Chapter 11 #2
Hugo’s fork paused over his own food, and he looked into Penny’s bright, innocent face. Today was not the day for him to explain what a “Bath marriage” was and how some ladies preferred the company of other ladies.
“And you feel confident they will take you in?”
“Oh, I have always been Aunt Nelson’s favorite.”
“Despite the incident with her lapdog?”
Penny laughed. “Did I mention that? I scarcely remember.”
“It was while you were drunk.” Hugo took a sip of his small beer and tried to forget how yielding she had been in his arms while he had guided her up the stairs that night.
A squawk rang through the room, and Hugo turned to see young Henry Robson standing on a bench with a fiddle and bow in his hands. He grinned at the crowd.
“Dancing begins shortly. Sort yourselves into men and ladies. Unless,” he said with an awkward bow towards Penny, “you are already a lady, of course.”
Penny watched with a puzzled expression as the men lined up, some of them tying a handkerchief to their arm while others stood opposite them. “What are they doing?”
“When you have a company that is mostly men and want to have dancing, some of them have to take the lady’s part. It would be impossible to have a room full of men all trying to lead an invisible partner.”
“You have seen this done before?”
“Frequently, especially aboard ship. Women are few and far between on a man o’ war.”
Penny eyed him shrewdly. “But not absent entirely?”
Before he could decide how to answer, Henry struck up a song whilst another young man—likely one of the mummers from the previous night—raced to stand next to him, a flute in his hand adding to the tune. The dancers moved in the familiar figures as Penny watched in fascination.
As the first song ended with a flourish, Penny said wistfully, “I haven’t danced since… since I became ill.”
"Then it's time to make some new memories, don't you think?"
Hugo stood and held out his hand with a courtly bow. She allowed him to help her up, curtsied in return, and followed his lead onto the taproom floor, to the cheers of the men already there.
The two musicians began a lively air, and the dance began.
Of course Penny was light as a feather in his arms. Of course she moved with him as though they had been born to dance together.
Of course she treated all of the men with the same cheerful courtesy that she would have any aristocrats she danced with.
Penny had no snobbery at all, for all she had been meant to be a duchess.
Of course she had flaws—a legion of them—but he could not recall a single one as she laughed in delight whilst they danced.
Penny had only seen Hugo dance a few times before.
She had forgotten how skilled he was. He guided her through figures she only half-remembered as the fiddler called them out, her steps gaining confidence as her body recalled the movements, reminding her how free she had always felt when she danced.
As she danced, her joints loosened, moving more fluidly with the exercise. She knew she must not overdo or she would be in agony again in the morning, but... that was the morning. Hugo was dancing with her now.
She would worry about the consequences later.
As the tune ended, Hugo turned to her, mischief in his eyes. “Do you know how to dance the waltz?”
“No,” she said. “I missed it.” Waltz music had been popular for years, but the scandalous dance itself had only reached England’s shores that summer in the wake of the Congress of Vienna. There had been no one for her to dance it with.
“I’ll show you.” Hugo called to the fiddler, who began to play in an easy three-part rhythm. “Curve your arm above your head.”
Puzzled, Penny obeyed. He clasped her hand in his opposite hand, their arms forming an arch above their heads, and slid his arm around her waist. Her other arm could only go around his waist. They were face-to-face, bodies only inches apart.
She felt strangely vulnerable with her arm curved over her head, as though she was opening herself up to him with no assurance he felt the same.
Hugo took a moment to catch the beat and then began to twirl her across the floor, hands clasped above their heads in what came very close to a public embrace.
The villagers cleared a space in the center of the room to gape at them as they danced until a few of the braver souls attempted it themselves.
Now Penny understood why the waltz was so scandalous.
Hugo’s face was only inches from hers. As was his body.
Her skirts brushed against his legs with every twirl, snapping in the air as they moved.
Her raised arm pushed her body towards his, the danger of their bodies touching in public present at every moment as he maneuvered her.
And what was even more scandalous was that Hugo should know so very well how to dance it. She had no right to be jealous of the women he had danced it with before her… but she was.
There was a strange intensity to his gaze, as though he was trying to memorize her, and she cast her eyes down, unable to keep looking at him. This was Hugo. She ought not to be thinking the sort of things she was thinking.
And she really ought not to be thinking of the way he had kissed her in the woods when they were gathering evergreens. Even the barest brush of the memory made her unsteady knees tremble.
As the waltz music ended with a flourish, Hugo allowed himself the indulgence of giving Penny one more twirl, his arm around her waist as she laughed, flushed and beautiful.
She was always beautiful to him.