She shook her head. So he wasn't after her dowry then. At least that was something. “It doesn't really matter. I am far more interested in knowing why you and I have never met before.”
“I spend most of my time in Dorset where I manage a property on behalf of my grandfather. He lost most of his vision a few years ago and life has been a challenge for him ever since.”
They continued chatting while they danced, and Mary decided she liked Mr. Partridge at least as much as his sister.
When they eventually rejoined the others, Mr. Crawford was waiting with a stony expression. He handed her her glass of wine and extended his hand to Mr. Partridge.
“Good to meet you,” he said. “I'm Mr. Crawford, the man hired by Lady Cassandra's brother to fix the roof on the house where she, Miss Howard, and Miss Clemens live.”
“Ah, so you are a craftsman,” Mr. Partridge said. “I have always admired people who can make things with their hands, whether it's mending a fence or building a house. Plus, there is something to be said for being able to work outside, not to mention the sense of accomplishment I'm sure you must feel.”
“There certainly is,” Mr. Crawford agreed.
“David always complains about being stuck in his study,” Miss Partridge said.
“I hate every second of it, but responsibility demands it.” He scrunched his face to suggest dissatisfaction. “Except when I'm checking up on the orphanages. They have become a welcome escape from the tedium of ledgers and property management.”
“I imagine coming here and spending time with your sister is also a reprieve,” Emily said.
“Of course,” Mr. Partridge said. “Here I am free to relax, to go for a ride or a pleasant walk, to enjoy an evening out with friends.” Leaning forward, he added gravely, “Except when Mama is pressuring me to get married.”
Mr. Crawford sighed heavily and with what seemed to be sympathetic understanding. “A mother intent on seeing her son wed will likely drive every man to madness at some point in their life.”
Mary stared at him with a sudden need to know more. Because although she knew it was probably pointless, she wanted to understand this man who'd become the focus of all her thoughts. She wanted to know who his mother meant for him to marry, and she, God help her, wanted to be that woman.
“Since all of you come from well-respected families, I thought it prudent that my brother get to know you better during his stay,” Miss Partridge said, in response to which all heads swiveled in her direction. “Perhaps an attachment will be made, and if not, then at least David will be able to tell our mother he has tried.”
“But,” Cassandra put in, “while our families may have respectable reputations, we do not. Indeed, knowing us in any capacity could result in scandal.”
Mr. Partridge and his sister shared a look and then laughed. “I believe you're worth the effort,” Mr. Partridge said, his eyes meeting Mary's. She held his gaze for a second before shifting it to Mr. Crawford, who was watching her with a pensive frown.
It was as if she'd just materialized in front of him, and he was trying to figure out how she'd done it. “You're absolutely right,” he said.
She noted the look of surprise in Mr. Partridge's eyes. He took a step back, and Mr. Crawford stepped forward, his handsome face filling her vision and prompting her heart to beat a bit faster.
“I believe it is time for our waltz, Miss Clemens.” Mr. Crawford’s voice was low and intimate. It pulled Mary toward him and banished all else from her mind. She placed her hand on his forearm and met his gaze, connecting with him in a way she’d never connected with anyone before, as if both existed beyond the realm of reality, their souls embracing even as their bodies walked toward the dance floor.
They took their places while the musicians played the opening notes. And then Mr. Crawford was pulling her to him, his hand settling neatly against her back as he drew her into the dance. A moment of startled surprise made her gasp in response to having him so wonderfully close. And the way he moved…it was as if he’d been born to dance, his elegant steps so smooth she felt like she was gliding.
“I like Mr. Partridge and his sister,” he said while leading her in a wide turn. “They’re unpretentiousness gives them credit.”
“It is unusual for people of their class to be without airs,” Mary agreed. “Perhaps it is a result of growing up in the country and with no other gentry nearby. Most of their interactions will have been with ordinary people.”
“Do you believe such an upbringing to be a prerequisite for humbleness?”
“Possibly, though I do think life-altering experiences can have a similar effect.”
His hold on her tightened as he spun her about. “As was the case for you and your friends?” Before she could answer, he said, “That would imply you were high in the instep before you came here. Having gotten to know you, I very much doubt that could have been the case.”
“Granted, there are exceptions,” she admitted. A warm shiver erupted at the base of her spine as he curled his fingertips into her back.
“Even for earls, marquesses, and dukes?”
“I don’t believe so,” she said, recalling the peers she’d once socialized with. Each and every one had believed the world was at his feet. “Being raised amid wealth and with servants to tend to your every need creates certain expectations. It spoils you.”
“Would you say that there was a time when you were spoiled as well?” His eyes sought hers, holding her captive and demanding the truth.
Mary thought back on her family home in Mayfair, to the shopping expeditions she’d enjoyed with her mother and sisters, the expensive gowns filling her wardrobe, and the diamond earbobs she’d been gifted on her fourteenth birthday.
