“Oh, Lord Harewood. I didn’t see you there.” She surreptitiously wiped her eyes with the back of her gloved hand. “Do you truly believe the black enhances the colors?”
“Is it not obvious?” He pretended not to notice that she had high color in her cheeks, no doubt due to her upset. “As you stated, black is the absence of light, so what better canvas upon which to set light or partial light, as Aristotle would have us believe?”
“I would have never thought of it in quite that way. I wonder if that is why I much prefer darker blues, deep purples, like this dress, and even maroons in my choice of evening wear while my friends prefer more light in their colors. Or mayhap they are simply choosing what will bring out their features more. I’ve never really thought about if my dress complements my person, per se. I rather choose the color I enjoy seeing. But that doesn’t make sense now, does it, since I don’t actually see what I’m wearing unless I take a seat and stare at my lap, which would hardly seem proper and rather odd. Though I very much doubt that would be the oddest behavior seen at a ball. Still, it would not do to be so preoccupied with the color of one’s clothing, as it may be interpreted as being preoccupied with oneself. Of course, that could be viewed differently depending on which philosophy ofselfone subscribes to, would it not?”
He barely kept from lifting his lips into a smile, which would not do, but her quick intellect was rather refreshing, as it forced him to pay attention to understand how she moved from one thought to the next. It was hardly logical, yet there was a pattern of some kind that he couldn’t quite identify. “Indeed it would. While Locke would have us believe we are no more thanour conscious intellect, far older and wiser men have already determined we are much more complicated.”
Her hazel eyes lit with the very light she’d spoken of not a few moments past as they widened in excitement. The flush on her cheeks had changed its hue and her small frame seemed to vibrate with energy. “I have often wondered at that. Do you think Locke came to such conclusions by studying Descartes or by his powers of observation? I do not discount that he was a great mind, but that he came by his assertions only through human reason is a bit disconcerting, as opposed to Socrates, who had his daimon. I am more apt to accept Socrates. Though much has come to light since his teachings. It leaves one in a bit of a muddle.”
He had to cough to keep from laughing out right. To listen to such an erudite soliloquy, only to have it end in “a muddle” was far too humorous. “By muddle, do you mean as in the learned man’s ever-present conundrum of the existence of the soul?”
Her eyes widened at his question. “No. To be truthful, I was thinking of the changes in human thought over time and how they resemble both a puddle and a tangled mess of yarn.”
This time, his hard-won control was bested, and he grinned. “So, then, in your estimation, were a tangle of yarn to be dropped into a puddle, we would have a resulting muddle?”
“Yes, exactly.” Lady Dorothea’s smile was far too wide to be pretense. She obviously found such imagery to be important and worthy of discussion.
Though he didn’t necessarily agree, he found her way of thinking entertaining. “And are there other words for which you have contemplated the appropriate imagery?”
Her smile faltered and her gaze dulled. “Do you play with me, my lord?”
The lightning-quick change caught him unawares. “I’m afraid I do not understand your question.”
“Then allow me to be plain.” She straightened her shoulders and looked him in the eye, despite being significantly shorter than himself. “I ask if you find my choice of topics silly and only wish to laugh at me.”
He would have been affronted had anyone else accused him of such rude behavior, but it wasn’t difficult to see that the lady spoke from experience. Her chin was tilted up in defiance despite the slightest trembling of her lower lip. “I assure, my lady, that what you suggest had not occurred to me. I am genuinely interested in any imagery you may have stumbled upon to better comprehend a particular word. With a very good friend who is an art collector, and whose wife is an artist, I am often searching for words to use which they might find easier to understand.”
Her shoulders relaxed and she gave him a shy smile. “Then I owe you an apology, my lord. I fear my past experience had me making assumptions that were uncalled for. I hope you can forgive me.” She dropped her gaze and her cheeks grew rosy.
If he were any other man, he would rush to assuage her guilt, but that was not his way. As the musicians finished their current song, an idea arose. “I believe I can forgive you if you would consent to this dance.”
Her head came up as her gaze locked with his. “You wish to dance with me?”
“Yes.” He found himself very curious as to whether or not she could hold a conversation while dancing. Since they would part and return, he wished to know if her thoughts would jump in the silence.
Just as she opened her mouth to answer, they called the dance, a waltz. She froze for a moment before licking her lips and swallowing hard. “I would gladly accept, but I must caution you that I have had little practice with the waltz.”
Now his curiosity led him in a new direction, that of the woman’s gracefulness. “That is of little concern, as I am an expert and will be happy to lead you.”
Clearly nervous, she gave him a silent nod, and he offered his arm. As they strode toward the dance area, her grip grew stronger, far stronger than he’d expected from a lady of such small stature.
As they stood side by side, waiting for the first section of the waltz to begin, she leaned in so only he could hear. “I’ve never waltzed in company.”
He lowered his head. “But you do know how?”
“Oh, yes. Lady Elsbeth—Lady Mabry helped me practice.” She said the words as if that were all that was needed to prove her skill.
His gut tightened at the implications. It appeared conversation of any sort would be out of the question. He was about to make a fool of himself with a woman from Belinda’s school and there was nothing he could do about it.
Chapter Two
Dorothea looked acrossthe room at Elsbeth, who nodded encouragement. No doubt, Lord Harewood even now was regretting asking her to dance. She would just have to force her mind to focus on the odd beat. She’d done it before, until the turns. That was when she couldn’t keep her mind on the counts. But she refused to make herself and the lord victims of ridicule.
He had been far kinder than she’d expected, based on her limited interactions with him in the past. She’d actually thought him a bit sinister since he always dressed in black, never smiled, and remained aloof, as if they were all far too boring and of little consequence. She had assumed that came from being very intelligent or very arrogant. But when he’d come to her rescue after Lady Rose’s companions left her, he’d been kind, interested, and he had even smiled!
Grateful to him for that kindness, she would manage the waltz turns somehow, simply keeping her gaze on his and counting, even if she must do so under her breath. She’d never been asked to waltz before and Lord Harewood never asked anyone to dance. It was paramount she not disappoint him. If she stumbled, she would simply claim a twisted ankle, and he could escort her off the floor, no harm done to their reputations.
As the strains of the music began, she kept her gaze on the other dancers to start her count. But she needn’t have worried because just as they were to take the first step, she felt his armtense, cuing her movement. Pleased that his own movements could help her, she made it through the beginning of the dance with no missteps. In fact, she found herself relaxing into the beat instead of forcing it.
