She smiled shyly up at him. “I shall.”
They stood beside one another, watching the dance. Stephen grinned at Kate’s enthusiastic, energetic steps compared to her partner’s smooth, polished style.
“They may not be well matched in dancing, but no great matter,” he said. “A dance is fleeting, but marriage is forever.” Where had that come from—was he a philosopher now? Stephen inwardly cringed. What a thing to say when their marriage could very well be short-lived.
“I don’t think they are well matched for marriage either,” Sophie said mildly.
Stephen didn’t challenge her and was relieved when she didn’t expound on her reply. He hoped to avoid another argument, this night of all nights.
The first set ended, and the gentlemen escorted their partners from the dance floor. Then the musicians began another tune.
Stephen watched in surprise as Mr. Harrison led Kate on to the floor, her face flushed and radiant as she smiled up at him. He wondered how his mother felt about Mr. Harrison’s presence.
A few feet away from them, Keith leaned near Miss Blake and said earnestly. “I beg your forgiveness for my behavior at Windmere. Upon my honor, it shall not happen again.”
“I forgive you.”
Keith reared his head back in surprise at how readily his apology was accepted. A moment later, he asked glibly, “I don’t suppose you’d care to dance with a one-armed pauper?”
Stephen knew the man’s teasing tone hid his fear, or perhaps even his assumption, that she would refuse him.
“I would indeed,” Angela replied, as though he’d referred to himself as a titled lord.
Stephen’s fondness for his childhood friend deepened then and there.
“I recognize this music,” Sophie spoke up. “A favorite in Bath. It’s called ‘Our Mutual Love.’”
“Well, then,” Stephen replied. “We had better dance to it.”
They shared a private smile and joined the other couples forming two lines down the center of the long hall. As they moved through the patterns, Stephen observed Mr. Harrison as he danced with Kate, noticing the young man’s respectful distance and correct, if faltering, steps.
Soon, he and Sophie found themselves at the top of the line with Miss Blake and Mr. Keith. Stephen was glad Angela and Sophie would be the two ladies taking his lifeless hand.
He and Keith stepped around their partners, then turned them with both hands—or in Keith’s case, one hand. Then the ladies did the same. The two couples changed places, right hands across, left hands back, moving down through the line. Stephen relished Sophie’s nearness and the feeling of her hands in his. It only made him want to hold her closer.God give me strength.
He watched Sophie with unabashed admiration. When Mr. Keith could not reach or turn, she continued on fluidly with enough grace and ease that only those watching closely would know Mr. Keith did not perform his role perfectly. Miss Blake was a little less serene looking, as though concentrating very hard on the steps and hoping not to make a fool of herself. Or perhaps hoping others were not scoffing at her partner. And he had to admire Keith’s bravery as well. Dancing in such august company, with many eyes on him, took a great deal of bravery. Nearly as much as facing a line of French infantry.
When Stephen and Sophie reached the bottom of the set, they stood out for a round as the dance dictated. This left another couple at the top of the line to dance the steps and repeat the pattern. As they waited to rejoin the dance, they were free to converse. To flirt. It was the time that young men, whether courting or simply admiring a fair partner, looked forward to most of all. A time to have a lady’s undivided attention away from the listening ears of chaperones. To talk, or tease, or whisper sweet words of flattery. Instead, standing there with his wife, Stephen found himself tongue-tied.
He faltered, “Your dress is... well, youinthat dress, I should say. You take my breath away.”
“Thank you, Captain.” She looked down, embarrassed, and he thought, or at least hoped, pleased at his praise. She said, “I am glad your mother had it made for me.”
“So am I. And here I am in ordinary evening attire like every other man in the room. Perhaps I ought to have worn my dress uniform, but as it is my last night as a civilian...”
“You look very handsome as you are.”
His body warmed at the shy admiring glance she gave him from beneath her lashes.
“Why, Mrs. Overtree, are you flirting with me?” he teased.
“And... if I am?”
He took her hand in his. “You, my wife, may flirt with me any time you like. The way you are looking at me now, I almost think you mean it.”
She met and held his gaze. “I do.”
His heart beat hard, and he swallowed in vain to dislodge the lump in his throat. He said in a voice low and hoarse, “Careful, Sophie, or I may begin believing you. And then you had better lock the adjoining room door.”
