It brought back memories of balls years ago, when she’d mistakenly believed that she would meet a gentleman, dance with him, and fall in love. Instead, she’d been unable to follow the steps and dancing became a means of humiliation. Today would probably be no different.
She reminded herself that Mrs. Harding had asked Lord Dunmeath to be here. He wasn’t here to court her. And the fact that he’d asked so many other young ladies to wed him—but not her—was evidence enough. She couldn’t allow herself to dream of something that wouldn’t happen.
Mr. Brown went to the pianoforte and began playing another song. Emma struggled to remember what was next. Some of the couples had switched places, and to her dismay, she realized that Lord Dunmeath was no longer her partner.
For a moment, she stumbled but then held out her right hand for her partner. In, then out. Spin, then switch places and hands. She silently recited the instructions to herself over and over, trying to memorize them.
But with this gentleman, she felt only tension and unease. His scent was heavier, of bergamot. Her partner grasped her hand firmly, but she sensed an unspoken arrogance about him—as if he believed he were better than her.
Was this supposed to be fun? Emma knew she was starting to get the steps right, but all she could think of was trying not to embarrass herself. The familiar panic knotted inside her stomach, and she started to lose her place. The moving shapes and colors made her dizzy, and she took a few steps backward. “I’m sorry. I need a moment to catch my breath.”
“An excellent idea,” Lord Dunmeath said from nearby. She hadn’t known he was so close, and the thought unsettled her.
She couldn’t tell if there were any chairs in the room, but she walked toward the closest wall.
“Miss Bartholomew, I would ask you to please rejoin the ladies,” Mr. Brown called out. “Mrs. Harding gave instructions that you are to remain for the entire lesson.”
“If you’ll give me a moment, I will try again,” she answered. Though she kept her voice calm, the familiar sense of being flustered was overwhelming. All she wanted to do was leave the room. And yet, she’d promised Mrs. Harding that she would try the lessons.
She heard footsteps approaching, and the gentleman stopped a short distance away. In a low voice, Lord Dunmeath asked, “Are you all right?”
She nodded, even though it was a lie. She had no desire to do this again. Dancing was terrible. Well, except perhaps when she’d waltzed with him earlier. That hadn’t been so bad. The earl stood beside her, and his pine scent made her want to bury her face into his coat. She imagined what it would be like to have his arms around her once again.
Don’t do it,her brain warned. She couldn’t dare give herself hope. Five Seasons had taught her that much. Better to push back the wayward daydreams and face what was real.
“Are you wanting to stop?” he asked.
She did, but to admit it was to admit her cowardice. “I’ll manage. I was just... starting to forget the patterns.”
With a sigh, Emma started back toward the blurred colors. She walked to the very end of the line where she could see no one, and thankfully the dark shape of Lord Dunmeath stood across from her once more.
She steadied herself, keeping track of right and left, but when it came time to switch positions, she started to get disoriented again. Which way was her partner? She tried to move to the right, but suddenly there was no one there. A slight titter of laughter came from one of the ladies, so she attempted to go left. Once again, there was no partner. She didn’t quite know what to do, so she waited. A moment later, someone took her hand and spun her around. He let go too soon, and she bumped into one of the ladies.
“Sorry,” she murmured.
But when she turned the other way, she collided with one of the gentlemen. “I beg your pardon.”
The slight laughter happened again, and she tried to pretend as if it didn’t bother her. “Forgive my clumsiness,” she said lightly. “I suppose that’s the reason why I need dancing lessons.”
She tried again with the dancing patterns, but it soon became clear that Lord Dunmeath was no longer across from her. Where had he gone? She couldn’t understand why he would suddenly leave.
“Now, let’s try it faster.” Mr. Brown changed the tempo of the music. The next thing Emma knew, a gentleman grabbed her hand and swung her in one direction and then another. As she’d feared, she started bumping into people more frequently. It almost felt deliberate, until finally she gave up.
“I’m sorry. I’m just not able to—”
“Now, Miss Bartholomew, you really must try,” the dancing master insisted. “It’s simple. Just follow your partner. One, two, three.”
“I did try,” she said. “But I think this is more difficult than—”
“It’s not hard at all,” Lady Chelsea said. “Anyone can do it.” Her voice dripped with disdain, and Emma stepped back.
Anyone but me,she thought. There was no way to respond to her insult, so she held her silence.
“Honestly, it’s no wonder she’s a wallflower,” Miss Cooper remarked, as if Emma weren’t standing right there. “She doesn’t even make an effort to dance with anyone.”
Why would the woman say such a thing, except to be cruel? Her cheeks burned with embarrassment.
“I...” she started to say, but then her words died down.
