Now Anne looked not only startled but hunted. However, her mother beamed upon him and pinched Anne’s arm quite violently. At once, the girl stood up and laid the tips of her fingers on her partner’s arm.
In Anne’s shoes… But she was not in Anne’s shoes, and the girl was clearly having a miserable time. However, in fairness, Sir Marcus was behaving impeccably, not only dancing with the wallflower, but carrying the full weight of the conversation with a tongue-tied child. Although there was nothing remotely amorous in his attitude, the complacent smile on Phoebe Marshall’s face spoke volumes for her hopes.
Dragging her gaze free, Helen opened her reticule to glance at her father’s watch. “It’s after ten,” she said. “And time to go.”
The children went without fuss, merely glancing over their shoulders as they left. With no marbles to liven things up, they had clearly had enough of mere observation.
As had Helen. Since she was nineteen years old, she had only danced with her pupils, teaching them the various steps along with grace, rhythm, and poise. But watching tonight had brought back all her youthful pleasure in dancing. There was no point in missing it. This evening’s observations, and any others like it, were as close as she was going to come.
So, after letting the children enjoy a quick, amusing discussion about turbans and outrageous waistcoats, she sent the boys to their chamber and helped Eliza prepare for bed.
“Anne doesn’t want to be at the ball, does she?” Eliza asked, snuggling into the pillows.
“No,” Helen allowed. “I don’t think she does.”
“Why not?”
“Perhaps she doesn’t want to be grown-up just yet.”
“I don’t,”
“Well, you’re ten years old,” Helen pointed out comfortingly.
Eliza nodded and closed her eyes.
Her brothers were discovered in their night attire but playing marbles across their bedchamber floor. Helen added them to her growing collection and ordered the boys into bed. They went obligingly enough, although George declared he wasn’t remotely tired.
“Well, close your eyes and see what happens. I’ll be back in a little, and I won’t expect to find you out of bed.”
Blowing out their candles, she left them and walked along the passage toward her own chamber. She felt oddly restless and wide awake, so she didn’t mind in the least when a maid ran up to her.
“Lady Sydney wants your help in the ballroom, Miss.”
Presumably, Lady Overton wanted something fetched from her chamber. Or an elderly lady required an escort to her bedchamber. Or Richard had drunk too much champagne and needed to be discreetly extracted. Helen didn’t feel any such task was beyond her, but when she hurried into the ballroom, she saw at once that Richard, sober as a judge, was in serious conversation with a young lady and her father. She saw no sign at all of Henrietta, until the orchestra struck up once more, and she caught sight of her on the dance floor with her partner for another waltz.
“It’s still considered pretty daring in England,” said a voice close by.
Sir Marcus, imposing in a black coat and silk breeches, stood beside her watching the dancers.
“But increasingly accepted,” she managed. “I was required to teach it in my previous post.”
“Then you do waltz?”
“Around the schoolroom floor, I have no equal. I don’t suppose you know what Lady Sydney required of me? I have missed my chance to speak to her before the dance.”
“Well, we can dance over to her and hover. If it’s something vital, I’m sure she’ll find a way to let you know.”
Her heart gave a funny little lurch of longing, even though he was merely jesting. “I think I would be better lurking around the edges of the dance floor and hoping she notices me.”
“Yes, but that would be dull. Unless you truly don’t want to dance with me.”
“I did not know you were truly asking,” she said, aiming for lightness.
“I was looking for a way you might find comported with your duty.”
“Are you making fun of me?” she asked, quite without rancor, although his eyebrows flew up in clear protest.
“Not in the slightest.”
“Well, you should be,” she said perversely, “for it is not suitable for the governess to dance.”
“I don’t see why not when she’s at the ball. In fact, it would be rude to refuse me.”
She frowned, glancing up at him with uncertainty. The smile faded from his eyes.
“That time, I was making fun,” he said apologetically. “But my invitation stands, for no other reason than that I would very much like to dance with you.”
The world seemed to stand still. This was the stuff of her foolish daydreams. To dance with any man after ten years…to dance with this man whom she had been avoiding for the best part of two days. Her breath caught. It is only once, she pleaded with herself, and to refuse would be unbearable.
“Then I would very much like to accept,” she said in a rush.
He took her hand and laid it on his arm. “In order to attract the attention of Lady Sydney, of course.”
“Of course,” she said breathlessly.
His arm encircled her waist, turning her into the dance, and she followed instinctively. “So, how did you learn?” he asked.
“From my old employer’s dancing master. But I should warn you, I have never practiced in an actual dance.”
“I expect dancing is one of those things one takes for granted until one is prevented from doing it.”
Surprised by his understanding, she nodded. “It is, but I would not have you pity me, for my life has many other advantages, not all of them usual to a woman in my position.”
“Meaning you have a good place with the Overtons?”
“I am valued, well-paid, and given much more freedom than is common. I even attend the occasional ball, as you see.”
“I’m very glad. I don’t like to think of you groaning under arduous duties, or too little respect.”
“I never groan,” she assured him. “Even when heaped with work and no respect, as has been the case in my past. Now, I have charming, intelligent pupils and enviable conditions. I am perfectly content.”
A frown flickered on his brow, and his eyes grew too intense. “Perfectly?”
A jumble of emotions surged through her, emotions she did not wish to acknowledge, for they dragged new longings in their wake. If she was no longer perfectly content, he was the reason.
“Perfectly,” she said firmly.
“Then don’t look at me with those haunted eyes. Tell me about your life. For example, what were your lively charges up to while sitting so angelically at the ball?”
She grasped the lifeline with desperation, telling him about the turban and waistcoat contest and the marbles. Although she began haltingly, his amused attention encouraged her, and she was glad to make him laugh out loud. He had a good laugh and a good smile, when he let them loose. They seemed to tug at all her responses, at her very heart. And as they talked and danced, she realized, almost like a revelation, that they were enjoying each other’s company without the usual barbs or quarrels or suspicions that seemed to have plagued their previous passages. She relaxed into his presence and his arms and lived in the joyous, breathless moment.