He did not even notice his brother’s reluctance. Or if he did, he did not care about it. He had come here to dance. To dance with the prettiest young lady in the room. And she was the prettiest, by Jove. Emmy. He would dance with her. He had forgotten her deafness.
She seemed to know he was coming. She stood and turned to watch him come. But Emmy, he remembered with a jolt of recognition, had always seemed to possess that extra sense. She had always seemed to know when he was approaching from behind her. Even though she could not hear. Ah yes, there was that. He recalled it with a shock of memory. Emmy could not hear. Or speak. Or communicate except with her eyes and certain gestures he had grown adept at interpreting. And had they not devised something resembling a language between the two of them? Zounds but he had forgotten so much.
“My dear,” Luke said, “here is Ashley come home to us.”
She was Emmy, right enough. Emmy masquerading as a grand lady and doing magnificently at it. But Emmy all the same. There were the eyes, large and expressive, leaving one with the impression that one could look through them straight into her soul. But she was awoman.He felt strangely sad.
“Emmy.” He took her hand from her side. It was limp and icy cold. He smiled. “Hello, little fawn.” He had forgotten his old name for her until he heard it coming from his own lips. And how inappropriate it seemed now. She was an elegant, fashionable, beautiful woman. Again he felt that flashing of sadness. The name had used to fit so well.
Her mouth quirked into the most fleeting of smiles. But she was pale and serious. He brought her hand to his lips.
“Tell me you are glad to see me,” he said, almost instinctively speaking to her in the old way, mouthing his words carefully, speaking a little more slowly than he did with other people. “I have come all the way from India. It has been a weary journey. Tell me you are glad.”
She stared mutely at him and there was nothing in her eyes that he would instinctively have recognized. Ah. She was not glad. Seven years had passed. He wished unreasonably that she of all people and places and things could have remained the same—a wild and lovely and happy child. What a selfish thought!
“May I present Lord Powell to you, Ash?” Luke was saying. “My brother, Lord Ashley Kendrick, Powell.”
Ashley made his bow, as did Lord Powell, briskly, the annoyance unconcealed on his face. So this was to be Emmy’s husband? And he was already possessive of her? Even jealous, perhaps? Ashley turned back to Emily with a grin.
“They tried to put me to bed,” he said. “They tried to tell me I was tired. But I wanted to dance, Emmy. I am determined to do so. I promised to dance with the prettiest lady in the room. She is you. Come and dance with me.” Her hand still lay in his. He covered it with his free hand. “You see? The sets are forming.”
“This set is mine,” Lord Powell said stiffly. “Lady Emily has agreed to sit with me.”
“Besides, Ash,” Luke said, “Emily cannot dance.”
“Because she cannot hear?” Ashley grinned at her. “Is it true, Emmy? Does your deafness make it impossible for you to dance? Do you not know the steps? Can you not watch the other dancers? Do you not long to dance?”
Her eyes had taken on depth and he realized with some satisfaction that he could still read them, just as if seven years had not passed since he had last looked into them. Yes, of course she longed to dance. She always had. He knew it as surely as if she had put her feelings into words. Had no one else this evening seen the longing there? The longing to dance to the silent melody she could hear in her heart? And he was drunk with longing himself.
“Ashley.” His brother’s voice had taken on the firmness of authority. “Emily cannot hear the music. Besides, this set is promised to Lord Powell. Come, allow me to find you another partner.”
But Ashley was gazing into Emily’s eyes. “Let Emmy choose,” he said, smiling at her. “Which will it be, Emmy? Will you sit here, where I will wager you have sat all evening? Or will you dance with me?Willyou dance with me?”
For several moments she merely stared. Her nod, when it came, was almost imperceptible. But they all saw it.
“Emily,” Luke said, but she was looking at Ashley, not him. “Ash—” But Ashley took no notice of him. He was still smiling at Emily, a look of triumph and recklessness in his eyes.
Lord Powell bowed. “I shall return to take Lady Emily in to supper,” he said.
“Come,” Ashley said, squeezing the cold little hand that lay in his own. “We will dance, Emmy. We will prove to these unbelievers that a man who is weary through to the marrow of his bones and a woman who cannot hear music or anything else can dance without missing a step.”
She walked beside him to take their places in a set. Emily had not grown taller since the age of fifteen, he noticed. She had been slightly above the average in height then, and slim and agile as a young colt. She had developed womanly curves since then, accentuated by the fact that she wore stays and hoops. But she had not really changed in any other way. Not physically, anyway.
He wondered if they really had tamed her during the seven years of his absence. If they had imposed all the trappings of civilization upon her. He hoped not. By God, he hoped not.
She looked up at him and he smiled at her as the orchestra began to play. Ah, yes. And her face was no longer that of a pretty child, but that of a lovely young woman.
He knew he had just done a dastardly thing. He had taken her from the man who was apparently to propose to her and announce his betrothal to her tonight. He had interrupted the set the man had reserved with her. He had stolen her away with the temptation of fulfilling a dream he knew very well she must always have had. Emmy would always have wanted to dance; anyone who had ever known her must surely understand that, he reasoned. He had not known her for seven years, but he remembered her as a child who was born to dance. He was drunk with emotion. He did not pause to analyze the strange thought.
He had done a dastardly thing. Another heavy burden to add to a dauntingly long list.
But he did not care the snap of two fingers. Tonight he had arrived home. Tonight he was going to enjoy himself. Tonight he wanted to dance with Emmy. And Emmy wanted to dance. And dance they would, by God. Together.
•••
Itwas only later that she realized what she had done, how very unmannerly she had been. She was remorseful then, for herself and the selfish weakness she had portrayed and for Lord Powell, whom she must have humiliated. But it was only later that she felt those things.
She had been caught up in some magical spell, and reality did not exist for her. He was there before her, speaking with her, holding her cold, cold hand in his strong warm one, smiling at her, calling her his little fawn as he had used to do, just as if seven years had rolled back and they were as they had used to be. He was here again, real flesh and blood.
