Chapter 14
“What if I never have a Season?”
Louise looked up from her embroidery to find Emily standing in the doorway of the morning room, her small face troubled. Buttercup hovered behind her, his massive head tilted as if he, too, understood the gravity of the situation.
“Whatever do you mean, darling?” Louise set aside her needlework.
Emily shuffled into the room with her eyes fixed on the carpet.
“Miss Whitfield was teaching me about curtsies today. She said every young lady must know how to curtsy properly for her debut. But what if I don’t have a debut?
What if George is never found, and no one takes me to a ball? What if we’re too poor?”
“Come here.” Louise opened her arms, and Emily rushed into them, burying her face against Louise’s shoulder. “What’s brought all this on?”
“I heard the maids talking.” Emily’s voice came muffled against the fabric. “They said George ruined everything. They said we haven’t got any money, and we’re only here because the duke feels sorry for us.”
Louise’s heart clenched. She would have words with Mrs. Hammond about staff discretion.
“And I don’t even know how to dance,” Emily continued, pulling back with tears threatening to spill.
“All the other girls my age probably already know. Their mamas teach them. But Mama’s gone, and you’re always busy taking care of us, and I’ll never learn, and when I’m old enough for balls, everyone will laugh at the Sulton girl who can’t even do a simple country dance. ”
“Oh, sweetheart.” Louise smoothed the hair back from Emily’s face. “No one is going to laugh at you.”
“They will. They’ll whisper about how we don’t belong anywhere.” Emily’s lower lip trembled. “I don’t want people to feel sorry for us, Louise.”
Louise’s heart clenched. How much had Emily overheard? How many worried conversations had filtered through doors that should have been closed?
“Emily—”
“Well, this simply won’t do.”
They both turned to find Lady Merrow standing in the doorway, Buttercup having abandoned his post to greet her with an enthusiastic tail wag.
“Lady Merrow.” Louise rose, smoothing her skirts. “I didn’t hear you approach.”
“Clearly.” Lady Merrow swept into the room with the authority of a general surveying her troops. “Now then, Lady Emily. You say you cannot dance?”
Emily nodded miserably.
“Nonsense. You simply haven’t been taught yet.” Lady Merrow clapped her hands together. “This is easily remedied. To the music room, all of us. Louise, how about you play us something?”
“I … well, I’m out of practice.”
“Practice is exactly what we all need.” Lady Merrow was already herding them toward the door. “Come along, Buttercup. You may observe and learn. One never knows when a dog might need to waltz.”
The music room was bright with winter sunlight, dust motes dancing in the beams that streamed through tall windows.
A beautiful pianoforte dominated one corner, its polished surface gleaming.
Louise hadn’t touched an instrument in months.
Longer, perhaps. There had been no time for music in a house slowly crumbling around them.
“Sit, sit.” Lady Merrow gestured toward the piano bench. “Something simple to start. A country dance, perhaps, while Emily learns the basic figures.”
Louise settled before the keys, her fingers hovering over the ivory. She pressed a tentative chord. The sound rang clear and true through the room.
“Lovely tone,” Lady Merrow observed. “Now then, Emily, stand here. We’ll begin with the curtsy. Every dance starts with proper acknowledgment of one’s partner.”
Louise let her hands drift across the keys, running through scales to reacquaint herself with the feel of the instrument. The motion came back to her like breathing, muscle memory overriding months of neglect.
A pang of sadness caught her off guard.
She had played this very piece once, years ago, for George and his friends. They had gathered in the drawing room, young men full of laughter and ambition, and George had been so proud of his talented sister.
Play something lively, Lou, he had called out. Something to get the blood moving.
She had played for hours that night. Had felt useful, valued, part of something bright and promising.
How long ago did that seem now? How far they had all fallen.
“Lady Louise?” Lady Merrow’s voice cut through her reverie. “We’re ready when you are, dear.”
Louise shook off the memory and focused on the keys. She chose a waltz she remembered from her debut season, a pretty thing in three-quarter time that had been popular at Almack’s. Her fingers found the notes with growing confidence, the melody filling the room with warmth.
“Now then.” Lady Merrow took Emily’s hands. “The waltz is simply a box. Forward, side, together. Back, side, together. Watch my feet.”
Emily concentrated fiercely, her tongue poking out between her lips as she tried to mirror Lady Merrow’s movements. She stumbled once, twice, then caught the rhythm.
“Yes! That’s it!” Lady Merrow beamed. “You’re a natural, my dear. Again, from the top.”
Louise played on, watching her sister transform before her eyes. The anxiety melted from Emily’s face, replaced by determination and then, gradually, delight. She was dancing. Really dancing with her small feet moving in time with the music.
Buttercup, who had been observing from his spot by the window, suddenly rose and padded over to join them. He sat directly in their path, tail thumping against the floor.
“Buttercup!” Emily giggled. “You’re in the way!”
The dog’s tail thumped harder.
“I think he wants to dance too,” Lady Merrow said with mock seriousness. “Look, he’s keeping time with his tail.”
It was true. The massive tail swept back and forth in a rough approximation of the waltz’s triple meter.
“He’s dancing!” Emily crowed. “Buttercup is dancing!”
The dog seemed pleased with this assessment. He rose onto his haunches, front paws lifting in what could charitably be called an attempt at a pirouette. The effect was so absurd that Louise’s fingers stumbled on the keys.
“Don’t stop!” Emily pleaded. “He was doing so well!”
Louise laughed, the sound surprising her with its lightness. She hadn’t laughed like this in so long. Hadn’t felt this warmth spreading through her chest, this simple, uncomplicated joy.
She resumed playing, and Buttercup resumed his ridiculous performance, swaying his bulk from side to side while Emily clapped encouragement. Lady Merrow had abandoned all pretense of instruction, doubled over with laughter.
“He’s going to knock over the music stand,” Louise warned, but she was laughing too hard to sound stern.
“Let him!” Emily spun in a circle, arms spread wide. “This is the best dancing lesson ever!”
The music swelled, filling the room, filling Louise’s heart with something she had thought lost forever.
Her sister was safe. Happy. Learning to dance in a beautiful house with people who cared for her.
The complications with Aaron, the kiss she couldn’t forget, the tension that crackled between them whenever they were in the same room. None of it mattered as much as this moment. As much as Emily’s laughter. As much as the simple gift of watching her sister twirl without fear.
Louise played the last notes and let her hands rest on the keys.
“Again!” Emily demanded. “Please, Louise? Just one more?”
“One more,” Louise agreed. “And then we must let Lady Merrow rest.”
“Rest?” Lady Merrow drew herself up with theatrical affront. “I could dance until dawn! It’s Buttercup who needs rest. Look at him. He’s exhausted from his exertions.”
The dog had collapsed onto the carpet, tongue lolling, looking enormously pleased with himself.
Emily kneeled to hug him. “You were wonderful, Buttercup. The best dancing partner ever.”
Louise began another waltz, slower this time, and watched her sister and Lady Merrow practice the steps with renewed confidence. The sunlight streamed through the windows. The music filled the air. And for one perfect moment, everything felt possible.
Emily caught her eye and smiled, radiant with joy.
Yes. This would be enough. This had to be enough.