“True, but there’s no reason to think we will mess up again, unless the dowager is shedding.”
Laughter burst out of her, and she clamped a hand over her mouth. “Don’t do that!” she scolded. “Donotmake me laugh.”
“I like it when you laugh.” The flageolet blew its pretty tune.
She sighed as he took her hand. “I am the only female here who is braying like a donkey. You must stop being so charming.”
She found him charming!He liked that immensely, particularly as he wasn’t even trying. It was easy with Beatrice. Too easy.
“You have your wish,” he said as they got into position. “Not a quadrille but a waltz, the fast Viennese one, at that.”
Greer swept her effortlessly around the dance floor, the sole partner with whom he felt completely at ease. The natural turn, the reverse turn, the change step in between — they moved as one, their bodies never losing contact. On the other hand, with a close dance like this, she was also the one female who made him well aware of his palm pressed to her back, her soft hand grasped in his other hand.
Despite being surrounded by others, they moved as if in a bubble of their own making, the two of them and the music, and her lovely dress swishing around his legs nearly tripping him.
If he told her that, she’d laugh, so he didn’t.
“I could dance like this all night,” he said, the exuberance of the waltz uplifting his spirit, the beauty of this woman touching his heart.
“We’re not supposed to speak,” she said, “but I agree.”
Was that another rule, not speaking while dancing?He couldn’t recall it.
“Are we not allowed to speak or is that a suggestion so we don’t lose concentration? Because I for one—”
“Hush, Mr. Carson.” She gave him another smile to soften the admonishment, and they finished the dance in silence with him able to feel her heart beating against him as her vanilla fragrance surrounded him.How magnificent!
When the dance ended, he didn’t want to relinquish her. Seeing another man already lingering by their spot next to the curtains, obviously awaiting his turn, Greer did the unthinkable. He led Beatrice to the other side of the floor as if they were just about to partner for a dance rather than finishing.
“What are you doing?” she hissed, sounding alarmed that they were breaking some rule.
“I’m dancing with you again.”
She frowned slightly, then relaxed. “I suppose that’s all right since we don’t have any prior commitments. You don’t do you?”
“None.” He didn’t mention the man he’d seen who would now be sorely disappointed. While others paired up for a polka, Greer explained, “I have danced already with Lady Emily St. George, someone I’m considering as a potential wife. And I don’t know if she would deem it uncivilized or possibly the downfall of polite society were I to ask her for another dance tonight.”
“I see,” was all Beatrice said, and then the music began.
***
BEATRICE FELT AS IFshe’d been punched in the stomach.Lady Emily St. George!Now she had a name for the female he was interested in. It was happening so quickly. The Season had been going but a couple weeks. Sadness washed over her at the notion of losing her friend, as would most assuredly happen. And while he was eager to dance with her a second time in a row, when it came to his lady friend, Mr. Carson wouldn’t risk staining her reputation with a second dance all evening.
Vaguely, she knew she ought to be insulted. On the other hand, no one cared about an unknown toffee heiress and an American, while a rumor about an earl’s daughter could spread like fire through dry kindling. And she knew Lady Emily to be such, for Lord St. George had been in the newspapers over the years for his vociferous support of the ’76 Medical Act and the Prison Act over the past summer. Besides, she didn’t feel the least bit wronged, not while she was to remain in Mr. Carson’s strong arms for another dance.
She might as well enjoy the best dance partner she had experienced so far. The others gripped her hand either too tightly, as Lord Melton had done, or disinterestedly. Some moved her around the floor as one might expect a general to direct his soldiers, while others seemed wholly disconnected. Some partners seemed to spend their time looking over her head and hardly seeming to notice whom they were leading.
With Mr. Carson, dancing was lively and warm. And although she knew she shouldn’t have such feelings, it was also romantic. Increasingly, she found those emotions difficult to keep at bay. Where his hand landed in the middle of her back, she felt his warmth searing her through the thin layers of her ballgown. And where their hands clasped together, it was like a link forged from affection.
With their bodies in a constant state of motion and touching, brushing across one another over and over, Beatrice thought she might melt from the sizzling sensations coursing through her before they finished the polka.
It was nothing at all like dancing with Lord Melton, nor any of the other men at previous balls. Nevertheless, when the dance ended, she thanked him coolly and let him escort her back to the side of the room, where another man quickly asked her for the upcoming mazurka.
A few dances later, when the end of the evening was in sight, Mr. Carson returned again, this time with a sheepish, hopeful expression on his handsome face. Beatrice found she neither wanted nor tried to say no. If this was to be her only Season, and if Mr. Carson was soon to be courting a lady in earnest — maybe becoming engaged — then Beatrice would enjoy him while she still could.
When the final dance came and she was asked by Lord Longden, whom she’d met weeks earlier at Amity’s ball, she watched Mr. Carson approach Lady Emily. Apparently he had decided he could risk her reputation after all.
And if it pained her more than it should, Beatrice at least had the memory of having been his friend and confidant. It would have to be enough.
