Authors: Diane Farr
“T
enacious? That
’
s a polite word for what you are.
”
“O
n the other hand, I
’
m a fairly good dancer,
”
he offered.
“W
hich brings us back to the point of our discussion. Will you do me the honor, Lady
Cynthia
, of standing up with me?
”
He held up one finger in a warning gesture.
“B
e careful! You mustn
’
t read too much into my invitation, or I will begin to think you conceited. I have asked you to dance with me, not marry me.
”
He was so ridiculous, she found herself fighting an impulse to laugh.
“Y
ou
have
asked me to marry you,
”
she muttered resentfully.
“C
onceited, indeed! I am no such thing.
”
“W
ell, then, let me point out that the invitations were issued separately. Consent to one does not bind you to the other.
”
What an attractive smile he had. One could not help returning such a smile, however reluctantly.
“V
ery well,
”
she said.
“O
ne dance.
”
Inspiration struck. She felt her smile turn sly.
“T
he pavane, if they play it.
”
“T
he pavane!
That hasn’t been danced since—
”
He cut himself off abruptly
.
“
And yet,
I
feel sure they will play it
tonight
. I have an instinct about
such things.
”
There was a cunning gleam in his eye; obviously Derek
was planning
to bribe the musicians.
Cynthia
had to look away to keep from laughing aloud.
“P
ray take me back to Lord and Lady Grafton. You may come and find me when you hear the pavane.
If
you hear the pavane.
”
“O
h, I may come and find you long before that,
”
he assured her.
She tried to look stern.
“I
beg you will not. You have a most unsettling effect upon me, Mr. Whittaker. You made me lose my temper
—
something that has happened so seldom in my life, I nearly failed to recognize it just now.
”
“I
t
’
s good for you.
”
His face was alight with mischief.
“E
ven the iciest of ice queens must have someone in her life whom she cannot frighten.
”
“H
ow absurd you are! I don
’
t frighten people.
”
He looked skeptically at her.
“W
hat would you call it?
”
She bit her lip.
“I
t
’
s unkind of you to tease me about my shyness,
”
she said with dignity.
He threw back his head and gave a delighted yelp of laughter.
“T
ouché! I apologize, my lady.
”
“T
hen you will take me back now?
”
“Y
our wish is my command.
”
He lifted her hand and laid it on his sleeve, covering it with his own.
The dynamic between them subtly shifted when he touched her. She looked pointedly down at his hand covering hers.
“Y
ou are too familiar, sir,
”
she said, but not convincingly. The words came out high-pitched and breathless.
“A
h,
Cynthia
, don
’
t frost me,
”
he murmured coaxingly. His voice was so low and intimate, it sent shivers through her.
“L
et me touch you while I may.
”
Her heart seemed to flutter in her chest at these provoking words. Before she had time to think better of the impulse, her eyes had lifted to his
—
a fatal error. The maidenly protest she was preparing to utter died, unspoken, on her lips. Instead, she heard herself say, in a broken whisper, words that seemed to bubble up out of nowhere.
“D
erek, you will be the death of me. I don
’
t know whether I am on my head or my heels when I am with you.
”
She saw his eyes darken with understanding. The rest of the room seemed to fade and float away, leaving the two of them utterly alone in some sweet and private place.
“Y
ou keep trying to follow the rules,
”
he told her softly.
“B
ut
Cynthia
, my darling girl, the rules do not apply to us.
”
His words made no sense, and yet they rang utterly true. She felt in the depths of her soul that he was right.
Cynthia
shuddered and looked away, trying to regain her poise by breaking their eye contact. They were still, after all, at the edge of a foyer near a crowded ballroom.
“T
ake me back,
”
she said faintly.
“I
cannot think when I am with you.
”
“Y
ou know that I am right.
”
“I
t seems to me,
”
she said wretchedly,
“
that I know absolutely nothing anymore. And the older I get, the more certain I become that everything I once knew is wrong. Take me back, Derek. Please.
”
Chapter
12
Half in a dream,
Cynthia
watched Derek disappear, heading purposefully toward the stairs. The stairs led to the mezzanine. The mezzanine led to the musicians. She smiled to herself, guessing his errand; he was going to ensure, by fair means or foul, that the pavane was played tonight. And
Cynthia
, rightly or wrongly, felt a flutter of giddy pleasure at his persistence.
She almost laughed, trying to picture the scene that was doubtless about to take place above her head. The pavane was an ancient, courtly dance, neither romantic nor fashionable. She imagined it was not among the pieces frequently requested by amorous young bucks.
She felt a sharp rap on her forearm and spun, startled. Her mother had walked up behind her and tapped her with her fan. Mama
’
s eyes were glittering with wrath.
Cynthia
went cold with fear at the sight.
“W
here have you been? Mr. Ellsworth is dancing with Lady Hannah.
”
“W
ell, Mama, I cannot dance every dance with him,
”
Cynthia
hedged, trying to sound reasonable.
“I
saw you walk off with Mr. Whittaker after the quadrille.
Cynthia
, for heaven
’
s sake, what are you about? Why did you not ask Mr. Ellsworth to bring you a glass of punch? You might have kept him by your side another quarter of an hour.
”
Cynthia
’
s control frayed.
“T
o what purpose? It
’
s absurd! I cannot
force
him to like me.
”
For an instant, Mama looked stunned. Then her eyes narrowed in fury.
“I
disagree,
”
she snapped
.
“A
nd who, pray, are you, to set up your will against mine? How dare you flout my authority, you ungrateful little snip? I have shown you every indulgence,
Cynthia
—
more than most parents would have done. Did you not promise me after Filey died, that if I let you rebuff all suitors for a twelvemonth, you would then marry at my bidding? Well? Did you not?
”
Her fingers dug painfully into
Cynthia
’
s arm.
“Y
es, Mama,
”
said
Cynthia
faintly, feeling utterly intimidated. How she loathed being scolded!
“M
ama, pray
—
pray let go of me.
”
Her mother did let go, flinging
Cynthia
’
s arm away with an angry huff.
“T
he idea!
”
she exclaimed.
“I
can
’
t force him to like me,
”
she mimicked, in an exaggerated, high-pitched whine.
“O
h, Mama,
pray
—”
“M
y point is, you haven
’
t tried properly! Why shouldn
’
t he like you? You are the most beautiful girl in the room tonight. Any man present would leap at the chance to enjoy your favor. But you show no interest in Mr. Ellsworth. You barely smile at him. You stand aloof and silent, rather than trying to ingratiate yourself with him. I have warned you,
Cynthia
, that you will get nowhere unless you adopt a more conciliatory manner. You simply must be more
approachable.
Is that so difficult?
”
“F
or me, yes, it is,
”
said
Cynthia
, agonized.
“I
don
’
t know why. I don
’
t mean to flout your authority, Mama. I know what I owe to you
—
to my family.
”
“I’
m glad to hear it,
”
her mother snapped, fanning herself in an agitated manner.
“I
believe you mean to be a good daughter,
Cynthia
. I merely ask that you
act
on it a little. Follow through, for heaven
’
s sake. The ten thousand Filey gave us is all but gone.
”
And who spent it
? Not
I.
Resentment, thick and black, bubbled up in
Cynthia
’
s heart again. It was unstoppable, like oil seeping from the depths of the earth. And, like oil, she felt she would never be rid of it, that now it had oozed out of whatever cranny had bred it, her heart would never again be wholly clean, never be free of its sticky filth. She would never love her mother the way she had in childhood. That trust, that purity, had been sullied forever by her growing anger.
She had to clamp her mouth shut to keep from saying words to her mother she knew she would regret. It did no good to lay blame, she reminded herself, fighting the ugly feelings. Ten thousand pounds was a great deal of money, but it had not been enough. It didn
’
t matter why. Her family had counted on thirty thousand, and had received only ten. She must marry a man with sufficient means to make up the difference. A hefty marriage settlement and, with luck, a yearly stipend for the bride
’
s parents; these were what Mama dreamed of. These were what her parents needed. And
Cynthia
was their only hope of securing such a windfall.
The music ended with a flourish. Mama darted back to Lady Ellsworth
’
s side to pursue her portion of the campaign: flattering and fawning upon Mr. Ellsworth
’
s parents.
Cynthia
was left alone to observe Mr. Ellsworth and Hannah leaving the floor.
Hannah was in a visible glow of spirits. As
Cynthia
watched, Mr. Ellsworth leaned in to her, with an indulgent smile, to hear her chatter.
Cynthia
knew she must detach her friend from Mr. Ellsworth. It was her duty to do so, and quickly. Mama was watching. She braced herself to tackle the distasteful task, but was spared
—
for the moment. The couple suddenly veered to the left, heading away from her and toward the refreshment rooms. She knew she shouldn
’
t feel so relieved... but she did.
And then Derek materialized at her side again, the deviltry in his grin causing her heart to do somersaults. She smiled, almost against her will, and felt the knots of tension in her shoulders mysteriously loosen. Just being with him made her feel better. And that made no sense at all, because she knew perfectly well that being with him increased the danger she was in.
“Y
ou look pleased with yourself,
”
she remarked.
“I’
m a clever, resourceful sort of chap,
”
he agreed.
“I
think you owe me a dance, my lady.
”
As he spoke, she heard the musicians starting up again. They were beginning, unmistakably, the pavane. She had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.
“W
hat an odd coincidence, that they would play the pavane. And so soon!
”
“W
ell, as it happens, the musicians didn
’
t intend to play it at all. They seemed to think no one would expect it. Tried to tell me it wasn
’
t danced any more.
”
“F
ancy that,
”
murmured
Cynthia
.
“H
ard to believe, isn
’
t it? Fortunately, I was able to convince them that the pavane is danced at all the best balls, and to leave it out would be shockingly remiss.
”
He offered his arm.
“I’
m a persuasive fellow, in my way.
”
“I
know you are.
”
She let him lead her on to the floor, still struggling to suppress a bubble of laughter.
“B
ut if they did not intend to play it at all, you must have been eloquent indeed. They changed their minds so completely as to play it immediately.
”
“T
here was some talk, originally, of simply tacking it on to the end of the programme,
”
he admitted.
“B
ut I scotched that.
”
“O
h?
”
She dipped in the customary curtsy, then stepped to his side with a graceful swirl and took her position for the dance.
“W
hy?
”
He actually had the cheek to
wink
at her.
“C
ouldn
’
t bear to wait that long,
”
he explained, lifting his hand to accept hers.
* * *
Something had happened while he was upstairs, greasing the musicians in the fist. He had known immediately, by the tense set of her shoulders and the storminess in her eyes. But he also noticed that her unhappiness, whatever its cause, melted away shortly after he arrived on the scene. He was glad of that. His experience of
Cynthia
was still limited, but it seemed to him that she was subtly different when he was around. Even when ripping up at him she seemed to be enjoying herself. And
Cynthia
did not have the look of someone who
enjoyed herself often.
He stole another glance at her. She was so lovely in that pale blue silk, he could scarcely believe she was real. It was obvious she had chosen to grant him the pavane out of pure perversity, believing that it would not be danced. But now that he had thwarted that bit of mischief, he had to own that she looked exceedingly beautiful dancing it. She glided demurely along beside him, arms daintily upheld in the traditional manner, her hand laid so lightly on the back of his that he could barely feel it. The courtly pose had been invented to show off the flowing sleeves of a Renaissance costume, but it served equally well to display
Cynthia
’
s pretty arms, bared in a way that the pavane
’
s original dancers would have found shocking. The infinitesimal sleeves and low neckline of today
’
s fashions exposed so much of her soft, gorgeous skin, the sight of it almost made his mouth water. He had to look away again, swallowing hard.
They were not the only dancers on the floor, much to Derek
’
s amusement. The pavane was the sort of dance everyone had been taught at one time or another, whether they had ever danced it publicly or no. And the steps were so simple and stately that the floor soon filled with couples
—
including those too infirm to dance more energetic dances, and those too unsure of their dancing skill to attempt more complex dances.
“W
e seem to have scored a hit,
”
he observed.
“N
aturally.
”
He cocked an eyebrow at her.
“O
h, did you expect it?
”
She looked amused.
“E
veryone likes the tried and true. When dancing, at any rate.
”
“T
he safety of the familiar.
”
“P
recisely.
”
“I
forget what to do when we reach the end of the floor. Do we hit the wall, or continue on out the door?
”
A little choke of laughter escaped her.
“I
shall pass in front of you, and we then promenade down the floor in the opposite direction.
”
“A
h, yes. It all comes back to me now.
”
“W
hy, Mr. Whittaker, anyone would think that you rarely danced the pavane.
”
Her tone sounded almost flirtatious. Was she teasing him? He devoutly hoped so. If he did nothing else for his lady love, he hoped, at least, to bring a little fun into her life.
He looked down his nose at her in a comical way, and drawled,
“L
ady
Cynthia
, you wound me. We have established, have we not, that the pavane is danced at all the
best
balls? What do you take me for
—
a bumpkin?
”