“How so?”
“Is it just me, or is she not absolutely perfect?”
“Mr. Bentley, please,” Charlotte protested. “I am not perfect, as Mr. Taylor knows very well.”
“Do you, man? Has she some hidden flaw, some malady I’ve yet to discover?”
“Mr. Bentley, you are speaking utter foolishness. Come, the other couples are starting.”
“Very well. Excuse us, Taylor.”
While Charlotte danced with William Bentley, Daniel went to retrieve his coat, then sought out the host and hostess to say his thank-yous and farewells. He felt the coward, running off with his coat tails between his legs, but he had used up his courage for one evening. He was just making for the door when the music paused. He glanced over and saw Bentley escort Charlotte from the dance floor and bow, excusing himself to claim his next partner. He noticed Charlotte’s head swivel as she looked about the room. She must have seen him and guessed his route of departure, for she crossed the room at a diagonal and met him at the foot of the stairs.
“Mr. Taylor, you are not leaving, I hope?”
“I am afraid so.” He lifted slightly the coat over his arm.
“Oh dear. I was hoping to see if you are as terrible a dancer as you claim.”
He laughed. “I can assure you on that point, madam.”
She looked at him steadily. “I would rather judge that for myself.”
At the time he was unaware that her words had been rather forward, nearly a breach of etiquette. But clearly she was aware, for her face turned a pretty shade of pink. “Though I realize it is bad form, begging a partner this way.”
He laid his coat and hat on a nearby chair and offered his arm. “Very well. But you have been forewarned.”
Daniel soon proved that his assessment of his dancing skill was honest indeed. He was painfully aware that his steps were ungainly, his form inelegant. He did not pretend to enjoy the sneers from the other couples he inadvertently jostled, nor the dance movements themselves. What he did enjoy, however, was being with Charlotte Lamb, holding her lightly in his arms and gazing into her lovely face. When she smiled up at him, he felt as though he was notsucha poor dancer after all.
When the music ended, Daniel escorted Charlotte from the dance floor. “You know,” he said, “when you said you had promised your dance to another gentleman, I immediately assumed you meant Mr. Harris.”
“Did you? I wonder why. Mr. Harris rarely dances, and when he does, it is only with the finest, most handsome lady in the room.”
“Charlotte, there you are.” Charles Harris appeared, looking elegant and confident in black-and-white evening attire. “Would you do me the honor of dancing with me?”
Charlotte swallowed, clearly stunned.
Smiling at her hesitancy, Mr. Harris slanted a glance at him and said, “Unless you are otherwise engaged?”
“Mr. Taylor and I have just been dancing.”
“Taylor, is it? Oh, yes, Webb’s apprentice. How do you do.”
Daniel opened his mouth to reply, but Harris had already returned his attention to Charlotte. “Come, Charlotte, we have not danced since you were a girl.”
“I was just telling Mr. Taylor that you dance but rarely.”
“Not so rarely.” He held out his hand to her, and she looked at the hand, the slight bow, the wry grin. She placed her white-gloved hand in his.
“If you will excuse us,” Harris said to him.
Charlotte looked back at Daniel, lips parted, clearly wanting to say something to him, even as she was being drawn away by the charming Charles Harris.
“Mr. Harris rarely dances, and when he does, it’s only with the finest, most handsome lady in the room,”Charlotte had said.
Well, his record is unchanged, Daniel thought, wondering at the leaden disappointment in his stomach. What had he expected, for her to refuse Harris? And why should she?
A week after that long ago ball at Sharsted Court, Daniel had walked briskly from the study and presence of the Reverend Mr. Gareth Lamb, hat in hand, disappointment in his chest.
