Chapter 10 #2
She gave a nod to the young woman with fiery red hair who had volunteered to play the pianoforte: a niece of some gentleman that Hugo had brought with him. Meanwhile, Peter’s sister stood with Catherine, teaching the lady’s maid the steps in an echo of Frances’ attempts.
Harriet puffed out a breath. “Very well, but if I still cannot do it, you are not to encourage any dancing when we reconvene with… everyone else. I do not want any of those gentlemen to know how atrocious I am.”
A flicker of sympathy passed through Frances’ chest. After all, she had been a debutante too, once upon a time, and she could well remember the disaster of her first ball.
“I was an awful dancer when I began,” she said as they started to dance afresh.
“My mother would dance with me when I was younger, but they were always silly dances, for the fun of it rather than any true lesson.
And when it came time for me to learn properly, she was already gone.
My father enlisted a dance tutor, but he was not very good.
“At my first ball, I did not merely make a few missteps. I tripped on my skirts and stumbled directly into Lady Anna Brummond, who went flying across the dance floor, and ended up at the feet of a very startled Earl of Whitmire. To this day, she has never spoken to me again, even though she is rather fortuitously married to that gentleman, who happened to find the entire event charming.”
“Is that true?” Harriet gasped, her body swaying gracefully with the rhythm of the music, her feet moving through the steps.
It was not perfect, but it was a vast improvement.
“Every word,” Frances replied, hiding her delight in case it disrupted Harriet’s progress.
“My second ball, Lady Anna and her new friends spilled a cup of cherry ice down my dress in revenge. And though I cannot prove it, for it could well have been my own clumsiness, one of them tripped me when I was on the dance floor. I did not fall, but my partner did not ask me to dance again. My father was devastated, for the man was a marquess.”
Harriet chuckled as they joined palms and turned in a circle, the younger woman skipping slightly out of time, but it was nothing that could not be corrected with just over three weeks to go.
“What of your sisters?” Harriet asked. “Do they dance well?”
“Ah, well, Lucinda is what one would call overzealous, while Juliet has a natural talent for it. Both are better than I ever was, and could ever hope to be.”
Frances swallowed a burst of rising excitement as Harriet navigated a tricky maneuver that involved her dancing around Frances in a horseshoe. Again, it was not perfect, but it was certainly promising.
“Do you miss them?” Harriet said.
This time, it was Frances who almost faltered. “I do. I am sure they do not miss me quite as much, for they shall not be worrying about me fussing over them like a mother hen, but… yes, I miss them. Do you ever wish you had siblings?”
A little shrug lifted Harriet’s shoulders as she performed a rather passable spin. “At times, it would have been nice to have a sister or a brother, but…” She spun back in the opposite direction. “… I suppose you cannot miss what you have never had.”
As she led Harriet in a promenade step, Frances realized the oddity of the situation.
Of course, there were parents throughout society who only had one child for one reason or another, but it seemed peculiar that Dominic had not remarried in order to gain an heir.
He was a duke, after all; it was not a station in society that one left to chance in terms of inheritance.
He must have loved his wife very much. So much that he could not even consider marrying again.
Despite her earlier worry that Dominic thought she was there to try and weasel her way into gaining a husband, she felt a sudden, sharp sting of disappointment.
A faint twinge of envy wriggled beneath it, as she wondered what it might be like to be loved that much, to be loved so completely that marrying again was impossible.
Just as she was beginning to dwell too deeply, losing her focus, the music came to an end.
Harriet seemed bewildered, as if she did not know what had just happened. “I… managed it.”
“You see,” Frances said, recovering quickly. “You can do it, you just need to have the confidence… and some distraction. Now, what do you say to dancing with a gentleman?”
She had no doubt that having a gentleman to guide her would be of immense help, for though Frances had often danced the man’s part to help her sisters, it was easier to learn with an actual male partner.
Harriet wheezed out a horrified gasp. “No! No, I cannot do that. I am not ready!”
“What if that gentleman were your father?” Frances asked, with a sly smile.
The fear ebbed upon Harriet’s face. “He will not. You can ask, but I promise you; he will not.” She paused. “Indeed, if you can persuade him, then I shall practice dancing for at least two hours every day.”
She seemed rather confident in her wager, and a little sad, her eyes gleaming with memories that Frances was not privy to.
Frances might not have agreed with gambling in general, and would make a point of telling Harriet that it was not received well in society, but she could not resist the challenge.
In the same way that she had agreed to undertake the girl’s tutelage in such a short span of time, she would not back down from this gauntlet either.
“Then, dear Harriet, you ought to grow accustomed to sore feet,” Frances said with a grin, “for you will be dancing with His Grace tonight.”
Brimming with her own stubborn confidence, she headed immediately for the drawing room.