Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Unfortunately for Frances, the gentlemen of the group seemed to have wandered off on some grand tour of the manor. At least, that was what the housekeeper had said when the two women had crossed paths.
Why would Dominic lead the men on a tour of his home? He did not appear to be in the mood for such a thing.
She cursed herself that she had not thought to call upon Dominic’s assistance earlier, the very minute she had decided to spend the evening assessing her student’s dancing prowess.
Or lack thereof. He could be anywhere in this grand, vast manor, and she did not have the faintest idea of where to begin looking.
“If they have made it into the gardens with their port and cigars, I shall have no hope whatsoever,” she grumbled to herself as she steadfastly searched the rooms of the first floor, listening out for the sounds of merry men.
She had just paused outside the door to Dominic’s study, realizing she could not just open the door and poke her head into that particular room, when the door suddenly opened with a jarring squeal of hinges.
Jumping backward, her hand flew to her chest as the very man she was looking for came to an abrupt halt on the threshold. His beautiful eyes narrowed at the sight of her, his body defensively blocking her view of his study, as if her very presence was a threat to the private domain beyond.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, his gaze darting down the hallway. “Should you not be with my daughter?”
Frances took a breath. “It is because of her that I am here. Well, rather, that I was looking for you.” She gestured in the vague direction of the music room. “We have been dancing, Your Grace, and I thought, perhaps, that you might join us?”
“You have allowed Harriet to dance with my guests?” Dominic’s mouth set into a grim line.
“What? No. Certainly not!” Frances swallowed uncomfortably. “We have been dancing. Me and Harriet. It seems to be a vulnerability of hers, a skill in which she is not at all confident, but she is not nearly as bad as she thinks. That being said, I think you could be of tremendous help.”
“Me?” The hard glint in his eyes yielded to a softer gleam of confusion.
Frances nodded. “Without your tailcoat, I cannot play the part of a gentleman.”
She chanced a grin, vainly hoping to recapture some of the good humor she had seen from him in the rose gardens. It was in there somewhere; she just had to coax it out as she had done before.
“I do not dance,” he muttered. “If you will excuse me, I must find Hugo and the others before they cause any trouble.”
She did not mean to, not consciously, but Frances found herself stepping out in front of Dominic as he tried to proceed. He frowned in surprise, though no one could have been more surprised than Frances.
What are you doing? You will be booted out for this, surely!
“You are a duke, presumably from a lengthy line of dukes,” she said, hoping she sounded bolder than she felt. “Of course, you know how to dance. It would be quite absurd if you did not.”
He made no attempt to widen the gap between them, though her risky move had brought them very close indeed. Closer than any pair of dancers at a ball would ever have any need to be.
“I said I do not dance, not I cannot dance,” he replied.
“She needs you, Your Grace,” Frances urged, her heart racing, her throat feeling as if she were wearing a too-tight collar. “It will improve that wavering confidence if you were to help teach her, and I know she would like to have her father involved.”
Dominic’s brow furrowed. “You are the tutor, not me.”
“Yes, but I cannot pretend to be a man in a dance and be certain that she will not panic at her first ball, when her partner is not a woman and everything is different,” Frances insisted, her neck beginning to ache as she stared up at him.
“Please, Your Grace. Just a dance or two, and then you can hunt down your cousin and the others.”
He looked over the top of her head to the hallway behind her, a sigh straining the buttons of his tailcoat. “She will not have her first dance at her first ball with her father, either.”
Frustration prickled up the back of her neck, for she could not understand his reluctance. Surely, a father wanted what was best for his daughter? Surely, a father wanted his daughter to succeed? Then again, he had made it clear he did not think much of society in general.
“Do not tell me that the aversion is inherited?” she puffed out.
“Aversion?”
“To dancing. I have had to coax Harriet into it like a scared puppy when, really, she should already have a repertoire of dances.” Frances’ tone hardened into a voice she used when her sisters were being particularly stubborn.
“Young ladies begin to learn at twelve. Yes, she is not a complete novice, but she should know more than she does.”
Dominic squared his shoulders, his expression almost indifferent. “It was not important. She favors her music, so that is what she dedicated her time to.”
“Well, now, her desire is to debut well,” Frances reminded him. “Be there for her. Show her that it is important to you, even if you do not feel it. Even if you despise the ton, just pretend you do not until she has made her grand entrance.”
For an anxious few minutes, they stood there in silence, neither of them budging.
The longer it went on, the more aware Frances became of their closeness, of the fresh, woody scent of him, of how he ought to have a tailor alter his tailcoat.
It would not be long before the buttons down the front surrendered to the broad muscle of his chest and popped.
He must not wear this one often. The burgundy color became him well, with a collar of black velvet. Why would he, when he is always here, and does not go anywhere or host anything?
She could not imagine such a solitary existence, though she was becoming more accustomed to the peace and quiet of Alderwick at night. Enjoying it, even.
“Please, Your Grace,” she said quietly. “For her.”
He shook his head and she feared another rejection, uncertain of how she might urge him to do this when she had already tried everything she could think of. It was not as if she could physically drag him to the music room.
“Very well,” he grumbled.
For a moment, she was not sure she had heard him correctly, her eyes widening. “You will dance?”
“I might not understand my daughter’s determination to enter into an institution that, by its very nature, is fickle and judgmental and not at all kind to women, but…
as you say, it is what she wants,” he replied, speaking as if he had to force the words out.
“I will assist you, just this once. Do not ask me again.”
Frances clapped her hands together, a grin spreading across her face. “I shall not, Your Grace. I promise. This is the only thing I shall ask for.” Relieved laughter spilled from her lips. “Oh, thank you! Thank you for this, Your Grace!”
He tilted his head to one side, his eyes softer as they observed her.
Evidently, she had taken complete leave of her senses tonight, laughing and smiling and making demands of a duke.
She had forgotten herself, forgotten that she was there to fulfill a duty, not get all fluttery and giddy in Dominic’s presence.
She was certainly not doing her reputation any favors by standing there alone with him, unchaperoned, even if there was no one to witness it.
She took a quick step backward, putting a more appropriate distance between them. “Hopefully, she has not fled while I was trying to find you.”
With a courteous dip of her head, she turned and hurried back to the music room, confident enough that Dominic would follow. All too conscious, in fact, of him walking a short distance behind her, each thud of his footsteps adding an extra beat to her racing heart.
Nearing the music room, Frances frowned as stirring music greeted her ears: the emotional, haunting rise and fall of a flute, playing something so very sad, but also strangely hopeful. Bittersweet.
She approached slowly, and when she tentatively peeked into the room, a smile graced her lips as she saw Harriet.
The girl was utterly lost in the music, her eyes closed, her fingertips dancing across the instrument with all the finesse she lacked in her actual dancing.
And she was not alone, the power of her music having drawn an audience.
Hugo stood just inside the door with Lord Ainsley and Lord George, all three utterly entranced. Whether Harriet knew they were there or not, Frances was not certain.
But as Dominic stepped into the room, it was as if his daughter sensed his presence, her eyes opening. Slowly, she brought the song to a quiet end, her gaze flitting briefly toward the other three gentlemen, her face reddening as if she had been caught in a mischief.
“More!” Hugo cheered, smacking his hands together in vigorous applause. “Encore! Encore!”
Harriet lowered her gaze, holding onto her flute as if it were a raft in a turbulent ocean. “I… was just waiting for Lady Frances to return.” Her head snapped up suddenly, her eyes flickering with surprise as she looked at her father again. “You agreed to dance?”
Dominic nodded. “I was persuaded.”
“But… but… I cannot,” Harriet floundered. “Not with an audience.”
“We can leave, if that would make you more comfortable?” Hugo offered.
Lord Ainsley nodded. “We would not wish to cause you any distress, Lady Harriet.”
The young woman blushed more furiously, dropping her gaze from the viscount, her stress showing in the bulging cords of her neck and the clench of her jaw. Guilt pinched Frances’ chest, for she had not wanted to panic Harriet or put her in an uncomfortable situation.
“We shall demonstrate,” Frances blurted out, compelled to give her student a reprieve. “Your Grace?”
Dominic stared at her, looking somewhat stressed himself. “Dance? With you?”
“As part of Harriet’s education,” Frances replied, her heart beating out of her chest.
She was fond of dancing, but after her last experience with Lord Sherbourne, she was struck with sudden nerves. Or, perhaps, that had more to do with this dance partner.
“That settles it,” Hugo said with a smirk. “I am not going anywhere. I cannot recall the last time I saw my cousin dance.”
Dominic shot him a dark look and, for what felt like forever, Frances waited for the refusal that would surely come. The duke had agreed to dance with his daughter; he had not agreed to dance with the disgraced daughter of an earl, who had disrupted his peace at Alderwick.
“Shall I begin playing?” the redheaded girl at the pianoforte asked shyly.
Frances was about to answer that there was no need, that she had spoken out of turn to Dominic, that they would all convene in the drawing room and do something else, that she had gone too far… when Dominic appeared in front of her with his hand out.
“Count us in,” he instructed their impromptu accompanist. “Eight beats and then begin. Something that befits a country dance, but half the usual pace.”
The pianist nodded eagerly and began to count out the beats so that the couple could get into position. But Frances could not move, too astounded by Dominic’s assertiveness to realize that she was quickly running out of time.
“Three… Four…” the pianist continued.
Frances gasped as Dominic took her by the hand and led her onto the makeshift dance floor, before assuming his place opposite her.
It would be a strange country dance with just the two of them, but at least he had not called out for a waltz; she would not have been able to endure it, and likely would have turned an alarming shade of red.
Does he even know about waltzes? As she had no idea how long he had avoided society, she could not be certain. Then again, if he had heard about her scandal from the seclusion of his manor, the scandalous argument surrounding waltzes assuredly would have reached him too.
“Five… and six… and seven… and eight.”
The music began.