“Thank you, sir,” I said. The words sent a reckless joy through my body. “But I cannot dance in this coat.”
My pelisse fastened simply in front, but my fingers stalled as they touched the top clasp. The pause stretched to become uncomfortable, as frozen as the river.
Mr. Knightley said, “If you prefer to depart, we shall set out. It is becoming cold—”
“No,” I said. “Would you assist me?” I turned my back to him, drew a breath and closed my eyes. My fingers fumbled the top clasp apart, then the lower one, and the coat fell loose. I jammed my arms stiffly by my sides, knowing I must look bizarre, but I kept my eyes squeezed tight…
A touch drew the cloth from my neck. The shoulders eased free, then the furred collar slipped down the back of my dress. It was an extraordinarily gentle sensation, like a caress over my shoulder blades, or how I would imagine a caress. Then there was an awkward tug at my wrists. I forced my arms a little looser, and the cuffs fell away.
“Put it away!” I gasped, unable to invent a reason.
“That is done,” he answered after a few seconds, sounding tense himself.
I opened my eyes, braced for fetid disease, but there was only Harriet, who had come close with a worried expression. She looked perfectly healthy. She relaxed when I opened my eyes, then became a little wistful, perhaps thinking she should have offered Mr. Knightley her shawl.
But she smiled and mouthed,Go dance.
I swirled, swishing cloth around my ankles, and felt utterly triumphant. “What is the German waltz?”
Mr. Knightley did not answer. Finally, he said, “I did not expect… your gown is very striking.”
“Oh.” I looked down at my dress, which was ivory and quite simple. I rarely wore it now—there were no fringes or ribbons to ward off disaster—but today it had seemed comfortable. It gleamed in the lamplight, but any satin would do that. “I imagine that is the night, with the dark wood, and all our dark winter clothes.” When he continued to just stand there, I added, “It is not a verywarmgown, you know.”
In answer, he offered his left hand, palm up. “May I have your right hand,Miss Woodhouse?” I took his hand. Our skin touched through the open lace. “Your left will rest on my shoulder.”
“Yourshoulder?” I confirmed. He nodded.
I placed each fingertip gingerly, having to step forward. We were now as close as I had ever stood in a dance.
“A little nearer,” he said. I took a miniscule step, and he raised his other hand. “I guide you from here…” He placed his hand on my waist. In the icy air, the heat of his fingers passed through my thin satin and silk in a heartbeat.
I rose on my tiptoes to peer over his shoulder at his friends. “Is thisreallya dance?”
“It is, Miss Woodhouse,” one of them replied. “The Prince Regent has danced it.”
I frowned up at Mr. Knightley. “Thatdoes not mean much.” The prince was a notorious rake.
“It is danced by the court as well,” Mr. Knightley replied. “Step back with your right foot.” He stepped with me, and the musicians played a single, opening note. We took halting steps, and the musicians followed, which was a peculiar experience. We began turning, and the music steadied.
As the lamps circled us, he said, “In German, it iswalzen, to roll.”
“Is this all there is?” Most dances were far more complex. It took a week to master the crossings and steps for a cotillion.
In answer, he gave my waist a hard push and whirled away, raising our joined hands over our heads. The lights swirled, my skirt flared, then I was caught against his chest.
“Oh,” I said.
The married couple joined, dancing expertly. The music sped up. We twirled faster, and he turned me inward and outward, then showed me how to release hands. Finally, he tried to walk us backward side-by-side, and I said, “Whatareyou doing?” then tripped over someone’s foot. He caught me, and we clung while the music continued.
“Are you hurt?” he said.
His hands encircled my waist. My white-laced hands had grabbed his upper arms. I had held Papa’s thinned arms to help him stand, but Mr. Knightley, his muscles tensed to support me, was a far more formidable handful.
I found my footing, and we straightened. I felt safe. Carefree. Healed.
“I am happy,” I said.
Far away, from the dark of Chathford estate, scarlet glory erupted into the sky.
