Chapter 25
“One, two, three, and now, Lady Sophia, you pivot. Not like you are balancing a bowl of eels, but as if you are perfectly at ease with the notion of moving in public,” Lavinia instructed, gliding backward and gesturing for her pupil to do the same.
Sophia, valiantly determined but rigid as an embroidery hoop, stuttered through the turn, nearly colliding with a chair leg. She caught herself, her cheeks a burning pink, and stared at her slippers as if they had personally betrayed her.
“Again,” Lavinia said, hiding her smile. “This time, imagine you are floating across the floor, rather than marching to the gallows. Light and effortless, if you please.”
Sophia took a breath, squared her shoulders, and repeated the steps. This time, she reached the pivot, and instead of stopping dead, she swayed, lost her balance, and pitched gently into Lavinia’s waiting arms.
“I am hopeless,” Sophia moaned with her hands flapping. “No one has ever been as hopeless as I am.”
“On the contrary, Lady Sophia, there is a surfeit of hopelessness in the world, and you are a mere novice at it. Now, let us try the waltz again, only this time, try to avoid giving yourself a headache.” Lavinia set her gently upright, smoothed her hair, and arranged their hands again, one on Sophia’s slender shoulder, the other grasped loosely in her own.
“You may laugh,” Sophia muttered, eyes still glued to her feet. “But no one else in the world could possibly care if I learn this or not.”
“That is where you are incorrect,” Lavinia replied, guiding Sophia through the turn again.
“Because in a fortnight, you are to attend the Rowsons’ assembly, and unless you wish to spend the evening lurking in the conservatory with a plate of biscuits, you must at least master the fundamentals of movement. ”
Sophia stopped so abruptly that Lavinia nearly tripped over her. “The Rowsons’ assembly?”
“Indeed. It is to be a most splendid affair. I am told they have hired not one but two musicians. You must be prepared for anything. The children, Clara and Henry, will perform along with other children. Then, girls your age shall dance as well.”
Sophia gaped. “Will Father be there?”
“Not unless he is taken with a sudden passion for music and bonbons,” Lavinia said. “But I suspect he will wish to know that you have conducted yourself with grace and competence.”
Lavinia had received the invitation from Nancy on Sophia’s behalf, but she had yet to tell Tristan. Sophia pressed her lips together, painting the picture of determined suffering. “If he finds out I made a spectacle—”
“He will be delighted,” Lavinia said. “Spectacle is the natural order of such events. But if you wish to avoid scandal, then we had best continue.”
They moved through the steps again and again. With each repetition, Sophia loosened. Her footwork, once as ungainly as a plow horse, found a rhythm. The edges of her mouth, once carved with dread, began to soften.
“There now,” Lavinia said as they finished a turn, “did you die?”
Sophia blinked, startled. Then, from somewhere deep and seldom visited, a laugh erupted. It was thin at first, then full-bodied, the sound of a girl suddenly remembering what it was to be happy.
Lavinia laughed too, and they wobbled together, clutching each other in delight.
It was at this moment that Lavinia sensed, rather than saw, the presence in the doorway. She looked up to find the Duke standing there, one hand braced against the jamb, his eyes narrowed in a way that suggested he had been watching for some time.
Sophia’s laughter died at once. She straightened, her hands flying to smooth her hair, her eyes wide.
“Father,” she said.
“Sophia,” he replied, advancing into the room. “I see you are attempting to injure Lady Lavinia.”
“No,” Sophia protested. “She is teaching me to dance. For the Rowsons’ assembly.”
“I should hope so,” he said, “for if that was a duel, you are woefully outmatched.”
Lavinia released Sophia’s hand and curtsied. “Your Grace. We were practicing the waltz. I fear I may have misjudged the degree of peril involved.”
His mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “Is it your custom to train your pupils through trial by combat?”
“Only when the situation calls for drastic measures,” Lavinia replied, matching his dryness. “Some young ladies are particularly resistant to the idea of enjoyment.”
“What is this about the Rowson assembly?” he asked Lavinia.
“Her Grace, the Duchess of Scarfield, is hosting an assembly for children and youth, and she invited Lady Sophia.”
“May I attend, Father?” Sophia nearly bounced on the balls of her feet. “Please?”
“If you learn to dance properly. Perhaps you would benefit from a change in partner,” Tristan said, moving forward.
Sophia froze. “You?”
He offered his hand with the palm up. “If you can survive the experience.”
She looked to Lavinia for approval. Lavinia nodded. The idea of watching the Duke dance was as astonishing as seeing him sprout wings and take to the air, even though she had danced with him several times.
Sophia placed her hand in his. Lavinia adjusted their posture, pressing Sophia’s arm just so, guiding the Duke’s hand to the small of his daughter’s back.
“Count the steps,” she instructed. “One, two, three. One, two, three.”
They began to move. Sophia, visibly terrified at first, soon found the rhythm, swept along by the Duke’s confidence.
“There,” Lavinia said, stepping back. “Perfect.”
Sophia looked up at her father, eyes shining. “You did not say you could dance.”
He shrugged. “It is a skill acquired through necessity, not pleasure.”
Lavinia could not stop herself. “I suspect you are more accomplished than you let on, Your Grace.”
He looked at her then, and in that single, direct glance, Lavinia felt the temperature in the room tilt. She busied herself with the pianoforte, adjusting the sheet music and pretending to read. “Would you like accompaniment?”
Sophia nodded, and the Duke, his attention never leaving his daughter, guided her through the steps. The effect was not graceful, exactly, but there was a steadiness in it that made Sophia’s movement lighter by degrees.
Lavinia played, letting the notes lift the mood. She watched as Sophia’s confidence grew, her steps growing surer, her body relaxing. She even ventured a twirl, which the Duke executed smoothly.
When the piece ended, Sophia beamed. “Did I do well?”
Tristan nodded, releasing her hand. “You did.”
Sophia turned to Lavinia. “Did you see?”
“I did,” Lavinia said. “You made it look effortless.”
Sophia laughed again, the sound brighter this time. Then, as if remembering herself, she stepped back and curtsied to both of them. “Thank you, Lady Lavinia. Thank you, Father.”
Tristan nodded, then dismissed his daughter with a gentle, “Go and prepare for your lesson with your governess. She will not be pleased if you are late.”
Sophia darted away, leaving the room suddenly too large, too silent.
Lavinia closed the lid of the pianoforte and turned to find the Duke watching her with his arms folded.
“You have a gift,” he said, and the words, though measured, felt heavier than any compliment she had ever received.
“Thank you, Your Grace.” She found she could not quite meet his gaze.
He moved closer. “You have accomplished in weeks what two years of governesses failed to achieve.”
“She is a remarkable girl,” Lavinia said, “despite her belief to the contrary.”
“She is a child who has been given little reason to believe,” he replied, and though the words were soft, the edge in them was clear. “You have changed that. And I—” He stopped, as if the admission required more effort than he had anticipated.
Lavinia waited, not daring to interrupt.
“I am grateful,” he finished. “Though I have never said it. Perhaps I should have.”
Lavinia’s throat tightened. “You need not say it, Your Grace. I am only doing what I was hired to do.”
He regarded her for a long moment. “You do more than you were hired to do.”
She did not know what to do with this—whether to curtsy, to smile, to run.
A soft noise interrupted them: a plaintive mew, followed by the rapid patter of paws against the parquet. Whisper streaked into the room, skidding across the polished floor and colliding with the Duke’s boot. The kitten yowled in protest, then circled back to Lavinia, who scooped it up at once.
“I see the cat is thriving,” Tristan said.
“He is a menace,” Lavinia replied, setting Whisper on her shoulder. “But a necessary one.”
She looked up and found him very near, close enough that she could see the deep, dark blue of his eyes, the line of his jaw and the stubble forming there.
For a moment, neither moved. The air was thick with the words they did not say.
But as his head began to descend toward hers, Lavinia nearly jumped.
She could not allow him to kiss her again. The cost of that would be far too much to bear.
Stepping away, she took a shaky breath. “I should go.”
Tristan took a step toward her, and Lavinia could almost believe that he longed for her as much as she did him.
“I—I should go. I must prepare for my next lesson with Sophia.” Without waiting for a reaction, she darted from the room, feeling her chest constrict as though it was breaking.
Two men had made her want them. One, a masked stranger from another time, and the other a duke. Both were beyond her reach and dreams.