The Dancing Master

by Julie Klassen

  “I doubt that, sir.” He paused for a moment, then continued, “Very well. I’ll see what the lady says.”

  “Lady Amelia, do you mean, or . . . ?”

  Amelia knew he had little interest in seeing her.

  “It’s Miss Julia you are here to see, is it not?” Barlow verified.

  “Yes, but I imagine Lady Amelia wants to preside over our meeting.”

  Amelia cringed at the edge to the man’s voice. But it was true. She would like to be there. To make certain the man didn’t say anything hurtful. Or propose anything life-changing for Julia.

  And devastating for her.

  Amelia went upstairs and found Julia in her bedchamber, and gave her the news.

  “He’s here?” Julia asked, her voice a timid squeak.

  “Yes,” Amelia said, and helped her smooth back her hair and straighten her skirt. Together they walked down the stairs.

  Barlow waited in the hall below.

  “He’s asked to speak to you alone,” Amelia explained to her. “Outside. But if you have any hesitation at all, I shall go with you.”

  Julia considered, then said, “It’s all right. I want to speak to him alone.”

  Amelia bit back the warnings and worries that rushed to her lips. She sent Barlow a look, then said as calmly as she could manage, “Very well. I shall be in the drawing room if you need me. And Barlow shall walk you out.”

  “Thank you,” Julia said in a small proper voice, hands tightly clasped.

  “If it helps, my dear,” Amelia said softly, “he looks very nervous. Perhaps you might try to put him at his ease.”

  Julia nodded, solemn eyes wide.

  Personally, Amelia didn’t care a fig if Tremelling was at his ease. He had no right to be. But she knew it might soothe her daughter’s nerves to know she was not alone in her anxiety.

  Pulse racing, Julia led the way to the side door. There she paused with her hand on the latch. She squeezed her eyes closed and prayed for strength, and calm, and for the meeting to go well. Beside her, Barlow pressed her arm in silent reassurance. She glanced at the dear man, and they shared a tremulous smile.

  Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door and let herself outside. As she crossed the drive, her heart beat hard and loud with every step. She was certain Lieutenant Tremelling would hear it.

  She saw him standing near the garden gate, hands behind his back, fidgeting. He wore his uniform, just as he always did in her imaginings, when he had appeared so dashing and competent—dark wool tailcoat with brass buttons over light breeches. A knapsack was slung over one shoulder, and under his arm, he held a large cocked hat with brass trimmings.

  He turned as she approached.

  Palms sweating, she braved a look at his face—weatherworn yet handsome, with strong nose, sharp cheekbones, and deep-set eyes.

  His jaw slackened when he looked at her. “Grace . . . er, I mean, Miss Midwinter.”

  “Lieutenant Tremelling.” She dipped her head but offered no curtsy. She doubted her trembling knees would manage the feat.

  “How strange to hear you address me so formally.”

  Julia met his gaze. “I think it’s a little late to start calling you Papa.” She forced a little chuckle that sounded false in her own ears.

  She turned to the manager, hovering behind. “It’s all right, Barlow. You may leave us.”

  “I’ll be just inside, miss. You need only call and I’ll be right here.”

  She nodded, then turned back to the visitor. Was he really her father? She stared at him—his build, his face, his hair. At closer range now, she noticed that the dark coat hung rather loosely and the white breeches were dingy. The stand-up collar of his buff waistcoat was sweat stained and his limp cravat spoke of neglect. His hair was darker than she had imagined. What had Lady Amelia once said—she had his fair hair? Lieutenant Tremelling’s hair was a nondescript ashy color that might once have been blond, but no longer. His tanned face showed early signs of dissipation—loosening jowls and broken blood vessels marring his cheeks and nose.

  From a distance, she had caught a glimpse of the officer who had cut an impressive figure in his naval uniform and turned Lady Anne’s head. But Julia was standing too close now, and the sun was unforgiving. In its light, his eyes were translucent as bottle glass, not quite green or blue. Changeable, like her own. The people who’d told her she had her mother’s eyes had never met this man.

  Yes, she saw a hint of herself in his face. Or did she only imagine what she so badly longed to see?

  “I must look ancient to a young girl like you,” he began, self-conscious under her scrutiny. “The years have not been kind to me, I’m afraid. But you have grown into a very pretty girl. Though I wager you know that well enough.”

  “Do I look as you thought I would?” Julia asked.

  He tucked his chin, considering, “When you walked out here, I thought, hang me, she looks like Lady Amelia but with lighter hair.”

  “Do you see any of Lady Anne in me?”

  Twisting his lip, he studied her face. “A bit. Her nose and chin, perhaps. And I see you’re wearing her locket. But I confess my memory isn’t all it should be, and I haven’t seen her in twenty years, remember.”

  “I see her every day,” Julia said, feeling foolish even as she said it. “Her portrait hangs in the hall inside.”

  He didn’t seem to hear her but continued to stare, shaking his head in awe. “Hard to believe you are the same wee babe I brought here all those years ago.”

  Julia hoped he wasn’t disappointed. How had he imagined her? Or had he bothered to imagine this reunion at all? Even if he had, likely nowhere near the hundreds of times she had done so.

  Lieutenant Tremelling turned and lifted his chin toward the old church. “That’s where I met your mother. In the Buckleigh churchyard. Do they still hold services there?”

  Julia shook her head. “Only on special holidays and the occasional wedding or funeral.”

  He nodded. “That’s why I first came here—for a wedding of a shipmate. His bride had grown up nearby. I was sure I’d be bored out of my wits at a small country wedding. Instead I took one look at Lady Anne Buckleigh and set my sights on winning her. Weren’t no easy task either, I can tell you.”

  Apparently not—I hear lying and manipulation were required, Julia thought, biting back the words. She didn’t want to embarrass or pressure him, but remaining silent went against her tendency to speak her mind and worry about consequences later. She waited to see if he would tell her his version of events without having to wrest it from him.

  Julia prompted, “Lady Amelia told me she thought I had your hair. And your smile.”

  “Did she now?” He smiled at this.

  In that flash Julia could see her mother had been right. When he smiled, she caught another glimpse of the dashing man he’d once been.

  “Yes.” He nodded. “I had yellow hair like yours as a younger man.”

  Suddenly his smile faded. He winced in confusion as though looking into the sun. “Lady Amelia told you that . . . ? That you had my smile and all?”

  That’s right, Julia reminded herself. He probably thinks Mother still believes John Desmond—the man Anne named—is my real father. But he would assume Lady Amelia would never mention the dancing master to me.

  “It’s all right,” Julia said quietly. “I know Lady Anne was with child before the two of you married. I also know that you are my father, even though she originally claimed you were not to”—overcome Grandfather’s objections without losing her dowry—“spare your life.”

  Julia tensed, fearing he would deny it. Instead he asked, “How do you know all that?”

  “Lady Anne wrote a letter confessing all. I’ve read it.”

  “Did she? When?”

  “Not long before her father died, I gather.”

  He looked down, chewing his lip in thought. “I ought to have guessed. I knew Anne felt guilty, about the duel and her brother’s death. I
admit I wasn’t keen on losing the dowry, though it was her idea to claim I wasn’t your father. She was afraid of what her brother would do to me. I wasn’t. But in the end, I went along with it. I told her a dozen times it wasn’t our fault. Still, she couldn’t rest. Awful dreams she had about it.”

  “My moth— Lady Amelia has bad dreams about it too.”

  He shook his head. “A sorry business all around. But that’s all water under the bridge now. Does no good to torture oneself with what ifs and should have dones.”

  Had he tortured himself with second-guessing and guilt? Somehow she doubted it. But Lady Anne had. That was something.

  He pulled a face. “What’s important is that we married as soon as we could. We meant to give you a proper family and a proper home. And we would have too, had Anne lived.”

  Julia wondered if they would have been able to do so even had Anne lived, with Lieutenant Tremelling so often away at sea, and Anne left to fend for herself for months on end.

  “Why did you give me away?” Julia forced herself to ask, though she detested how vulnerable her voice sounded.

  “You know why,” he said. “Your mother died. I could not raise you on my own.”

  “Why?”

  “Why? Because I am a naval officer. Gone to sea for months on end.”

  “Was there no other profession you might have turned to?” Why had she bothered to ask? Did she really want to hear him say the navy was more important to him? That he didn’t care enough to seek a change in occupation?

  “I couldn’t have done that,” he said. “The navy is all I know. Anne knew that when she married me. I couldn’t change for her, and I . . .”

  “Couldn’t change for me?” Julia finished for him.

  He lifted his hands. “What would I have taken up? I was too old to learn a new skill, to start over as someone’s apprentice. I might have found some lowly post, but how then would I have provided for you and a nurse?”

  Julia snapped, “As it is, you didn’t provide for me at all.”

  His brows rose. “Now I see a bit of Anne’s temper in you. That I do recall. But I did provide for you, didn’t I? I swallowed my pride and came to Lady Amelia, who’d never made any secret of how she felt about me—that I wasn’t good enough for her sister.”

  “But had you no money saved? What of Anne’s dowry?”

  He winced. “Gone, I’m afraid. A ‘can’t fail’ investment that did just that. Anne warned me, but I would have my way.”

  “So Lady Amelia gave you money in return for me. Is that it?”

  He clearly hadn’t expected the question. His mouth parted, then he closed it, and started again. “I wouldn’t say that. I own she helped me get back on my feet after Anne’s death. And yes, she’s sent money now and again over the years, when times were hard.”

  Even if his motives had been self-serving, Julia realized he had provided for her, in his way. Otherwise she might have grown up in a shabby pair of rooms in the hustle and bustle of a port city, with a dead mother, an absent father, and some paid nurse to keep her alive until her father’s next shore leave. Her education would have been piecemeal at best. Her speech, her health—even her complexion—would have suffered.

  She asked, “Have I any half brothers or sisters?”

  “Not that I know of.” His laugh died before it started, ending in an odd choked sound—no doubt realizing his poor taste in saying such a thing to a young lady, let alone his daughter. “That is, I never remarried. Not—official-like. I do have a . . . woman friend I’ve been with for years now.”

  “What about other family?” she asked. “Have I grandparents or aunts, uncles, or cousins on your side? I haven’t any relatives on the Buckleigh side, nor the Midwinter. At least, none close.”

  He shook his head. “My parents are long gone, I’m afraid. I did have a brother, but last I heard he’d moved to the West Indies to work for a planter there. I don’t know if he ever married or had children. Not much of a writer, Dick wasn’t.”

  “That seems to run in the family.”

  “Ha. Yes, well. I know I’m not much of a letter writer either. And even if I were, I knew Amelia intended to raise you as her own. I didn’t think she’d even tell you about me.”

  “Is that why you didn’t come sooner?”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t think Lady Amelia wanted me to. Not really. And even after Mr. Barlow came to convince me . . . I don’t know. I took a look at myself, my life . . . and I didn’t think you’d like what you saw. Heaven knows I don’t most days.”

  Ever since Julia found that letter to Grace Amelia, she had wondered where she had come from and what her life might have been like. She had imagined a happy family with an affectionate mother given to smiles, embraces, and laughter. And a doting father who teased her and took her on adventures. Perhaps a little brother and sister to look up to her, to sing around the fire at Christmas, and join in lively conversation around the dinner table. A picture far more warm and jovial than the life she’d lived instead.

  But now those images floated above her like glistening soap bubbles, popping one by one.

  Julia pressed her lips together, then said, “I still have that mermaid you sent me.”

  “Do you indeed?” His brows rose in surprise. “A silly thing to send a young girl, I suppose. It’s a boatswain’s whistle, actually. But when I saw it in a shop in France, I thought of you. I doubted Lady Amelia would ever give it to you.”

  “She did, though I believed it to be a gift from ‘my father.’ I did not yet know about you.”

  “Ah.” He nodded his understanding.

  “I only learned the truth recently. I found the letter Lady Anne had written to me. Apparently you delivered it to Lady Amelia when you delivered me.”

  “Did I? I forgot about that letter.”

  “It’s where I first saw my real name. My original name.”

  “Grace,” he said.

  Julia nodded. “Yes, Grace Amelia.”

  He waved a dismissive hand. “That’s right, but I always called you Grace. My Gracie girl.”

  “Did you?” Julia breathed. Hot tears filled her eyes.

  He looked stunned. “I . . . didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “No. No, I like hearing it.” A pet name at last.

  “Do you? Good. I like saying it.” He smiled tentatively. “But I don’t like seeing my girl cry. Come on, Gracie girl. How about a smile for your old man before I go?”

  She blinked. “Leaving already?”

  “Aye. Told the missus I’d be back tonight, and the coach leaves in half an hour.”

  “Oh. I see.”

  “I’ve got something to give you before I go.” He slid the knapsack from his shoulder and pulled out a book tied with a crude twine bow. “I feel foolish even giving it to you, seeing how grown up you are. In my mind, you were yet a little girl.”

  “That’s all right. I still like to read.”

  “Thought you might. Never went in for books myself, but Anne did.” He self-consciously fingered the cover of Gulliver’s Travels. “You probably read this long ago.”

  She had. But she would never say so and hurt his feelings. She would read it to the girls at Miss Llewellyn’s. “It’s perfect,” she said. “I adore stories—especially adventure stories. Thank you. I shall treasure it.”

  He exhaled in relief. “Good. I’m glad.”

  He made no offer of a future meeting, and she did not ask for one. She found, deep within herself, a slowly rising feeling of contentment, like bread rising in a warm kitchen on a lazy summer morning.

  It was enough.

  Impulsively, she stuck out her hand. “Thank you, Lieutenant Tremelling. I appreciate your taking the time to come here and answer my questions.”

  He took her hand. Held it. “My pleasure. As it turns out.”

  She said abruptly, “If you’d like to see Lady Anne again, you’re welcome to come inside and see her portrait.”

  He hesitated. “N
o, that’s all right. I remember her in my heart, and that’s enough for me. Besides I don’t think I’d want her seeing me now, washed-up salt that I am.” A corner of his mouth quirked. “Let her keep her memories, and I shall keep mine.”

  “Very well.” She extracted her hand from his. “Take care of yourself.”

  “I shall, more or less. And you do the same.”

  Julia started to walk away, then turned back. “You did right, you know. In bringing me here to Lady Amelia.”

  “Did I?” he asked.

  She nodded. “I haven’t made it easy for her, but she’s been a good mother to me.”

  “I am glad to hear you say so.”

  Julia formed a wobbly smile. “So am I.”

  Returning to the house, Julia walked to the drawing room. Finding the door halfway open, she quietly crossed the threshold and paused. Apparently her mother had not heard her enter. For a moment Julia remained just inside the doorway, taken aback to see Lady Amelia standing at the window, head bowed in grief, or in prayer. She looked so fragile, so vulnerable, that Julia’s heart softened toward the woman she’d so often battled against.

  Julia reached out and pushed the door a few inches, and the hinges obliged with their customary creak.

  Her mother’s head snapped up, and the guard fell back over her eyes. She straightened her shoulders, but Julia did not miss the clenching of her hands at her sides.

  “Well?”

  “I am glad I met him.”

  “Are you?” Fear flashed in her eyes.

  In that moment Julia felt a perverse sense of power. She held the upper hand and knew it. She could likely ask for anything she wanted with her mother worried as she was—likely fearing Julia might announce her plans to go off and live with Lieutenant Tremelling or something even less likely.

  But Julia found she felt no pleasure at the thought. No desire to manipulate or provoke, only to assure.

  How foreign.

  “And?” her mother prodded, trying to mask her anxiety. “Have you made plans to see him again?”

  Julia inhaled and shook her head. “No. He didn’t offer. And that’s all right with me.”

  “Is it?”

  Julia thought, then nodded. “Yes, I find that it is.”