The Perfect Waltz

by Anne Gracie

  Dorie had just smiled.

  He had to look away, to collect himself.

  Miss Hope was watching him. He swallowed. A morass had opened up before him. He had to allow Dorie to see more of Grace Merridew. He would do anything for more of those shy little smiles, even if they weren’t directed at him.

  It would take some clever planning, since he intended to eschew Grace’s sister’s company, but not impossible. He was good at planning. He would plan to avoid Miss Hope.

  Sebastian prided himself on his self-control. He had learned early to subdue his personal desires in order to do what needed to be done. All his life he’d had other people depending on him, and he was not about to forget that simply because of a beautiful, blue-eyed chit. With a luscious mouth.

  The girls were ready. The footman-in-training hurried to open the door. Sebastian stepped forward, intending to see them off. The girls were in good hands, he told himself. The Merridew twins would look after them.

  Miss Hope looked up at him with those glorious blue eyes and said softly, stiffly. “You don’t need to worry, we’ll take good care of them. And I’m sure they’ll enjoy themselves.”

  Sebastian swallowed. He tried not to look at the slight curve of her soft mouth, tried not to recall the taste, the feel of her lips under his.

  Staring at that mouth, it occurred to Sebastian suddenly that he had never been to Green Park himself. He ought to ensure that it was a safe place for his sisters. For all he knew, it could attract the worst sort of riffraff. The footman was a sturdy-looking fellow, but he hadn’t impressed Sebastian when he’d acted groom. And there were five females to protect, six if you counted the maid.

  He glanced at Miss Hope again and swallowed. It was extraordinary what that particular shade of blue silk did to her eyes. And her delicate complexion glowed.

  He wondered whether the sprigged muslin was a foreign import or whether it was a local product. It would be useful to find out. As a textile manufacturer, he ought to know such things.

  “I shall accompany you,” he announced.

  Cassie immediately glared at him; Dorie’s face remained unreadable. The three Misses Merridew exchanged glances. The temperature in the vestibule dropped significantly. What the devil was up, he wondered. Each Merridew sister was regarding him with varying degrees of cool disapproval.

  Miss Faith Merridew opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, Miss Hope said, “That would be delightful, Mr. Reyne, would it not, Faith?”

  Her twin murmured something polite, looking anything but delighted.

  They must have noticed Cassie’s knife, after all. He’d hoped that under the folds of sopping fabric yesterday the outline of the leather scabbard would not have been recognizable to ladies. Seemingly it had been. And the ladies blamed him.

  Fair enough. Sebastian blamed himself, too.

  The footman produced his coat, hat, and gloves, and Sebastian stepped out into the weak morning sunshine. To his surprise, no carriage awaited them, and he wondered if perhaps their great-uncle did not keep a carriage in town. He should call for his own, for it was a fair distance from Hill Street to Green Park, but before he could speak, the group was moving at a brisk pace down the street.

  The footman and maid led the procession, next were Cassie and Grace, and then Miss Faith with Dorie’s hand held in hers. Cassie and Grace walked, arms linked and heads together, chattering like old friends instead of acquaintances of one day. He glanced at Dorie, walking silently and demurely with Miss Faith. He would give anything to see her chattering girlish nonsense like the other two.

  “Coming?” Miss Hope prompted him. She seemed to have put away her earlier stiffness, though she was still cool and reserved compared to before.

  “Sorry. Woolgathering,” he explained as they hurried down the street after the others.

  “Your thoughts didn’t seem happy ones.”

  “Not at all,” Sebastian said shortly. He wasn’t going to explain. The last time he’d confided in her, he’d almost kissed her—and in Hyde Park, of all public places! He’d already told her far too much. And somehow her arm had become tucked into the crook of his, which was a little unnerving, since he didn’t remember doing it—had vowed in fact never to do it again.

  “I was merely wondering whether to order my carriage. Green Park seems rather a long way for ladies and young girls to walk.”

  She laughed. “We don’t need a carriage. It’s such a pleasant morning, and whenever the weather is fine, we enjoy a brisk walk while we can. We were brought up in the country, you know, and are much addicted to walking. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t mind.” He drew her aside to avoid a man hurrying along with a large tray of muffins on his head. “But at this time of day the streets are full of clumsy oafs like that.” He nodded at the muffin man. “Tradespeople, butcher’s boys, servants, and all sorts of riffraff.”

  “Yes, indeed. It’s so interesting, isn’t it?” she said, sniffing. “Don’t those muffins smell delicious? I never saw half so many different sorts of people in my life before I came to London. We lived a very restricted life before then.”

  Sebastian grunted. It was not what he meant at all. He had meant that as a highborn lady, she ought to be sheltered from this sort of company. He was sure Lady Elinore would never walk such a distance to Green Park, relishing the crowded pavements and rubbing shoulders with the hoi polloi, despite her work with female orphans.

  Apparently Green Park at this hour of the morning was the place for nurses to bring their charges out for air. It thronged with children. The Merridew girls seemed quite accustomed to the scene and happily ducked flying balls, bowling hoops, and pull-along carts as they made their way toward the herd of dairy cows. The air was filled with shrieks, laughter, piercing whistles, and one very persistent drum, where a squad of very short soldiers drilled with sticks. Sebastian had to wait at one point while Miss Hope stopped and fed an invisible apple to a wooden hobby horse and discussed its paces with its serious young rider.

  By the time Miss Hope resumed the walk, Sebastian had slipped into a pensive mood. He’d never imagined children could live such carefree lives. If he ever had, he’d forgotten it.

  The cows lowed and pushed as they waited to be milked. Dairymaids, under the supervision of the cowman, sat on low stools, milking busily. Creamy white milk spurted into pails. People lined up to purchase the fresh milk, bearing all sorts of containers with which to carry the milk home.

  This was where the fresh milk for London ladies’ morning chocolate came from, Miss Faith explained to Sebastian’s sisters. They seemed fascinated by the cows. Sebastian was puzzled. He’d always believed Widow Morgan had taken them to live on her brother’s farm, yet they appeared fascinated by a sight he’d assumed they would have grown up with.

  “Do cows not have beautiful eyes?” remarked Miss Hope. “Liquid amber, fathoms deep. I would love to have lovely eyes like that.”

  Sebastian stared at her in amazement. “But your eyes are much loveli—” He broke off, recalling his resolution not to encourage any form of intimacy with her, and covered his lapse with a violent cough.

  He was only here now to keep an eye on his sisters. And to investigate the source of the sprigged muslin Miss Hope was wearing. For business reasons. With determination, he turned away from Miss Hope and watched his sisters.

  Cassie frowned as she watched the dairymaid’s strong hands pull rhythmically on the cow’s udders. Streams of creamy milk jetted into a bucket. “Does that not hurt the poor cow?” she asked.

  The Merridews’ buxom maidservant answered, “Not a bit of it, missy. It’d hurt ’em more if they weren’t milked.”

  Cassie looked to the twins for confirmation. Hope explained, “Lily lived on a farm before coming to work in my grandfather’s household.”

  Sebastian raised a brow. “I thought Sir Oswald was your great uncle, not your grandfather.”

  “He is. He is our grandfather’s brothe
r,” Hope said.

  Grace added fiercely, “Grandpapa is the biggest, horridest beast in the world, and we hate him!” She glanced at her sisters and added, “But we don’t live with him now, and so everything is all right.”

  Sebastian waited for one of the twins to comment, but their footman arrived with a large jug of the fresh milk, and the moment was lost. Sebastian was disappointed. He would have liked to hear more about this grandfather. Young Grace was certainly very vehement.

  “Now, girls, who would like a cup of milk?” Miss Faith asked. “I promise you, if you haven’t tasted fresh milk still warm from the cow, there’s a treat in store for you. Lily has the cups, and James will pour. Cassie? Dorie?”

  Cassie and Grace nodded. Dorie hesitated, but to Sebastian’s surprise, she stepped forward and held out her hand. She sipped the milk gingerly, and then her solemn little face cleared, and she drank the whole cup down. Lily, the maidservant, grinned. “Tastes good, don’t it, missy? Want some more?”

  Dorie cast her a fleeting smile and held out the cup again. Sebastian was stunned. He watched as the footman refilled the cup and passed it back to Dorie. She took it from him without hesitation and drained the cup.

  Two cups of milk. It was the most Sebastian had seen her eat in one sitting. It was a start, he thought gratefully. He had done the right thing by bringing them to London. Thank God Miss Merridew had invited them to the park this morning. Thank God he’d gone with them. He might not otherwise have discovered Dorie would drink milk. Two cups of fresh milk each day might put some flesh on those frail little bones. It might put some roses in her cheeks . . .

  What a morning; two smiles and two cups of milk.

  Hope stood back, observing. The Reynes were an enigmatic little family. Cassie and Dorie seemed to want nothing to do with their big brother, and he almost never addressed them or engaged them in conversation.

  Yet now he watched over them like a big, silent mastiff, and watching his face as the girls drank their milk, she could almost swear he was moved by the sight.

  Though how she gained that impression, she couldn’t say; his was not an expressive face. It was a strong face, hard and uncompromising in some ways. Stubborn. And his eyes were hard and gray and bleak. But when they softened . . . and Hope had seen them soften . . . then he was quite a different-looking man.

  “Look. There’s a crowd gathering. I wonder what it is?” Grace exclaimed, catching Cassie’s hand in hers. Cassie glanced around, grabbed Dorie, and the three of them ran off. James handed Lily the jug, saying to Hope, “I’ll go with them, miss,” but Mr. Reyne was before him.

  “I’ll fetch them,” he announced. “They ought to know better than to run off like that!” He strode grimly off.

  Faith caught her eye. “It’s as if he’s afraid of letting them out from under his thumb.”

  Hope’s heart sank, knowing there was a worrying degree of truth in the statement. The Merridew girls knew all about men who needed to keep little girls firmly under their thumb.

  Faith said quietly, “Do you think he beats his sisters the way Grandpapa used to beat us?”

  “Hush, Faith! We know nothing about him, and it is not right to speculate. Besides, I don’t believe Mr. Reyne is at all like Grandpapa! In anything except physique.” She couldn’t imagine Grandpapa riding to save someone the way Mr. Reyne had tried to rescue her from her so-called runaway horse. That morning, Mr. Reyne had been gentle and protective. Such words were not even in Grandpapa’s vocabulary.

  “You cannot deny there is something wrong with those girls.”

  “Yes, but we cannot know he is the cause.”

  Her sister looked at her thoughtfully. Hope knew what she was thinking. She was defending him too forcefully for someone who did not care. She fought a rising blush and said mildly, “I said we would find out more about the girls, and we shall. On our way back, you talk to Cassie, and I will talk to Mr. Reyne.”

  “Wouldn’t you rather I talked to Mr. Reyne?” Faith suggested gently.

  Hope did blush then. “No, it’s all right. I will.”

  Mr. Reyne returned, shepherding the girls in front of him. He looked angry and frustrated, Cassie and Grace looked mutinous, but Dorie’s face was still and blank.

  It was a terrible look: it reminded Hope of her twin in the days when they lived in Norfolk, when Grandpapa was in a rage. Faith used to go still and silent and shrink into herself, making herself as small and insignificant as possible in order not to attract Grandpapa’s attention, Grandpapa’s violence.

  Dorie looked like that just now. And her brother was angry.

  Hope couldn’t bear it. She hurried forward and took each of the Reyne girls by the hand. “I have thought of something delightful! We shall all go to Gunter’s for an ice! What do you think of that?” It was far too early to be thinking of an ice, but she was desperate to put a happy look back on that child’s face.

  He said curtly, “Thank you, no. I have just recalled I have an engagement in an less than half an hour. Business. Important business. My sisters and I need to return home directly. I’m sorry if it inconveniences you, but I had not planned to spend the whole morning in idle pleasure seeking.”

  Hope blinked. “Idle pleasure seeking? A walk in the park and a cup of fresh milk is hardly dissipation.”

  His stern visage softened. “No, you are right. That cup of milk . . . I am most grateful, Miss Hope, Miss Faith, Miss Grace.” He bowed to each of them with stiff precision. “Nevertheless, we must return immediately. I intend to hire a hackney cab to convey us home. May I offer you a lift?”

  Mindful of the plan to discover the reason for the girls’ behavior, Hope was about to accept when Faith said instead, “Thank you, no. We prefer to walk.”

  “Very well then. Good-bye, ladies. Make your curtsy, girls.”

  The girls curtsied, and Cassie thanked them very prettily for the outing. As she watched the threesome walk briskly toward the nearest exit, it suddenly occurred to Hope that she’d never seen Sebastian Reyne touch his sisters in public. Except for that time he’d pulled Cassie from the water, he never held them by the hand or walked with their arm tucked into his. He didn’t so much as pat them on the head.

  Grandpapa had never touched his granddaughters, either. Except to beat them.

  She watched them go, torn by conflicting feelings.

  “Come on, Hope, let’s go home,” Faith said quietly.

  “We don’t know anything—not for certain,” Hope said quickly. Faith had not voiced the accusation, but she knew what her twin was thinking.

  “No, we have no proof.”

  Twenty minutes later, as they walked home in silence, an elegant green and black curricle passed them in the street. Mr. Reyne was driving. A liveried footman clung on behind. Beside Mr. Reyne sat Lady Elinore Whitelaw.

  They watched the curricle turn the corner. “His important business engagement,” Faith remarked. “I wonder, does she know he refers to her courtship as a business matter?”

  Chapter Eight

  I . . . chose my wife, as she did her wedding gown, not for a fine glossy surface, but such qualities as would wear well.

  OLIVER GOLDSMITH

  “I AM VERY GLAD YOU DECIDED TO ACCOMPANY ME THIS MORNING, Lady Elinore.” Sebastian slowed the horses to a trot as they entered a narrow, cobbled street in the east end of the city. It was not precisely a slum, but it was not the sort of place where he would expect to see a lady of Lady Elinore’s quality. No wonder she had brought her footman instead of a maid. He’d wondered at the time. She seemed such a stickler for the proprieties. But a footman would offer the sort of protection a maid could not.

  She was wearing gray again. Gray dress, gray pelisse, and a gray bonnet. All plainly cut and unembellished.

  Lady Elinore inclined her head graciously at his words, swaying subtly away from him as they turned the corner. She’d done it every time, avoiding even the slightest brush against his shoulder, no matter how much the curricle
swayed. It might be propriety, but Sebastian suspected it was more than that: she did not like to be touched. It made courtship more difficult, but it was no real bar to the kind of marriage he was set on. He was marrying for practical reasons, not for passion.

  A vision of Hope Merridew sprang to mind. He forced it away. If he had no responsibilities, if he were a free agent, he would pursue Miss Hope Merridew with all his heart. But she was a . . . a . . . He groped for a suitable word. A silken elf, a fragile creature from a world he could never inhabit, full of laughter and high spirits.

  If he took such a delicate creature into the mess he had made of three lives, it would crush the spirit out of her, and that he could never bear.

  It was hard enough to bear her new cold looks. His own fault. His intention. He’d had to tell her about Lady Elinore. He needed that barrier between them to protect her. At the lakeside the day before, he’d all but disgraced her in a public park. He would have kissed her, which would have taken things further.

  Sebastian Reyne, reaching for the moon again. When would he learn?

  He forced his mind back to the matter at hand. And the woman. “I am sure your presence must lend weight to my cause, Lady Elinore. I am aware that my offer is a controversial one and that not all of your associates agree.”

  Lady Elinore’s gray bonnet bobbed in agreement. “I must confess I opposed it when you first broached the matter, but now I understand your motives better, I have changed my mind. I am certain our charges will benefit from your involvement, and I know that several of our patronesses are under some financial strain: something to do with investments and the late war.” She grimaced and shook her head. “Your purchase of the institution will relieve their difficulties.”

  “Happy to be of service.”

  She had no idea of his real motives. No one did. Sebastian was even uncertain himself. All he knew was that he had to buy this particular orphan asylum. No other one would do.