Chapter 17 #2
“No need to glare. It is only a jest. And one you might return, since I am off to turn her pages.”
William did not wait for a reply, and Ambrose struggled not to frown and watch his progress to the piano. He did not want to see what kind of smile Susanna greeted William with.
Instead he turned, made his way to Miss Witworth, and asked her to dance.
The first dance was lively, and with such a small group there was little opportunity to speak. Miss Witworth’s cheeks grew flushed and her eyes brightened with each step. She seemed less austere than before. She was a better dancer than Ambrose but did not seem to mind his missteps.
He would have made fewer mistakes if he had kept his mind on the dance and not constantly glanced at the piano. It gratified him that Susanna was fully engaged in her playing and giving little heed to William.
At the end of the dance there was laughter and applause. Then after a short interlude, partners were switched and a second dance began. Ambrose was now partnering Miss Colley, while Mr. Scott was with Miss Witworth, and Grace and Henry stayed together.
Miss Colley did not dance as elegantly as Miss Witworth, but she had more energy and enthusiasm. The pace was slower and allowed for a few remarks. Ambrose praised the young lady and she graciously accepted while also giving him small corrections.
At the end of the song, they paused to enjoy refreshments brought by the footmen. William joined them and Grace took her glass to the piano. After a few words with Miss Susanna, they exchanged places.
Susanna made her way to the group. She came straight to Ambrose’s side, like an arrow to a target. He felt his shoulders straighten as his heart picked up speed. Some part of him had expected her to go to William, that her declaration of dancing with him had been a jest.
At William’s urging they all returned to the makeshift dance floor. Henry was now turning pages for his wife, and Mr. Scott was again with Miss Colley.
Grace played the opening notes of a much slower and more sedate piece. There would be no skipping and clapping for this dance. Was it for Miss Witworth’s benefit? As Susanna predicted, the woman’s spirits had flagged.
They all faced their partners. Ambrose took the opportunity to enjoy Susanna’s bright countenance. She smiled as if there was no one she preferred over him. Warmth poured through him like sinking into a hot bath.
The dance began and they reached out and grasped hands before stepping close. Her hazel eyes never left his as they executed the steps. He swallowed thickly as they moved apart. He was almost grateful to turn his back on her. The heat from the nursery had returned in full force.
This would not be like their previous dances. There would be no jokes, no pretending to forget the steps, no playfully stepping on each other’s feet.
The next part of the dance brought his hand to her waist as his other hand touched hers above their heads.
He caught the scent of roses and sunshine.
She might have spoken, might have teased him or grinned, but instead she met his eyes with an unexpected seriousness.
The flecks of green near her pupils seemed to shimmer in the candlelight.
He had danced these steps with many women, usually in crowded rooms, and it had never felt intimate. His mind had always been on performing the movements exactly. But now all he could think about was the heat of her hand, the softness of her body, and the depth in her eyes.
Lost in sensation, he could not form words. He heard the other couples conversing and knew their silence would seem odd. But to talk seemed tantamount to shouting during a priest’s prayer. He did not want to sully their dance with polite, inane conversation.
The dance ended.
Their gazes lingered as the notes faded.
The clapping of the others seemed to wake him from a dream. His heart beat as if he had finished a lively jig. He could not quite feel the floor beneath his feet.
After several breaths, he tore his eyes from Susanna in confusion.
Had anyone noticed the strangeness between them?
He glanced at the others, but there were no questioning or censorious looks. All seemed unaware that the dance had been anything out of the ordinary. He turned back to Susanna, but she was speaking with Mr. Scott. No doubt they would dance the next together.
It felt impossible that she had felt nothing as they danced. But it was equally impossible to know for certain. Out of sorts and unequal to attending to the steps, he turned to a tired Miss Witworth and offered to sit with her for the final dance.
Somehow he managed to hold a conversation and behave normally for the rest of the evening.
Once in his room, unwinding his cravat, he allowed himself to think and plan.
It was now undeniable that he felt something for Susanna Fenton beyond exasperation.
What was more, it was strong enough to defy his reason.
It reminded him of Miss Popjoy, and that was frightening.
He could not act irrationally. He could not lose his senses.
Not when he was meant to be finding a companion for his life.
Why not her? a small voice whispered inside him.
He sank onto his bed and put his head into his hands.
Marry Miss Susanna? It did not bear thinking about.
Throwing aside his cravat, he went to the small table and retrieved his notebook. He would not be led by his unreliable emotions.
He would make a list of all the reasons Susanna was unsuitable. That would return him to rationality. Once he saw her faults written down, his wild thoughts would be tamed.
The list would fortify him against his base instincts but not fully protect him. Caution and distance would be required to keep him safe from danger. He would simply have to avoid Susanna for the rest of the party.
He had worked too hard and planned too carefully to let sentiment ruin his chance at finding his ideal wife.