Her cheeks flooded with color. “Still, I bested you squarely.”
“That you did. And might I suggest you will best not only the country dance, but also the scotch reel and quadrille?”
She eyed him with skepticism. “How?”
“By fencing instead of dancing.”
“Pardon me?”
He gazed up at the flawless afternoon sky in thought, searching for a way to describe his idea. “Fencing is nothing more than a form of dance, but with an implement of death in one’s hand rather than an evening glove. It follows a pattern. One must react to the movements of one’s partner, maintaining appropriate separation before engaging, and countering the steps of the other with steps of one’s own.”
Her eyebrows arched slowly. “Do you speak the truth?”
“Of course. Many dancing masters also teach fencing, and vice versa. The two activities are sides of a coin, one for pleasure, one for pain. Not so unlike love in that way.”
She stared at the ground as they continued to stroll around the patio, clearly deep in thought. After a time, she looked up at him with resolution in her sparkling eyes. “I am ready to try again.”
He led her into the ballroom quickly before she could reconsider. “Shall we resume, Charlotte?”
His sister nodded with a mysterious smile. Everyone returned to their positions. As the music commenced, Lucy slid smoothly into movement. Henry’s lips turned up slightly as he observed the fingers of her right hand curled in a loose clench as if holding a foil. Her eyes focused sharply on the steward with the same intensity he had noticed when she disarmed him in the forest, and she moved through the motions with a grace absent earlier. His smile grew wider.
Charlotte leaned toward him with a mocking grin. “Why are you smiling, brother?”
“It is nothing, other than our pupil is performing admirably.”
“Indeed. You appear to have inspired her.”
After an hour of practice and a brief respite, Charlotte recruited several more abashed servants to form the requisite number for dancing the quadrille. Charlotte turned to Henry. “You should partner with Lady Margaret, now.”
He tugged his cravat. “Well…”
“It is done, then.”
He relented but remained puzzled by his uncertainty. After a period of instruction and demonstration by Charlotte and the steward, the quadrille commenced with Henry and Lucy as the fourth couple. When the time came for them to move, he found himself unnerved whenever the pattern brought her to him with hand outstretched. He gripped her gloved hand lightly on each iteration, letting loose only reluctantly. Despite her constant presence for several weeks, she seemed a stranger during the dance, an undiscovered treasure. The mystery baffled him. Meanwhile, Lucy gazed at him with a fencer’s focus and parted lips, driving him further into confusion. He breathed a deep sigh when Charlotte finally halted the session and dismissed the staff.
“We shall require practice every day for some time to properly prepare Lucy. However, I believe she performed very well today.”
“Yes,” managed Henry with a mumble, “but with a caveat.”
Lucy glanced at him with concern. “Oh? What did I do wrong?”
“It is nothing, really, but in the interest of propriety, I would offer a slight correction. A noble woman moves from the hips downward, leaving her torso erect and unmoving. When you dance, your torso is a bit more…lively. And likely distracting to your partner.”
She put her hand to her mouth briefly before apologizing. “Forgive me. I was not aware of that fact. However, the presence of such a flaw only stands to reason.”
“Because?”
“Because I first learned to dance by imitating Madam Kamescro, the beautiful young gypsy wife of one of Steadman’s associates. What you say explains one of my longstanding questions, though.”
“And what question is that?”
“Why all the men watched with slack jaws when she danced. I always believed they regarded only her skill. Now, I know differently.”
Charlotte giggled. “And she showed you a gypsy dance?”
“She did, in fact.”
“How does it go? Will you demonstrate for us?”
“I do not believe that will be necess…” Henry began, but his words came too late. Lucy began to move in a gyration of hip, torso, shoulder, and neck that stole the words from his lips. Only after a few moments did he realize his jaw had gone slack. He glanced at his sister to find her blushing in fascination. He gripped Lucy’s shoulder to halt her movements.
“That, uh, will be quite enough.” He wiped his abruptly perspiring brow with the back of a hand. She gazed up at him with a frown, clearly wondering what she had done wrong. His frown turned up slightly.
“You most certainly did Madam Kamescro justice in your rendition of her dance. However, perhaps you should avoid such demonstrations when in noble company. I fear others would neither understand nor appreciate your unique gypsy education. And now, if you will excuse me, I desire a long walk.”
Without another word, he exited the ballroom on his way to the fields, more bewildered than ever.
…
Late afternoon found Lucy huddled inside Henry’s childhood hideaway behind the secret panel. Sunlight filtered through the small, still-grimy window high on the wall of the narrow space, doing little to illuminate her confusion over Henry’s abrupt departure. While pondering the situation, she realized several truths that had somehow eluded her before. Firstly, Henry’s general demeanor toward her had altered over the past weeks from open animosity to kindness to…something more. Secondly, she had found him watching her no longer in the manner of a critic, but in a more unnerving way. Finally, she was coming to accept the astonishing realization that she reciprocated his possible feelings—a fact that merely added to her general sense of bafflement.
Weary of the cycle of unresolved thought, she began picking through a stack of dust-covered books. Her attempt to brush them clean produced a series of sneezes that eventually forced her to wipe her nose discreetly on a sleeve. Then, a familiar book tucked into the corner caught her eye. She leaned to retrieve it and brushed away a thick coat of dust.
“Robinson Crusoe,” she whispered. Memories of that day long ago crowded the space, nearly springing to life in her vivid recollection. Henry had seemed glum then, but her presence had appeared to revive him. It was no wonder she had been so effusive then. That day had represented the peak of her hopes, the apex of her future plans. Little did she know at the time that her castle of dreams would soon come crashing down.
As she cracked open the book, a new round of dust erupted from its pages, producing another fit of sneezing. This time, however, when she looked up from wiping her sleeve, a face startled her.