“Hurrah!” Emma clapped her hands in delight.
Jenny sighed but smiled faintly. “Oh, very well—but only half an hour.”
Grinning, Maggie helped move the tables and chairs aside until they had a clear space in the centre of the room.
“Do you know how to dance, Miss Winter?” Emma asked.
“I do. I even know a few newer dances not in this book. But most are much the same. Shall we start with a jig or a measure? Jenny, what do you think?”
“Don’t ask me,” Jenny laughed, resuming her seat with her knitting. “I can’t dance to save my life—at least, not your fine ball dances. I dance at weddings and village feasts, and that’s all.”
Maggie was about to reassure her when a brisk tap sounded at the door—and before she could answer, it opened.
The duke stood there, his broad frame filling the doorway entirely. He wore a weather-beaten brown coat, the sort a gentleman might use for walking his grounds. His cravat was missing, revealing a small triangle of bare skin at the base of his throat. Maggie found herself staring at that small piece of skin. Horrified at herself, she dragged her gaze away and down to her feet, and instead stared at his Hessians, which were in need of a good polish. His hair was disarranged, blown untidily around his head as if he’d been out in the wind. There was a sheen of dampness in his hair, too, which indicated hehadbeen outside, as it was still raining.
The silence seemed to drag on forever, although it could not have been more than a second before Emma spoke up.
“Hello, Uncle! We’re going to have dancing lessons!”
Maggie wished the floor might open and swallow her whole.
The duke’s brows lifted. “Dancing lessons? That is not, I think, within your remit, Miss Winter.”
She met his eye and gave a nervous smile. “Well, a change is as good as a rest, surely?”
His expression did not shift. “I do not believe I’ve ever heard that saying.”
“Oh, it’s very well known.”
“Is it indeed?”
“Mm-hmm. Of course, if you disapprove, we can simply put everything back and resume Geography. Miss Emma has been doing excellently with her—er—globes.”
“Globes?” he repeated, one brow rising higher.
“Yes,” Maggie said feebly. “It’s quite the modern method. Very serious in schools these days.”
More silence. More embarrassment. After a moment, the duke stepped inside the schoolroom, having to fold himself sideways to slip through the narrow door.
“I bow to your experience in the matter, Miss Winter,” he remarked, his voice heavy andthoroughlydisapproving. “Emma, why do you suddenly want to learn to dance?”
Emma brightened. “Mama was the best dancer in London, remember? You said so yourself. I want to dance like her.”
The duke rubbed the back of his neck. “I may have spoken with a brother’s prejudice when I said she was the best dancer in London.”
Emma pouted a little. “But Iwouldlike to learn, Uncle.”
They stared at one another—tiny girl and towering duke—locked in a silent battle of wills. Maggie felt an urge to hide a smile behind the cover of the book but managed to compose herself at the last moment.
“Very well,” the duke said at last, sighing heavily. “But if you are to learn, you must learn properly. Miss Winter, have you danced at balls in Society? IngoodSociety, I mean?”
Maggie caught herself on the cusp of sayingyes, of course, many timesbefore she remembered that she was supposed tobe a modest, quiet governess and not a lady fallen from a great height.
“No,” she managed, an unconvincing lie.
He nodded, unsurprised. “Then I shall assist. We will begin with a waltz; it is the simplest. Emma may practise with Jenny. You and I shall demonstrate.”
There was a tiny pause while this sank in.
