What was wrong with the Morgan family? Couldn’t they see that Mr. Woodsworth was upstanding? True, he wanted to marry their daughter partially for her position in society, but most families wouldn’t consider that a flaw. And he thought she, Patience, was competent. When the one person in the world who thought her competent was asking for her help, there was no possibility of refusal. At least not when it was in her power to help.
“I’ll do it.” Patience sighed. “One dance, and then we leave together with your sister. It will have to be enough for today. I promise you two dances next time we have the chance.”
“Are you certain?” Mr. Woodsworth asked.
“Quite certain.”
He gave her one short nod and held out his arm to her. She wrapped her hand around his steady forearm. Mr. Woodsworth had promised to keep her identity a secret. She was in a wig, and more to the point, she hadn’t seen Lord Bryant for so long. He had most likely forgotten all about her. She just needed to act naturally and stay on this side of the room.
“Thank you again for taking part in the scheme.” Mr. Woodsworth leaned in toward her as they strode past other couples forming. “I don’t know exactly what possessed me to agree to it. But I’m grateful not to have to spend time with a young woman who might get her heart broken or have her family suspect an engagement.”
Patience’s heart was safe, but his assumption irked her for some reason. As if she wasn’t worthy of even entertaining the idea of an attachment to him just because she was a maid. “You know, maids have hearts as well.”
“But you know this is all a charade.” He extended his arm so she was no longer as close to him as she had been.
“Well, I know it is a charade, but with matters of the heart, you never know what might happen.”
“I know what will happen. Nothing will happen. That is why I chose you. Nothing ever could happen between us.” He turned to face her but didn’t stop walking. “Was I wrong to assume you realized that?”
“No, you weren’t wrong, but still, a lady doesn’t like to hear such things, no matter her station in life.”
“But a man must be clear in his intentions, or he could cause harm.”
“Oh, you have been very clear. No need to worry about that. I am just as aware as you are that our stations in life don’t exactly align.” She was the daughter of a duke, after all. Even if that wasn’t what Mr. Woodsworth meant, it was true, nonetheless.
“Being a maid doesn’t make you less of a person.”
Patience chuckled softly. “I’m truly hoping it makes me more of a person.”
Mr. Woodsworth’s step faltered. He turned his head and gave her a quizzical look. She answered him only with a shrug. Her reasons for becoming a maid were one thing she could never discuss with Mr. Woodsworth. He regained his composure and turned toward her. The polka was about to start. She loved the polka. It was so lively and much more entertaining than the waltz. But with Lord Bryant across the room, she would have to keep her steps controlled and short. She would save her enthusiastic dancing for another time.
She bowed to Mr. Woodsworth. Not the elegant bow she had given his friend. She hadn’t been able to help that one, not with Mr. Woodsworth and his sister watching her so intently, wondering if she would make a mistake. She gave Mr. Woodsworth a cursory bow, one that wouldn’t attract any attention.
Mr. Woodsworth’s frown reappeared at her bow, but when the music started, he took both her hands without hesitation. For a man who thought a maid beneath him, his hands were firm and controlled, nothing to suggest he had any disdain for her. Mr. Fairchild had been an excellent dancer, but his touch had been softer. Most likely because he had trusted her to know the dance. Mr. Woodsworth apparently still did not.
She nearly missed her first step, and Mr. Woodsworth’s firm direction proved necessary after all. She joined him, immediately leaping to one side. She ignored his hands after that, concentrating instead on the music and the steps. At times she found herself relaxing into the flow and rhythm of the dance, but she always reigned herself in.
“You don’t appear to enjoy dancing,” Patience said. “Is it not your passion?”
“I wouldn’t call it a passion, but I do actually enjoy it. I enjoy it more with a partner who doesn’t hold back her skill.”
“What do you mean?” She was doing exactly that, but she didn’t want to mention why. Nor could she lie.
“I saw you dancing the waltz. You have much more natural talent than you are using with me.”
“Perhaps I enjoy the waltz more than the polka.”
“Perhaps, but I don’t believe that is the reason.”
“Would you believe that I am trying to behave myself, and the polka often brings out an unruly side I am trying to hide?”
A half-smile crept up one side of his mouth. “I quite possibly would believe that.” He dropped her hand, and they opened their formation for a quick few steps. They came back together, the fast pace of the dance making her breath come in shorter and shorter increments. His hand slid to the back of her waist for the next turn. Even through her corseted ball gown she could feel the heat of his touch at the small of her back. “So you have decided to behave yourself tonight?”
“I have. I truthfully don’t want to draw attention to myself while at any social events with you. As long as I am wearing this wig, I will try to be tame and unnoticeable.”
“And when it is off?”
She stepped under his raised arm as he pushed her through the bridge he had made for her. When her face came back in front of his own, she smiled. “I shall be as unruly as my hair.”
His lips spread into the wide grin that smoothed out all of his edges and lines. Mr. Woodsworth pulled her closer to him and bent low over her ear. His breathing was as quick as her own. “I shall enjoy that. Unruliness is the one thing our household needs.”
Patience swallowed. She could still feel his warm breath on her cheek. Unruliness was what Mr. Woodsworth wanted—what his household needed. That was an unexpected compliment.
She decided to ignore Lord Bryant on the other side of the ballroom. She had been a young girl when they had last seen each other, and her hair and face were different. He had no chance of speaking with her now, and that was the only way he was likely to recognize her. She stopped checking for him and instead threw herself into the polka. Her legs kicked higher each time they skipped. This was nothing like dancing with her stuffy old dance instructor. Mr. Woodsworth never missed a step and always kept a firm hold on her, guiding her in every direction she should go. Before long, she found herself laughing with the joy of the moment. When she had left her home just days ago, she never would have imagined she would be dancing at a ball tonight. What a strange world she lived in. A strange, wonderful world.