Chapter Twelve
Hattie’s pulse throbbed in her neck and she clasped her gloved hands as she stood in front of the closed ballroom door, willing herself the courage to knock. Nerves jumped under her skin. For the thousandth time she wondered why she had agreed to this ruse of becoming Lady Penelope.
Over the last few days, she had been poked with sewing needles as dresses had been altered, squeezed into the most uncomfortable underclothes one could fathom, learned far too much about the gossip of the ton and attempted to remember confusing rules about cutlery etiquette for dining.
And now the worst of all she had to learn remained…
she swallowed hard and rolled her shoulders that ached with tension. She had to learn to dance.
And with a duke…the Duke.
She groaned inwardly. She needed a pep talk from Ophelia and Trudy, but they weren’t here. She bit her lip. What would they say?
Go in with your head held high. You can do this.
She imagined Ophelia’s sweet voice and how she would hold her hands and encourage her.
If you do not go in, I will open the door and shove you in.
She smirked at what she imagined Trudy would say.
Hattie lifted her head, squared her shoulders and knocked lightly on the door.
She could and would do this. She had made an agreement for Millie’s sake, which she would honour.
If this plan of theirs wasn’t successful, Hattie would still leave with a recommendation of employment from the Duke for herself, Trudy and Ophelia, her pay, and a lump sum to begin anew elsewhere.
Either way, she would be protected, she reminded herself.
And this…this was simply another adventure.
Even if she fell flat on her face, she was doing something new and different. Right? The click-clacks of heeled steps on the hardwood floors echoed louder towards the door and her eyes flew open.
Her heart began to race. Her body heated. Was it too late to flee?
Stand your ground, Hat. It is only dancing.
Trudy was right. Hattie needed to stand her ground.
The door opened and Lady Buchanan stood before her with a smile.
‘Just in time, my dear. I was cueing up the pianoforte.’ She winked, clutched Hattie’s gloved hand and pulled her joyfully into the enormous and equally gorgeous ballroom.
Hattie’s limbs felt tingly and light at the sight of it.
The grandeur of the space stopped her in her tracks and she stood staring at the room before her that was being transformed for a ball.
‘It is absolutely gorgeous,’ she murmured as she took in the large wooden floors gleaming with the afternoon light splashing along them and the high ceilings and moulding.
The most glorious crystal chandelier she had ever seen glistened above her and tables with pristine white cloths and silver had been nested in between the windows.
An area for musicians had been assembled near the pianoforte and the grand dual staircase that led to the top floor curled gracefully to the dance floor like the open arms of a mother’s welcoming embrace.
‘That, my dear, is where you will make your grand entrance,’ Lady Buchanan said, pointing to the landing at the top of the stairs.
Hattie gulped. ‘There?’ she asked.
‘Yes. We all will. You will be announced at the top of the stairs and then come gracefully down.’
‘And I will be with you, Miss Potts,’ His Grace added, emerging from the other end of the room. Hattie had not even seen him. He cut a fine figure in his suit and gloves. Her throat went dry. His handsomeness was becoming quite a distraction.
‘It shall not be so bad,’ Daphne offered.
‘And if I fall down the stairs?’ she murmured.
‘You will do no such thing,’ Daphne added, rubbing Hattie’s shoulder.
‘Are you ready to learn a few dances, Miss Potts?’ His Grace asked.
‘My cousin tells me it is important for us to appear comfortable with one another as dance partners for the ball, so that we are believable as a couple. The only way to do that is practise, but I must confess I do not enjoy dancing as much as I should.’
‘Do ignore him, my dear. His Grace is a fine dancer, but lacks confidence, which is shocking, I know. While in all other areas he is a touch arrogant, he is not on the dance floor,’ she teased, and he shot her daggers.
Hattie laughed, immediately put at ease by their banter. It reminded her of Ophelia and Trudy when they were at odds about something ridiculous. Hattie relaxed her hands by her sides. ‘What shall we learn first? I am hopeless at all dancing and have never been to a ball.’
They stilled and studied her. ‘Never?’ The Duke of Wimberley asked.
‘No, Your Grace. There are not many reasons to go if one is not invited and there were few invitations for such frivolities growing up in an orphanage.’
He shook his head and a bit of colour heated his cheeks. ‘Apologies. It was a foolish question.’
His discomfort somehow put her at ease. Instead of feeling embarrassed, it felt good to tell the truth and to not hide it from them. ‘You would not have known, Your Grace. Our worlds are quite…opposite.’
‘You are gracious, my dear,’ Lady Buchanan replied as she settled in at the pianoforte. ‘Why don’t we begin with learning the steps of an English country dance? If that goes well, we will build in the Scottish reel.’
Drat.
Hattie wrung her hands. ‘How many dances are there to learn?’
‘Really only two, Miss Potts. The quadrille and waltz are too scandalous…for now.’ He winked at her.
‘Scandalous? Why?’ Hattie asked, laughing.
‘Too intimate, my dear,’ Lady Buchanan said. ‘To have a man unknown to you clutch you at the waist and dance so closely isn’t deemed civilised…until those at Almack’s say otherwise, which will probably be soon. The world is changing after all. Must keep up with the times.’
‘I have seen you waltz, Cousin,’ His Grace teased.
‘Yes, you have, and let us leave it at that,’ she replied, sending him a sharp look.
He held up his hands in supplication. ‘I shall say no more.’
Soon a joyful tune resonated through the large empty room. ‘Now, imagine the room is filled with other couples.’ She ceased playing. ‘This will not be helpful to her if there are not others to be dancing around,’ she said, frowning. ‘I had not thought of it until now.’
Hattie’s throat dried. ‘Perhaps I could learn them before we add others. To limit some of my humiliation,’ she added.
Lady Buchanan began the music again. ‘Right you are. One thing at a time. But there is no humiliation, Miss Potts. His Grace will guide you. It is his job as the lead. Is it not, Cousin?’ She lifted her brow and he nodded.
‘Yes, of course. If you struggle, I am to blame, if that puts you at ease.’ He flashed her a smile and stretched out his hand. ‘Let us begin before my cousin finds yet another reason to chastise me.’
Hattie returned his smile and stepped forward.
She slid her gloved hand into his and the moment his warm, strong fingers wrapped around hers she felt safe in a way she hadn’t expected.
He squeezed her hand in encouragement and his eyes were warm and full of belief.
‘Mirror what I do,’ he said, moving in step with the music.
She hesitated.
‘You shall be wonderful, Miss Potts, as you have been with everything else you have encountered here,’ he encouraged. ‘This shall be no different.’
She nodded and a shiver ran down her spine.
How long had it been since anyone other than Trudy and Ophelia had believed in her so?
Emotion tightened her throat as she followed his movements and mirrored them as best she could.
If she wasn’t careful, she was going to start believing this ruse of theirs.
‘Well done,’ Lady Buchanan called. ‘Keep going.’
His Grace picked up speed with his movements as she progressed and soon their steps and turns were in time with the pace of the music. She tripped at a turn and he clasped her at the waist to prevent a fall.
‘I’m sorry,’ she stammered, staring up into his blue eyes, so close due to his hold along her waist.
‘No apologies needed, Miss Potts,’ he replied in a low tone. It sent a trill of vibration through her.
His Grace righted Hattie and released her. She patted her eyes, trying to regain her focus and composure as she smoothed her dress. She turned to face Lady Buchanan as the music had ceased and the woman stared upon her expectantly.
Blast. She had missed the woman’s question. Hattie smiled in hopes the enquiry might be repeated.
‘That is why the waltz is so scandalous,’ Lady Buchanan called out to her with a wink. ‘It dashes your reason. Shall we try again?’
Hattie’s ears warmed and she nodded. The woman was right.
Hattie hardly knew where she was. She breathed deeply, squared her shoulders and accepted His Grace’s hand.
But this was just a taste of what Saturday would be.
All eyes would be on her. She needed to stop being Hattie Potts and start living like Lady Penelope Denning, who wouldn’t be nervous around anyone.
Not even her fake betrothed, the dashingly handsome Duke of Wimberley.
Stop it, you cad.
William adjusted his grip on Miss Potts’s gloved hand and turned them.
What was wrong with him? He had no right feeling anything towards Miss Potts.
It didn’t matter how lovely she felt in his hold, or the way her soft blush warmed her cheeks, or the sweet floral smell of her as she twirled by him.
She was his employee, his daughter’s governess, and doing him the favour of a lifetime by attempting to be his fake betrothed.
If he wasn’t careful, he would ruin everything before the charade had even begun by feeling something for this woman.
Fool, he cursed himself.