Wilful Impropriety (37 page)

“Though it may seem stylish,” he said, and on
stylish
his voice was a warning against drawing attention, “it is still better to hold up one’s skirt than to try to mend a rip in between the waltz and the quadrille. So, Miss Clement, if fashion dictates a train, please care for it. A gentleman will understand.”

Miss Hammond obligingly removed her right hand from Mr. Martin’s, and caught up her skirt in the pressed-together flat of her hand, held with the thumb. An inch of gray flannel petticoat appeared above her right boot.

William blinked. “And what would the man do with his hand, then?”

(Leah remembered that this Season would be his first, too.)

“Behind his back, of course,” said Mr. Martin, and demonstrated. “A gentleman never questions the desires of a lady.”

It looked quite dashing when he did it, maybe even more than it did when their hands were joined.

Not that Leah would ever say so; she guessed that the last thing Mama would want was for her to distinguish herself by being stylish, or any other thing.

“The man steps backward,” Mr. Martin said, “so that the lady may step forward and preserve her hem.” He demonstrated, and after a tiny hesitation, Miss Hammond followed him, her hand tightening a little on the edge of Mr. Martin’s shoulder as she tried for balance.

“From there, it’s a simple pair of steps, and then into the next turn,” Mr. Martin said. As he spoke, he was already moving faster, too fast for Leah to understand what was required of her, though Miss Hammond followed with no trouble.

(Of course she would have no trouble with dancing, Leah remembered; Miss Hammond had had prospects, once.)

Mr. Martin was humming now, and his golden hair caught the light every time he came in line with one of the windows, where the afternoon was going.

“It’s really no trouble,” Mr. Martin said as they passed, his smile flashing, his hand on Miss Hammond’s back.

(Leah curled her fingers around the edge of the chair.)

William shifted beside Leah, glancing from them to her and back again. She suspected he was wishing he had accepted Reg’s invitation before an even speedier exercise was introduced.

Leah hardly cared; she was fixed, watching Mr. Martin and Miss Hammond.

They turned circles within circles in the little empty ballroom, Mr. Martin’s smile growing as he hummed a song for them to keep time to, that one inch of Miss Hammond’s gray petticoat flashing in and out of sight like a dove’s wings.

•   •   •

That afternoon was the waltz.

Tuesday was the polka.

Wednesday was the quadrille.

“It’s a simple enough dance as regards steps,” said Mr. Martin. “But an ease of carriage is what makes it a pleasure to watch, and to dance. Let us practice, then, and think of effortless grace.”

“Oh Lord,” Leah said under her breath, “we’ll be here until Sunday, then.”

William covered a laugh in a cough. Leah wasn’t sure if it was compliment or mockery.

Two hours of practice later, she still was sure of nothing, except that grace should never be counted among the things in life on which she could rely.

“You look perfectly all right,” William said, with a narrowed glance at Mr. Martin. “He’s just trying to be worth his fee, I suspect. You didn’t tread on me once.”

“Comforting,” said Leah, and he almost smiled.

(It must have been a comfort, though; the next round her hands weren’t even shaking.)

•   •   •

Thursday was the mazurka.

“The trick to the mazurka,” Mr. Martin advised, “is the sharp, clear action of the feet, and the easy movement from figure to figure.”

He was demonstrating, counting off the steps, as he and Miss Hammond skipped this way and that; when he sank onto one knee, she held his upstretched hand in the tips of her fingers, and moved around him like a bright ribbon around a maypole.

Leah and William stood side by side, watching the dance unfold. Leah felt almost calm about it; the dance made so little sense that it seemed any mistakes could be covered up by swiftly changing direction, flinging out an arm, and hopping in a circle.

“Leah,” said William, “I hope your shoes are sturdy.”

Miss Hammond looked over, smiling. “I’m sure it will be second nature, Mr. Foster.”

He inclined his head. “Then I might ask for your guidance, Miss Hammond.”

Miss Hammond glanced at Mr. Martin; he frowned, barely, and then a moment later he was smiling at Leah, holding out a hand, saying, “Let us begin!”

As it happened, Leah could acquit herself quite well in the mazurka.

The same could not be said of her cousin.

Finally even Miss Hammond was required to sit out to recover herself. William bowed her into a seat, and seemed on the verge of retreating, until Mr. Martin said, “Now, let us see how well the students learn from one another!”

(He spoke to William, but watched her all the while.)

With the look of a martyr, William took hold; his hands were cold, and Leah felt a flash of sympathy.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll make a fool of myself before you do.”

“We’ll see about that, I suppose,” he said, but there was a ghost of a smile on his face, and his fingers were a little steadier as Mr. Martin counted off the beat, and with Leah holding him back from a wrong move twice, they muddled through.

(He stepped on her toe, once, but when he moved to apologize she made a little warning face, and the corners of his eyes folded up when he smiled.)

When they finished, Miss Hammond applauded.

“Well done, Leah,” she said. “Lovely!”

Leah flushed, and pulled her hands from William’s.

“We’ll see how long it holds,” she said. “Miss Hammond, you must promise to practice with me in London, so it’s fresh when I venture out.”

Some little shadow crossed Miss Hammond’s face, but she only said, “Of course, my dear.”

William was looking at her—too solemnly, she thought, there was no hope for him with a dance like this—and she had already started to ask him what he saw to make him so grave when the dressing bell rang, and it was time to change one low bodice for another.

Friday, William did not come.

Leah promenaded and quadrilled with Mr. Martin until her whole vision was filled with golden curls, and bright smiles, and two blue eyes that Leah did not like.

•   •   •

“So,” said Mama at dinner on Saturday, all smiles, “Reg tells me that you’ve been spending some of your afternoons with Leah during her dance lessons, William? That’s very kind.”

“It’s certainly something,” said Reg, and took a punctuating sip of soup.

“Leah and Mr. Martin are very kind to let me join,” William said. “I have much to learn before the Season, I think.”

“I’m sure Leah enjoys your company,” she said.

“You might ask her,” William said.

It was just calm enough to sound polite, and just pointed enough that Leah looked up from her plate.

Mama blinked, and turned to Leah.

“Leah? How was today’s lesson?”

They had practiced round dances again until Leah was relatively certain she wouldn’t cause a knot in the figure; then they had turned to waltzing, for quite a while after the steps had been learned, and for a purpose Leah couldn’t guess.

(“I suppose it’s just as well,” Leah said. “I should get used to it now. There’s no good in going to London just to get seasick from it in someone’s ballroom.”

“That would make a banner night,” William said, and she’d been so startled she laughed.)

“Thorough,” she said. Then, struck by something a little perverse, she added, “William is a very steady partner.”

That got his attention.

He looked up at her with a strange expression, seeming on the verge of speaking, until Mama turned her praises on him; then he was trapped in polite nothings for a while longer, and by then it was Father’s turn to rouse himself and talk about all the sport William had missed, and so they didn’t say another word.

(She placed it more quickly than she wanted to admit; it was the same expression he’d had when she’d laughed at his joke, and she had stopped worrying about her feet, and for a moment they had been comfortable together.

But then she had glanced at Miss Hammond—she didn’t know why—and when she looked back, he looked as solemn as before, and Leah was back to feeling as though all the manuals in the world were useless.

Miss Hammond had been waltzing with Mr. Martin, smiling as if she had stumbled on another Season, and Leah had wondered what sort of prospects could have ever passed her by.)

•   •   •

The lady who gives a ball should endeavor to secure an equal number of dancers of both sexes. Many private parties are spoiled by the preponderance of young ladies, some of whom never get partners at all, unless they dance with each other.

—
Routledge

•   •   •

After dinner, Father must have been in high spirits, because when he led Reg and William into the drawing room, he was already looking for Leah, and even though she only caught “. . . little demonstration,” meant over his shoulder for William, she could guess what was coming.

“Oh, yes,” said Mama, turning to her. “A splendid idea. And Miss Hammond can accompany. Stevens, please ask Miss Hammond and Mr. Martin to come down.”

“Good heavens,” said Reg, “this is like watching someone being sent to the gallows.”

“That’s enough of that,” said Father, and Reg finished his brandy with a sour face, and said nothing more.

William finished his, as well, and then stood holding the glass as if looking for a way out.

Leah’s sleeves cut into her shoulders, and she felt as though the waist of her skirt had gone suddenly too loose, and would fall as soon as she stood.

She concentrated on the tips of her fingers. It was no worse here than in the afternoon; this was much better than some great ballroom in London with everyone watching her to criticize. Why was she so anxious?

“Lady Clement,” Miss Hammond said from the doorway. “Thank you so much for the invitation to join you.”

Leah glanced up sidelong at Miss Hammond in her deep gray dress, who didn’t seem at all disconcerted that she was being summoned to be of use.

(She had prospects, Leah thought fiercely, that’s what made it all so terrible—she deserved better than Leah ever would.)

Mr. Martin came in a moment later, still fixing the last of the knot in his cravat.

He glanced at Miss Hammond, who had already seated herself at the piano.

“I see there’s to be dancing,” he said a moment later, giving the room a bow.

Mother smiled. “If you would oblige us,” she said, “we would dearly love some entertainment this evening.”

“With greatest pleasure!” He held out a hand. “Would you care to quadrille with me, Lady Clement?”

And so it began. Leah partnered with William for the quadrille, and then through a mazurka for which Mama herself played the music, so that Miss Hammond could make a fourth.

For the waltz, Miss Hammond was invited back to her seat, and as Mama and Father partnered up, Mr. Martin held out his hand to Leah.

“Miss Clement,” he said, and when he smiled she had the impression of teeth where there were none.

(A lady couldn’t refuse an invitation at a private party; all men there were of impeccable character.)

“Of course,” she said, and picked up her skirt in her right hand.

They made circles around the evening parlor, William frowning at them from a corner, and Miss Hammond at the piano in glimpses no longer than a blink, watching Mr. Martin and Leah as if there were tears in her eyes.

Something about that look—something about it all—was overwhelming, so that long after Leah was safe back in her seat, her heart was pounding.

•   •   •

Leah couldn’t settle in, the whole time she was preparing for bed.

Miss Hammond’s face at the piano was haunting, was a sign of something dreadful.

(It’s as if she was jealous, Leah thought—she didn’t know why—and for a moment her heart turned over.)

Alone in her room, she clutched her dressing gown closed, and looked at herself in the mirror.

She looked older.

Courage, she thought over and over, courage, courage, until she could walk up the stairs and knock gently on Miss Hammond’s door.

Miss Hammond was still dressed, and when she opened the door she seemed startled to see Leah.

“I’m so sorry,” said Leah, “but I had to see you. Is it all right?”

Miss Hammond blinked, and something sad and fleeting moved over her face.

“Of course,” she said, and stepped aside.

Her desk was cluttered with books in neat stacks, and some abandoned writing, and Leah smiled at it as she sat on the bed.