The Perfect Waltz

by Anne Gracie

  She giggled at his expression. “Did nobody warn you?”

  He shook his head. And then suddenly it occurred to them both that their faces were just inches apart, and they froze. He stared into her eyes. Mesmerized, she stared back.

  She did not know how long they sat, gazing into each other’s eyes and breathing each other’s breath while glorious music soared all around them, but it seemed to her that somehow, something very important was said, without a word being uttered.

  The curtain came down to a storm of applause, and they both jumped. “Is it over?” Mr. Reyne asked.

  “Bastian, you know very well there is an interval between the acts. Interval is the best part of the opera,” explained Mr. Bemerton. “It’s a time when—if we are allowed to talk”—he darted a glance at Lady Elinore, who lifted her nose in response—“we all visit each other’s boxes, admire each other’s finery, drink and eat and gather and spread as much gossip as possible. That is what most people come to the opera for.” He glanced provocatively at Lady Elinore.

  “Look,” she exclaimed, oblivious, “is that not Count Rimavska, the famous violinist? He seems to be waving at our box.”

  Hope glanced across, and sure enough, there he was, garbed in some dramatic outfit in red and gold and fur. He was waving at their box, all right—directly at her twin, Faith. She glanced sideways. Faith was blushing.

  “He always looks frightfully romantic, doesn’t he?” Lady Elinore commented thoughtfully.

  “Romantic?” Mr. Bemerton stared at her.

  Lady Elinore’s pale cheeks tinged with faint color. “In the poetical sense,” she said with dignity. “Besides, he has prodigious musical talent, which any rational person would admire.”

  Mr. Bemerton glowered at the count. “With any luck he’ll fall out of the box and break his neck.”

  “That would be a tragedy, for the world would lose a great talent,” said Lady Elinore with composure.

  Mr. Bemerton made a rude noise.

  She looked down her nose at him rather as someone would regard an impertinent insect. Her color was heightened.

  Mr. Reyne stood up, frowning. “I ordered refreshments to be brought at the interval, and they have not arrived. I shall investigate.”

  “I’ll accompany you. I need some fresh air,” declared Mr. Bemerton with a frown at Lady Elinore and Faith. “I am feeling nauseous.”

  Hope barely noticed their leaving. Faith waved shyly back at the count, her face glowing with animation. “He wants me to go over and join them in their box. May I, Mrs. Jenner?”

  “I don’t see why not, my dear. Lady Thorn is there, so there can be no objection. And I see my friend Lucille in the next box. Hope, you will accompany us.”

  And not remain here to talk to Mr. Reyne, Hope added silently. She smiled sweetly.“Thank you, but no.”

  Her chaperone was annoyed. “Then be so good as to remain at all times with Lady Elinore. I shall be observing you the whole time from Lucille’s box.”

  She paused at the exit, glanced at Mr. Reyne’s empty chair, and added, “And when I return, you and I shall trade seats for the remainder of the performance.” They filed out, leaving Hope and Lady Elinore alone.

  They hadn’t spoken a word to each other since the day of the orphan tea. Hope had twice called on her, but Elinore was not in. Hope had sent around a note but had received no response. She glanced sideways. Lady Elinore stared out over the auditorium, apparently entranced with the sights. Hope wasn’t fooled for a moment.

  She wanted somehow to bridge the gulf between them, but no words came to mind. They had little in common: Lady Elinore was a highly educated woman with strict and lofty principles, who worked tirelessly for the good of others. Hope was minimally educated, hopelessly clumsy at most things of refinement, and her guiding principle was a selfish quest for personal happiness.

  Hope knew her words that day had somehow hurt the older woman. She hadn’t realized until too late how vulnerable Lady Elinore was. She’d seemed so certain of herself and the rightness of her mother’s theories.

  Worse, Hope coveted Lady Elinore’s beau. She’d been more than half in love with Mr. Sebastian Reyne for some time, and since they’d kissed . . .

  The silence in the box thinned to an unbearable tension. Hope broke first. “Lady Elinore, I know I offended you deeply, and I regret it sincerely. Please accept my apologies. I should not have spoken so disrespectfully of your late mother.”

  Lady Elinore didn’t move a muscle. Just as Hope was wondering whether she’d heard her or not, she said inconsequentially, “Mother did not approve of music. She used to say that while it was useful for soothing the savage breast, it also inflamed the passions therein. She decided it was better to avoid music at all costs.”

  Hope gave her a sympathetic look. “Our grandfather thought music was sinful. We never heard music at all until we came to London, except for Faith’s little wooden flute, which she played in secret against all his dictates. The servants were even forbidden to whistle.”

  They both fell silent again, only this time it was not awkward.

  Lady Elinore sighed. “I’ve tried to live up to every one of Mother’s dictates—she was an extraordinary woman, you know, with marvelously Rational ideas—but music is the one thing I cannot seem to eschew.”

  “I do not see why you should have to eschew anything,” said Hope. “Your mother made those decisions for herself. Surely you should have the same freedom. I certainly intend to make my own choices at every opportunity.”

  “Do you?” Lady Elinore looked thoughtful.

  “Yes indeed. In fact, when we were sixteen and immured at our grandfather’s, I vowed that I would one day be free, and that nobody would ever . . . bind me . . . imprison . . . me again.”

  Lady Elinore looked fascinated, so Hope continued. “I promised myself that if—no, when I escaped from his control, I would enjoy the rest of my life to the fullest. I vowed I would turn down no opportunity for joy, however small.” She hesitated self-consciously, aware that she was on thin ice. But this quiet, plain, odd woman had moved her in unexpected ways, and Hope so wanted her to understand.

  “There was little joy of any kind at Grandpapa’s, you see. He was a hate-filled, bitter old man. Evil, in fact.”

  “My mother was not evil,” said Lady Elinore quickly.

  Hope was embarrassed. “No, of course not. I never meant—”

  “No, I know you didn’t. But you’re right all the same. You were right in what you said the other day. I have thought much on it since. Mother was bitter, and there was little joy in our lives. My father treated her . . . us very badly, I gather. Before he died.”

  “I’m sorry,”

  “I never knew him. They lived separately, and he died when I was a small child. Which was a fortunate thing, for he was somewhat of a spendthrift, and had he not died, he may have spent his entire fortune instead of only half of it.”

  “I see.”

  “I am to inherit it . . . eventually,” said Lady Elinore sadly. “It is somewhat of a trial.”

  Hope raised her brows. “My sisters and I are heiresses, too, but I think it’s lovely. I would so much rather be rich than poor. Why do you find your fortune a trial?”

  There was a long silence. Then Lady Elinore nodded across the balustrade. “Your sister has entered Lady Thorn’s box.”

  “I know.” She’d seen the count leap to his feet and bow dramatically over Faith’s hand, kissing it with extravagant gestures. Could her twin really be falling in love with this man?

  “I wouldn’t have minded meeting the count in person,” admitted Lady Elinore. “I tried to at Lady Thorn’s soiree, but the press of other ladies was too great. I wanted to tell him how much I admire his playing. It is utterly brilliant, you know.”

  Her words gave Hope an idea. She stood and gathered her shawl. “Come on then. Let’s go to Lady Thorn’s box. You shall meet the count, and I shall protect my sister from his blandishments.�
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  “But you were told to stay here.”

  Hope dimpled. “Not quite. I was told to stay with you.”

  Lady Elinore looked doubtful. “The gentlemen were fetching us refreshments. They will wonder where we are.”

  Hope shrugged and said in a rallying tone. “It is one of Lady Augusta’s maxims that it is good for gentlemen to wonder. We are not ornaments to be placed in a box and left waiting. We are independent ladies. We have an opportunity to please ourselves, a small opportunity for joy, Lady Elinore. Shall we take it or let it slip by us?”

  Lady Elinore looked torn.

  Hope said, “Of course, I completely understand if you prefer to stay here and bandy words with Mr. Bemerton—”

  Lady Elinore jumped to her feet. “Absolutely not!” she gasped. “I abominate the man. He has no proper feelings whatsoever!” She snatched up her shawl and reticule. “Shall we?”

  But when Hope opened the door to the corridor, she collided with James, the footman. “Sorry, Miss Hope,” he said. “Orders from Mrs. Jenner not to let any visitors in unless she or Mr. Bemerton are present—him being your escort tonight. And Mr. Bemerton isn’t back yet.”

  “Excellent, James, but we are going out, not coming in. So stand aside, if you please.”

  James hesitated.

  “Ja-ames,” said Hope in a tone he’d known all his life.

  James rolled his eyes. “Miss Hope, you know very well she wishes you to stay here.”

  Hope smiled sweetly. “If wishes were horses, James . . . Besides, you cannot imprison Lady Elinore, and she wishes to leave the box, and Mrs. Jenner instructed me to stay with Lady Elinore. And I wouldn’t dream of disobeying.” She swept airily past him. “Take good care of the box, won’t you? Our things are still in it.”

  James shook his head. “One of these days, miss . . .”

  But Hope and Lady Elinore were gone, hurrying toward the place where the corridor widened and people had gathered to chat. The din of shouted conversation and scent of overheated, overperfumed humanity was most unpleasant.

  Seeing the crowd, Lady Elinore hesitated, clutching her shawl and reticule nervously. “It is a terrible crush. Are you sure we should proceed? I don’t think . . .”

  “Do you want to meet the count or return tamely to our box?”

  Lady Elinore thought for a moment, then nodded. “Yes. Yes, I do. Very well. Let us proceed, Miss Merridew.”

  Hope grinned. “I think you ought to call me Hope, now that we’re partners in crime.”

  Lady Elinore flushed. “Thank you. I should be honored,” she said in an intense voice.

  Hope, observing her gratitude, abruptly realized that Lady Elinore was unused to friendship of the kind that she and her sisters took for granted. She looked at the small, thin older woman with the ugly gray clothes and the scraped-back hair and found herself putting an arm around her and saying, “I think we should become friends, Lady Elinore, yes?”

  Lady Elinore stared at her a moment and then, to Hope’s embarrassment, her eyes flooded with tears. “Oh! Yes, please.” She squeezed Hope’s arm affectionately.

  Hope resolved then and there to do something about Lady Elinore. She wasn’t sure what, but it would be something. If a simple offer of friendship with a girl ten years younger than herself could bring her close to tears, Lady Elinore obviously had far too little friendship in her life.

  “Come along.” Hope took her hand. “Let us get you introduced to this musician—oops!” Over the heads of the people in the crowd, she spotted Mr. Reyne heading back their way. He hadn’t seen them yet. She hesitated, trying to decide whether to enlist his escort or avoid him.

  A narrow door lay to her left, marked Private. Hope knew what it was; a staircase for servants and others to bypass the more public areas. A gentleman had once tried to coax her into one, hoping to steal a kiss, no doubt. She’d refused. She hated dark, narrow stairways. She didn’t much like the gentleman, either.

  “Lost, are you, my li’l beauty, where are you goin’ in such a hurry?” An elegantly dressed young blood, obviously the worse for drink, reached casually out and grabbed Hope’s forearm.

  “Let go of me!” She tried to tug it away. Several of the man’s friends crowded around, commenting and laughing. Clearly they had all been drinking for some time.

  “Unhand me, sirrah!” she said in freezing accents.

  The men roared with laughter. “A hoity-toity beauty!” said one. They all seemed to find that hilarious. “Hoity-toity beauty! A hoity-toity beauty!” they chanted.

  She threw a harried glance over her captor’s shoulder. Mr. Reyne was getting closer. His face was pure granite. He’d seen. He was ploughing steadily through the crowds, still some twenty or thirty yards away.

  “Let go!” She stamped on the man’s instep hard, and he cursed and released her, to the loud mockery of his friends. Hope stepped quickly away from them before she could be grabbed again and found herself with her back to the door marked Private. If they took these back stairs, she would prevent a scene, for she had no doubt once Mr. Reyne arrived, there would be more than words between him and the drunken young men.

  “In here,” she said to Lady Elinore, who had been ignored by the young bloods. “We can bypass the crowds and go back up to this level when we reach the other side of the auditorium.” She thrust Lady Elinore before her into the shadowy space, followed her in, and closed the door.

  Instant darkness.

  It closed in on Hope, confining, suffocating. She tried to take a deep breath, but her chest was tight, as if some great weight were pressing on her. “Hurry,” she croaked and pushed Lady Elinore. “Where are the stairs? Got to get out.”

  “I cannot see anything,” Lady Elinore complained. “Ouch! Oh dear.” She laughed. “It is not a staircase after all. It is just a large cupboard. There are brooms . . . and a bucket.”

  “Oh God!” Hope turned and scrabbled for the handle of the door. She had to get out. She had to. She couldn’t see. Her mouth dried.

  There was no handle. Hope scrabbled for it desperately, then started hammering on the door. The darkness closed in on her, thick, oppressive, obliterating everything. She would die here. She clutched at her throat, suddenly finding it hard to breathe. She was going to be sick any minute.

  From a long way away, she heard Lady Elinore say, “Miss Hope. Is there something wrong? Can’t you open the door?”

  Hope choked, unable to muster enough breath to talk. It was all she could do to keep breathing, rapid, shallow breaths.

  She scrabbled at the door. She was going to pass out. She felt Lady Elinore’s arms go around her. “Miss Hope. Are you ill? Can I help?”

  The arms were confining, imprisoning. Hope thrust them away, fighting for breath. Her heart was beating rapidly, palpitating. Feebly she hammered. Faith!

  She was going to faint at any minute. Her chest was so tight, so tight. Not enough air. Faith! Twin!

  Suddenly there was light. Blessed light. And air. And him. Not Faith. Him. She could not see his face, her eyes were blurry, they didn’t work anymore. But she heard his voice, from far, far away, deep, strong, worried.

  “Good God, Miss Hope. What happened?”

  She tried to stagger toward him, to climb out of the black panic, but her knees gave way. She found herself scooped up by strong arms, held against a strong, broad chest.

  Safe, safe, she was safe.

  “She’s near to swooning. Do you have any smelling salts, Lady Elinore?”

  “No, I’m sorry. A woman of Rationality never faints. My mother used to say that fainting in ladies is usually induced by hunger and tight lacing, neither of which are Rational behaviors.”

  He swore.

  Hope could hear his heart beating, strong and sure. Her own heart was fluttering madly, like a fish, a landed fish, flopping and gasping for air in the fisherman’s arms.

  “Perhaps she has contracted a fever. Her skin is drenched, and she is shaking. My late mother used
to say—”

  “I don’t think it’s a fever. Why were you in the cupboard?”

  “We thought it was a private stairway down to the next level, and by the time we realized it wasn’t, the door was closed, and then we discovered that the handle had fallen off so we could not get out.”

  “And that was when this happened to her?”

  “Yes, I suppose it was.”

  “Then she’s not ill. I have seen this before. I know what to do.”

  “Is it hysterics? My late mother used to recommend a sharp slap—”

  “No one shall slap her!” His voice was harsh, peremptory. Hope flinched at the sound. The voice softened to a deep rumble in her ear, “There now, Miss Hope.” A big, calloused hand gently smoothed her hair back. “No one shall harm you. You are safe now with me.’Tis but a passing fright. You shall recover directly, as soon as I get you to the air.” The tenderness in the deep growl shivered all through her, soothing, calming.

  The voice changed again. Crisp command. “Giles, escort Lady Elinore back to the box, and fetch Miss Merridew’s warm cloak. She is frozen. Send that footman to inform her sister what has happened. I daresay Miss Faith has seen her like this before and will know what to do. You there, conduct me to the roof of this establishment by the quickest route. There is a guinea in it for you. You, usher, see if there is a doctor in the theater. I think I know what is the matter, but if I’m wrong, we’ll need a physician. Waiter, fetch me some brandy—your finest—and some water, and bring them instantly to the roof. A guinea in it for each of you. More if you’re faster. Now hop to it!”

  Hope felt herself moving along the corridor. She closed her eyes against the faces. She could not feel her hands or feet. Cold. So cold. She struggled feebly, the world spinning.

  The arms tightened, and a deep voice rumbled in her ear. “Hush now, sweet, I have you safe, now. Do not fear. No one shall harm you.”

  “C-cold.”

  “I know,” he murmured soothingly. “Your cloak is coming, but in the meantime, I’ll warm you. Here.” He pulled his coat open.