Lady Winters repeated faintly.
“Capital idea!” Squire Everett said. “We’ve numbers enough for a respectable set. You can play for us, Emily.”
Lady Ardith walked over then to put an entreating hand on the earl’s arm. “Oh, yes, you must dance with me! Do say you will play for us, dear Lady Winters.”
“Nay,” Lord Beaulieu said, slipping his arm from under Lady Ardith’s grasping fingers in one smooth movement. “I insist on leading my charming hostess into the first set. I’ve heard, Lady Winters, you were such a belle at your debut Season the gentlemen called each other out over the privilege of escorting you.”
“Aye, a regular diamond our Emily was,” the squire confirmed proudly. “Winters was smitten the moment he saw her. Weren’t the only one, neither—even the old Duke of Clarendon came calling on her.”
“I’ll wager she can outdance us all still,” Lord Beaulieu said. “If you would do me the honor, my lady?” He made her the exaggerated leg of a Georgian courtier.
“Oh, la,” Lady Winters said, her face pinking with a mingling of pleasure and alarm. “I—I …”
“Excellent,” the earl said. “Squire, Dr. MacDonovan approaches, so you’d best be quick if you wish to capture Lady Ardith for the first set.” Ignoring the dagger glance that lady shot him, he turned to the rest of the company. “Ladies, gentlemen, choose your partners.”
He turned back to Laura. “You will play for us, Mrs. Martin? I understand you are quite skilled.” Without awaiting a reply, he offered his arm to the blushing Lady Winters and led her to where the couples were assembling.
Laura made her way to the piano, trying not to feel so … deflated. What had she expected—that the earl would ask lowly Mrs. Martin to dance? A woman who, whatever her origins, now occupied a position less elevated than a governess. A woman who, as Lady Ardith had cogently reminded the company earlier, had to earn her own bread.
She should focus on that fact and forget the seductive magic so briefly evoked by a borrowed gown.
“Let me help you find some music.”
Mr. Blackthorne stood beside the piano, distracting her out of her dispiriting reflections.
“A country dance, perhaps?” he suggested.
She nodded, as perversely comforted now by his attention as she had been unsettled by it earlier. After selecting a piece, she began to play.
Within a few moments, joy at the mellow chords produced by the squire’s fine instrument succeeded in dissipating her melancholy. She glanced up to the dancers—and found the reverend’s eyes focused on her with alarming warmth. A smile leaped to his face as their eyes met and he winked. Then, as he bent to turn the page of music, he placed a hand on her bared shoulder.
She jumped, missing the next chord. The earl whipped a glance over to them and frowned. Removing his hand, Mr. Blackthorne stepped back, but she had to struggle to recapture the beat, her quiet enjoyment shattered. Though he did not touch her again for the remainder of the piece, Laura remained uncomfortably conscious of his presence beside her.
After the music ended, Laura looked up to find the earl regarding them frostily. “Mr. Blackthorne, we have ladies in need of partners. I’m sure Mrs. Martin can keep her place in the music without assistance. Lady Ramsdale, did you not request the reverend’s escort?”
“If you please, sir,” the knight’s wife said. “You’re ever so fine a dancer.”
Laura thought for a moment Reverend Blackthorne would refuse. Then with a sigh, he murmured, “You will excuse me?” and walked to the dancers.
Waiting for a cue to begin the next piece, Laura watched the earl bow over the hand of Lady Winters who, flushed and laughing, shook her head in demurral. Whatever he said in those deep, even tones must have been persuasive, for after a moment, still shaking her head, she let him lead her once again into place beside him.
To her horror, Laura felt a shaft of bitter envy pierce her.
If she were reduced to resenting the gentle, silly Lady Winters, it was long past time to depart. The minute the dancers tired of their sport, she would take her leave.
Laura tried, but was unable to recapture her previous delight in the music itself. After the current dance ended and the earl, insisting Lady Winters dance now with Dr. MacDonovan, turned to claim a waiting Lady Ardith, what tepid enthusiasm she had mustered dissipated completely.
She tried to ignore the girlish giggles and arch tones that disrupted her concentration whenever the movements of the dance brought the earl and Lady Ardith nearby. When, after the last chord faded, the beauty immediately implored Lord Beaulieu to partner her again, Laura had to fight to keep from grinding her teeth.
She should have escaped earlier. Now her lovely memories of the party would be soured by the sound of Lady Ardith’s breathy voice and high-pitched titters.
Which is exactly what she ought to recall, argued the wiser, more cautious part of her. She’d been given a lovely gown and treated with deference by the company, which was everything and more than a woman in her position could expect or desire. She should banish once and for all every other moonstruck fancy.
“Yes, my lord, one more dance,” Lady Ardith cooed. “And we simply must make it a waltz!” She looked over at Laura, her expression a mixture of triumph and disdain. How dare you try to garner any attention at my party, it said. “You do know how to play a waltz, Mrs. Martin?”
Ignoble but instinctive fury shook Laura. But before she could mendaciously deny she knew anything about the waltz, Lord Beaulieu intervened. “A treat we shall have to postpone, my lady. Our hostess is looking fatigued.”
Lady Ardith’s smile faded to a moue of annoyance, but the earl had already relinquished her hand to stride toward the small group gathered around Lady Winters. Their hostess did in fact look ill, swaying on her feet as her brother supported her and Lady Ramsdale fanned her rapidly.
“Lady Winters, are you all right?” the earl demanded.
“A bit overcome by the heat,” the squire replied. “I think I’d best take her up to bed. I’ve instructed the staff to bring in the tea tray. Mrs. Martin, would you kindly pour for us?”
With a flare of irritation, Laura nearly refused performing this additional service. If she did so, however, she knew the hostess’s task would fall to Lady Elspeth, who ought to be delivered a cup and allowed to rest. “Of course, Squire Everett.”
“She’ll be as right as a trivet once her woman gets her tucked up in bed,” the squire assured the rest of the company. “Come, my dear, and wave your goodbyes to our guests. I’ll have you upstairs in a hound pup’s lick.”
“Please allow me to assist,” the earl said, “and selfishly steal a few minutes longer with the most graceful dancer of the evening.” Having received a weak smile from Lady Winters, he motioned in the servants who stood at the doorway, heavily loaded trays in hand. “Mrs. Martin will serve.” Taking Lady Winter’s other arm, he helped the squire lead her from the room.
My lord of Beaulieu was certainly good at ordering people about, Laura thought resentfully as she took her place behind the
