’t. Not while that bloody old cow is in there!” She inched a little farther, and he winced as her foot slipped. A slate smashed to pieces in front of him.
Sebastian followed the jerk of Cassie’s chin to where Miss Thringstone, their newest governess, leaned out of the window. When she saw him, she began in shrill fury, “She struck me! Actually struck me! These girls are completely ungovernable—”
He cut her off. “Downstairs in my office, Miss Thringstone! Now! I’ll speak to you after Cassie is safe inside the house.”
She hesitated, then with dignity withdrew.
After a moment Cassie said, “Is she gone?”
“She’d better be,” Sebastian responded grimly. “And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll get yourself inside, now!”
“I’m not comin’ in if you’re goin’ to hit me, too!”
Too? “I won’t hit you, Cassie. But you will explain your behavior to me, and if warranted, you will be punished.”
He watched, heart in his mouth, as Cassie considered his words for a moment, then slowly climbed back along the spine of the roof. Another slate smashed to smithereens on the cobbles. She clambered in the nursery window, and Sebastian began to breathe again. He’d have all the girls’ windows nailed shut within the hour.
“Now, miss, explain why you took such an insane risk.”
“S’not a risk. I didn’t fall, did I?”
“Did you strike Miss Thringstone?”
Cassie tossed her head mutinously. “Yes, I did! I know it was wrong, but I don’t care. I hate her!” She put her arm around her younger sister. “We both do.”
At least she’d admitted it was wrong. That was something. Seba
stian glanced at eleven-year-old Dorie. Her head was down, and she cringed, peeping at him through a tangle of dark hair. He gentled his voice. “Miss Thringstone’s job is to teach you both to become young ladies, Cassie. I know it must be difficult. But you have a new life now, and Miss Thringstone is here to help you prepare for it.”
Cassie pulled Dorie tighter and set her jaw. “We hate that bloody old horse-faced bitch, and we won’t learn nothin’ from her!”
Sebastian ignored the deliberate bad language. Cassie was hot-tempered and difficult, but one thing he’d learned in the last four months was that if he was patient enough, there was usually a reason for her outrageous actions. Not necessarily a good reason, but a reason, nevertheless.
“Why do you hate her this time? And why did you hit her?”
“Coz she hit Dorie!”
Sebastian stiffened. When they’d arrived at his house four months ago, two skinny little urchins, Dorie silent and shivering and Cassie hostile and feigning indifference, he recognized the signs. He swore then and there they would never suffer a beating again. He’d instructed the governess that no matter what the provocation, she was not to hit the girls. Not ever. She would refer all serious misbehavior to him.
But he had to be sure. Cassie was clever and cunning and not above manipulating the situation for her own advantage.
“She hit Dorie?” he repeated. “How? And for what reason?”
“She slapped her across the face. Hard.” Cassie gave him a flat look and added, “For dumb insolence!”
Air hissed in through Sebastian’s teeth. Dorie looked up. Her hair swung back from her face, and Sebastian could quite clearly see the red imprint of a palm on her pale little face. For dumb insolence!
He reached out his hand to touch her hair, but both girls recoiled from the gesture. He swallowed and said quietly, “Go and wash your faces, girls. Cassie, you did right to protect your sister. You will not be punished.”
“A good whipping on a regular basis would do both those girls a power of good!” declared Miss Thringstone, facing him across his desk. “They lack discipline, respect, and all sense of proper behavior!”
“I believe I made my views on corporal punishment clear.” His fury firmly leashed, Sebastian selected a paper from the pile on his desk, the reference that had described her as “the finest governess in the county.” He returned to writing her letter of dismissal.
Miss Thringstone tugged her jacket straight and stared down her long nose. “Without whipping, those girls will never be fit for any respectable society, let alone to fulfill your ludicrous aspirations!”
“Those girls will, in due course, make their entry into the finest London society.” It was a statement of fact.
Miss Thringstone refused to be intimidated. Of good birth and superior education herself, she had worked in some of the finest houses in the country. She said in a tone designed to depress the pretensions of a nouveau riche cit, “Mr. Reyne, I hardly think your own background allows you to appreciate the qualities required of young ladies of the upper levels of society. Birth and breeding is simply something that money alone cannot achieve.”
His brow arched sardonically. “Indeed?”
The governess stamped her foot. “I can teach any young girl to be a perfect lady if the basic good material is there, but in this case, it is not. Cassandra is wild to a fault. She is rude, disobedient, argumentative, and uses language more fitted to the gutters.” She shuddered. “We have already discussed that item she wears on her person, so I shan’t mention it again, except to say that only a barbarian would carry such a thing!”
He inclined his head. “I am sure she has her reasons. Eventually she will feel secure enough to discard the habit.”
Miss Thringstone gave a ladylike snort. “To allow an undisciplined child of mercurial temper to carry such an item—well, sir, it borders on insanity!”
He shrugged. “Perhaps. Yet when she attacked you just now, she used her fists.”
The governess pursed her lips.
“Quite. Now, you said both girls needed a good whipping. I hope you do not expect me to believe that Dorie has been argumentative.”
The governess reddened.
“‘Dumb insolence’ was the crime, I believe.” He let his words hang in the air.
She shifted her feet uncomfortably and would not meet his eyes.
Sebastian said with silky menace, “It could hardly be any other kind.”
Defiantly, the governess burst out, “In her own way, Eudora is quite as stubborn as her sister and just as disobedient. And she simply refuses to be broken of the habit of stealing!”
He made a dismissive gesture. “Taking food from your own home is hardly stealing.”
Miss Thringstone’s lips compressed into a thin line. “Sneaking food from your own table, perhaps not. But she creeps downstairs in the middle of the night and filches food from the kitchen.”
“We have plenty of food. It, too, is a habit that will pass when Dorie feels more secure.”
Miss Thringstone persisted. “The butler says that mice are becoming a problem.”
“Yes, he informed me also. I advised him to get a cat, but since cats make him sneeze . . .” He shrugged.
Miss Thringstone stamped her foot. “And will you shrug when Eudora, having seen these thefts go unpunished, takes to stealing other, more valuable items?”
He shook his head. “It won’t happen.”
Miss Thringstone flung up her hands. “That is the essence of the problem, Mr. Reyne! You are the reason those girls will never be fit to enter society! You simply don’t care about their atrocious behavior and criminal tendencies!”
His voice was steely soft. “Oh, I care, Miss Thringstone. If I didn’t, I might let you whip them into submission.” He gave her a level look from cold gray eyes and said, “The task may seem impossible to you, but I am in the habit of achieving what I set out to do.” He clenched his fist. “When the time comes, the girls will be presented at court, they will make their entry into society, and they will stand equal to every other young lady there.”
Miss Thringstone snorted again, much less ladylike this time. “Face facts, Mr. Reyne. All the money in the world is not going to make acceptable to the haute ton a foul-mouthed wildcat who carries a knife strapped to her thigh and a girl, however sweet-faced, who is mentally deficient and cannot speak.”
She recoiled involuntarily at the look he gave her, stepping back as if she thought he might strike her, but his voice remained cold and unemotional as he said, “Your employment in this house is at an end, Miss Thringstone. You will leave within the hour.”
As the governess stalked from the room, Sebastian sat back in his chair and sighed. The seventh governess in four months. Hiring another one would bring about the same results; he had no doubt of it.
He needed a different solution, dammit. He stretched and pulled the bell cord.
“Send for Morton Black,” Sebastian ordered as soon as a servant arrived. He pulled out a fresh sheet of paper and began to write.
Forty minutes later, Sebastian’s agent, Morton Black, walked in, his gait uneven from the wooden leg that replaced the one he’d lost at Waterloo.
Sebastian nodded a greeting. “Another confidential assignment, Black. It will involve a journey to London.”
Black looked faintly surprised. “Very good, sir. What’s the assignment this time?”
“I need a wife, a special kind of wife. She will not be easy to find. I have noted down the main particulars.” He handed Black the list he’d just written.
With all expression wiped from his face, Black took the sheet of paper and eyed it cautiously. “I see. And what do you want me to do with this, sir?”
Sebastian frowned, impatient of his agent’s uncharacteristic slowness. “Find me a female—a society lady—who fits those particulars, of course. It will not be easy, but I have confidence in you. Let me know her name, and I’ll do the rest.”
Black swal
lowed and said woodenly. “Very good, sir.” He glanced at the list. “There is nothing here about looks, sir.”
Sebastian shrugged. “They don’t matter. Character is what counts. Looks fade, character strengthens.”
Black looked doubtful. “But you’re a young man, sir,” he began.
Sebastian looked up. “Are the instructions not clear, Black?”
Morton Black stiffened and almost saluted. “Yes, sir, quite clear. I’ll start on it at once, sir.”
After Black had left, Sebastian penned another letter to his oldest friend, Giles Bemerton. This would involve courtship, something in which he had no experience. He would need Giles’s knowledge of the world, his savoir faire, to get him through it.
He wasn’t looking forward to the task at all. He’d not intended ever to marry again. But Sebastian Reyne was not a man who shirked his duty.
Chapter One
If a man will begin with certainties, he shall end in doubts; but if he will be content to begin with doubts, he shall end in certainties.
FRANCIS BACON
LONDON, ENGLAND. APRIL 1818
“BUT SHE’S GOT NO BOSOMS! YOU CAN’T MARRY A WOMAN WITH no bosoms!”
Sebastian Reyne shrugged. “She is by far the most appropriate for my requirements, according to Morton Black’s report. Besides, of course Lady Elinore Whitelaw has bosoms. She’s a woman, isn’t she?”
“She might not be,” his friend, Giles Bemerton, declared darkly. “Swathed as she invariably is, in seventeen acres of gray cloth, who could possibly be sure?”
“You are talking nonsense,” Sebastian said firmly. The two men were seated in a small, snug room that was part of Giles’s bachelor lodgings in London. It was late at night, and a fire was burning merrily in the grate.
