She looked up to the dome, shadowed in the gathering dusk, and at some of the gilded carvings on the walls between the columns. Winged cherubs blew into slender pipes, their cheeks puffed. Violins were crossed with flutes.
“It was designed to be a place for music,” the duke said at her shoulder. “The gallery was made to be used by an orchestra. Unfortunately we have not had a grand concert or ball here for more than a year.”
Fleur turned toward him. His face was caught by the shadows of the hall, his eyes blacker, his nose more aquiline, his scar more noticeable than in the light. He was standing close to her, his hands clasped behind him. And she felt breathless and very aware that a solid Corinthian column was at her back.
“You have consented to play for us this evening?” he said.
“Yes, your grace.”
“Tell me,” he said, “were you asked?”
“Her grace sent me a note,” she said.
He grimaced. “I promised this would not happen again, did I not?” he said. “I was from home this afternoon. Miss Hamilton, will you do us the honor of playing? You are quite at liberty to refuse. This is not part of your duties as governess.”
“I will be pleased to, your grace,” she said.
He treats his employees more like family than servants, Mr. Chamberlain had said of the duke the night before. Her grace had summoned. He had asked.
“You may wish to dance when you are not playing,” he said. “I am sure there will be several gentlemen who will be pleased if you do.”
“No,” she said. “Thank you, but no, your grace.”
“And yet,” he said, “you appeared to enjoy dancing during the ball a few evenings ago.”
“That was quite different,” she said.
“Allow me to escort you to the drawing room,” he said. He did not offer her his arm.
The drawing room looked somehow larger and more magnificent with the carpet rolled up and the white-and-gold chairs, upholstered in painted silk, moved back against the walls. The pianoforte too had been moved into one corner.
It was one of the most beautiful rooms in the house, Fleur thought, looking about her, unself-conscious because none of the guests were yet present. The walls were a pale blue, the coved ceiling blue, white, and gold. Great sheets of mirror made the room seem larger than it was and multiplied the effect of the crystal chandelier.
“The paintings are from Europe,” his grace said, seeing her interest, “though I have tried to gather works of our own artists in some of the other rooms. These are by Philipp Hackert and Angelica Kauffmann. Would you like to look through the music?”
She settled herself at the pianoforte and looked through the pile that someone must have been assigned to bring from the music room. All of it was music suitable for dancing. Many of the pieces were waltz tunes.
During the next two hours she grew increasingly more relaxed in the task she had taken on. Except for Sir Philip Shaw, who came up to the pianoforte and kissed her hand on his arrival in the drawing room, everyone else took remarkably little notice of her, calling to her only when they wanted a particular tune or type of dance. The waltz was an overwhelming favorite. Miss Dobbin appeared to have forgotten that she was to play for part of the evening, and Fleur willed her to continue to forget.
But the time inevitably came when she looked up between dances to find that Matthew was leading Miss Dobbin her way.
“Miss Hamilton,” she said, “how well you play. I am wishing now that I had played first so that I would not have to follow you.”
Fleur protested that she really did not have to play at all, but Miss Dobbin insisted that dancing was not her favorite activity and she had done enough of it during the ball and the last couple of hours to last her for the next month.
“Besides, Miss Hamilton,” Matthew said with a bow, “howam I to dance with you if you are to sit at the pianoforte all night?”
“I am not here to dance, my lord,” she said, “but to provide accompaniment.”
“Ah, but you will dance,” he said, smiling at her. “Please, ma’am? Because it is I who ask?”
What would he do if she refused? Fleur wondered. Turn to the company and denounce her in a loud voice? Expose her as a murderer and a jewel thief? She thought not. He would embarrass himself by such an exhibition, and that would not serve his purpose at all.
But of course it was an academic question. The truth was that she would not put it to the test, and Matthew must know her well enough to know that she would not.
“A waltz, if you please, Miss Dobbin?” he asked, holding out a hand for Fleur’s.
Matthew waltzed tolerably well. But of course she could not give herself up to an enjoyment of the dance. She was a servant in this house, and her cheeks burned at the impropriety of her dancing with the company in the drawing room despite the permission his grace had granted her earlier. She looked about nervously to see how the duchess was reacting at sight of her, but her grace was absent from the room.
