“My cousin Vivian Ardreigh,” Mr. Hill said. “Major Westcott, Viv.”
“I feared I was going to be late and would miss the opening set,” Harry said after making his bow. “It seems I have arrived just in time, however.”
The orchestra had fallen silent. All their instruments had been tuned and they were ready for the dancing to begin.
“Some lady is going to be glad you did arrive in time,” Mr. Franks said, grinning. “And some ladies are going to be sorry they have already promised the dance to someone else.” He half glanced at Vivian.
“Lydia has not promised it to anyone,” Denise said. “She still insists that she will not dance at all. I have never heard such nonsense in my life.” Her smile, directed at Lydia, could be described only as mischievous.
“But true,” Lydia assured her.
“Tell me, Mrs. Tavernor,” Harry said, “is it that youwillnot dance or that youcannot? Like the Reverend Bailey with the two left feet he likes to boast of?”
“Will not, certainly,” she said. “And cannot, probably. I have not danced since I was a girl.”
“And how many decades ago was that?” he asked.
Mr. Franks chuckled.
“It was enough years ago,” Lydia told him, “that I have forgotten everything I ever learned and practiced.”
“One does not forget how to dance,” Denise said. “And it is not as though you have not watched any dancing in the intervening years, Lydia. You used to watch avidly before the Reverend Tavernor died. You may think I did not notice, but I did. You used to look positively wistful.”
“Oh, I did not. You have a vivid imagination, Denise,” Lydia told her.
Mr. Raymore, who was doing duty as the master of ceremonies tonight, was calling upon the gentlemen to lead their partners onto the floor to form lines for the opening set of country dances. Lawrence Hill extended a hand for his cousin’s.
“Mrs. Tavernor,” Harry said, “let me persuade you to put the matter to the test. Come and dance with me.”
“I have already refused three partners,” she told him. “It would be very bad-mannered to accept a fourth.”
But just at that moment, one of those rejected partners, on his way out with Dr. Powis’s eldest daughter to join the lines, decided to intervene.
“Talk her into it, Major,” he called out cheerfully. “It’s about time Mrs. Tavernor danced. A person cannot mourn forever.”
“Yes, do it, Major,” someone else agreed.
An anonymous someone whistled.
“Come on, Lydia dear,” Mrs. Bailey coaxed from nearby. “If I can dance, anyone can.”
It was time to be firm, Lydia thought. Time to assert herself.
Harry was smiling at her, one hand extended for hers.
Time to be decisive.
Time to be the new Lydia.
“You will be sorry,” she warned him, setting her hand in his. “I will surely make a spectacle of you.”
Someone actually cheered, and there was a smattering of applause.
Lydia could not have felt more on public display if she had tried.
Twelve
And there went one resolution, broken before the dancing had even begun, Harry thought.
