He turned to Mrs. Allen. “You did well.”
He turned back to Helen. He had no urge to touch her in this dress. This was a dress for looking at her in. And for another man to take off of her. Not him.
Besides, I still prefer her in muddy breeches. Or her muslin nightdress.
They walked away from Mrs. Allen’s, back toward the rooms, in the opposite direction of the inn where he longed to take her right now.
“Jack, that last dress, ’tis a dress for a queen. I cannae wear it.”
“It’s a ballgown.”
“Am I going to a ball?”
“It’s where lords go to meet ladies who might become their wives. And for ladies to meet husbands. That’s what you’re here for, you said. Why you’re in London.”
“Aye.”
“The dresses will be delivered tomorrow. I’ll have Phin get you an invitation to a ball for tomorrow night.”
“Phin?”
“Phineas. The Earl of Burchester, whom you met.”
“Aye. But won’t I need a chaperone?”
He hadn’t thought of that. “I’ll find you one.”
“Will the duke be there, do ye think?”
“No. He must have told you he doesn’t plan to return to London any time soon.”
“And will ye be there?”
“Jack Pike is not a lord.”
“But surely, with yer money, ye could get an invitation, too.”
“I’m not looking for a wife.”
They walked the rest of the way back to the rooms in silence.
In the drawing room, Duncan helped Jack move the furniture to the periphery to create a large, open space. Mags sat in a chair in the corner, her eyes shining.
“Do you know how to dance, Helen?” Jack asked.
“Aye, but it has been a long time since I did so.”
“What dances do you know?”
“I know the Scotch reel, of course. The country dance, the cotillion.”
“Show me.”
Helen looked around the room, her cheeks pink again. “There is nae music and I have nae partner.”
“Duncan?” Jack asked.
But Duncan shook his head as he answered, “I dinnae know how to do this kind of dancing.”
