“Breeches!” Annabelle squeaked in horror. “I’ve never done anything so improper in my life!”
Alex smiled at her. “Then it’s high time you started. Otherwise, you might be hopelessly missish by the end of this autumn’s Season.”
He chuckled at her outraged expression, then said coaxingly, “I really think you will enjoy sailing, Belle. If you don’t, of course you needn’t continue, but it would please me if you at least tried. Besides, I’ve named the boatAnnabelle.” Alex privately thought thatChristawould be more appropriate but decided that would invite too many questions.
His sister looked at him fondly, her resistance melted. “If you want me to go sailing, of course I shall. But what if I succumb to mal de mer?”
“We’ll take Christa to look after you. She’s an experienced sailor and can assure you that you will survive. See if you can find some breeches for her too. Someone on the estate must have a son about her size.”
Alex saw the beginnings of a question in his sister’s eyes and thought she might be wondering how he had learned so much about her maid. Fortunately, the perfect distraction came to mind. “By the way, Belle, I ran into a navy friend in Ipswich today and asked him about Sir Edward Loaming. The man has an unsavory reputation. If he calls on you in London, refuse him.”
Her eyes fixed on her plate, Annabelle murmured in a barely audible tone, “Very well, Alex.”
It never occurred to Alex, used to years of giving orders in the navy, that he might not be obeyed.
* * *
The dancing lesson turned into a comic disaster. Soon after lunch on Monday, the three Kingsleys and Christa assembled in the Orchard’s great hall, which also served as the ballroom. The dancing master, Mr. Rockland, was at heart a composer, but dreary reality forced him to find more lucrative occupations to support his family. He didn’t mind teaching young ladies to dance because they were usually enthusiastic, but in his experience, young gentlemen like Master Jonathan were a much less predictable quantity. At least half of them took lessons under duress and seemed to delight in their clumsiness.
What the dancing master had not expected was that the man who had hired him, an adult and a viscount, no less, should prove so hopelessly incompetent. Even the simple country dance Mr. Rockland began with produced missteps, wrong turns, and collisions. The younger brother was little better. The two young ladies—though one, as he later sniffed to his wife, was certainly not alady—were skillful enough, but the expanding chaos of the dance lesson soon reduced the two young Kingsleys to hysterical giggles. Within half an hour the lesson was a complete shambles.
While Jonathan and Annabelle were having a wonderful time, only Christa noticed Alex’s tight-lipped frustration. After an hour, Mr. Rockland gathered up his accompanist and stalked out with an air of great injury, while Jon clowned outrageously for his sister’s amusement. Under cover of their laughter, Christa went up to Alex and asked quietly, “Lord Kingsley, do you have trouble telling left from right?”
Alex looked at her for a long moment while a muscle in his jaw jumped. Under most circumstances he was able to conceal the mental quirk that caused him to confuse directions, words, and numbers. He had had trouble learning how to read, and as a student at Eton he was frequently beaten by masters who assumed that any boy so brilliant in some areas must be willfully obtuse to fail in others. Alex had always had trouble with examinations, and under acute emotional stress was often unable to find meaningful words. With maturity he had learned how to work around his problem, chiefly by substituting direct physical action for verbal confusion. It had been years since he had found himself in a situation like this one, where the humiliations of his childhood were painfully resurrected.
“I can tell them apart eventually, but not, unfortunately, quickly enough for this,” he said shortly. “It appears that I have no possible future on the dance floor.”
“Not necessarily,” she said thoughtfully. “Would it help if you were taught with the terms ‘port’ and ‘starboard’?”
Alex chuckled suddenly in appreciation of how ridiculous the situation was. At least Christa accepted his handicap as a matter of course. “No, my dear, the problem is not in the terminology, but rather in the quickness of thought required. The caper merchant says ‘left,’ my brain apparently hears ‘right,’ and the next moment I am crashing into my neighbor rather than pivoting gracefully around my partner. And while crashing into you is quite enjoyable, such behavior is not apt to prove acceptable at a London ball.”
Christa looked at him with her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “It is a problem, but not, I think, insurmountable. Have you noticed that your brother has the same problem in lesser degree?”
Alex was startled. He had been so absorbed in his own failure that he had not realized that Jonathan wasn’t doing much better than he himself. “You mean we’re both hopeless?”
“Not at all, but you will need to be taught in a different way. Are you willing to discuss this with your brother and sister? With Annabelle’s help, you and Master Jonathan should soon be dancing well enough.”
Alex thought a moment. After years of concealing his nameless affliction, it went against the grain to bring it out in the open. Still, it would be a good way to prove to his siblings that he wasn’t infallible.
“Lead on,mademoiselle. If you can really teach a hard case like me, you will have a new career ahead of you.”
Tired out by laughter, Jonathan and Annabelle had tumbled onto the sofas and settled down to the tea and cakes that Morrison had discreetly brought in moments before. Christa naturally did not join them, but after the Kingsleys had refreshed themselves, she looked expectantly at Alex. This was the kind of occasion for which he often had trouble finding words, but under her encouraging gaze he cleared his throat and said, “I must apologize for ruining our dance lesson. I hadn’t realized how necessary it would be to tell right from left. Unfortunately, that particular skill is one I am lacking.”
Jonathan shot a startled look at his brother. “You too, Alex? I always thought I was the one who inherited all the family clumsiness.”
“We resemble each other more than I realized, Jon,” Alex said ruefully. “Belle, can you tell directions?”
She gave a guilty start. “Most of the time,” she said cautiously. “It helps that I wear a ring on my”—she stopped and glanced at her hand—“left hand.”
There was a long pause before Jonathan said kindly, “Belle, that’s your right hand.”
The three confused Kingsleys started to laugh together, and for the next quarter hour they exchanged stories about their past experiences. Listening, Christa decided that Alex was the most afflicted and Annabelle the least, although, as that young lady said, “I scarcely noticed I had a problem because no one expects a young lady to know whether she is coming or going.”
That remark produced another round of laughter. As the merriment died down, Alex said, “Christa thinks she may have a teaching method that can help Jon and me. Perhaps if she will explain?”
“It is very simple,” Christa replied, her hands turning out. Alex was coming to realize that her hands were as expressive and enjoyable to watch as her face. “After all, Miss Annabelle has learned how to dance. Do you remember how you did it?”
“Well,” Annabelle said hesitantly, “I had problems, but I wanted very much to learn, so I practiced a great deal with the other girls at the school. Eventually I knew the movements so well that I didn’t have to think about them. All that work,” she added wistfully, “and I have yet to show my skills at a ball.”
