It didn’t make anysense, dash it.
She’d lain wide awake in her bed every night since this nonsense about the waltz began, puzzling over it. Why was he so insistent upon teaching her to waltz? Why should he care if she danced, or not? She’d be gone from London soon enough, and goodness knew once she was out of his sight, he’d never spare her another thought.
Try as she might, she couldn’t think of a single thing a fashionable gentleman like Lord Fairmont had to gain from teaching a disgraced spinster like her how to waltz.
But this morning, something had changed.
She’d woken in the early hours, before sunrise, the last rays of pale moonlight peeking through a gap in the draperies, bathing her bed in a silvery glow.
Her body was relaxed, still drowsy with the last vestiges of sleep, and her mind was calm.
For the first time since he’d proposed his absurd waltzing idea, she wasn’t thinking about Lord Fairmont.
That is, not entirely. He was still in her thoughts, as he always seemed to be these days, that boyish grin haunting her dreams,but for once, he’d retreated to the murky shadows at the back of her mind.
But this time, for the first time in the past six nights, when she woke, she was thinking about herself.
No, not six nights. Sixyears.
It had been six years since her mother had disgraced their family by absconding to the Continent with her married lover, leaving Phee’s heartbroken father and her four younger sisters behind.
Between her sisters’ needs and the sharp decline in her father’s health, there’d been no time for anything but doing what must be done to see the family through it. Tilly had only been thirteen then, and Helena just fourteen. Juliet and Emmeline had done all they could to help her, but as the eldest, she’d taken most of the responsibility on her own shoulders.
She’d never regretted it. That was what one did, for the family they loved.
But in all those years, she’d rarely spared a thought for herself.
Not because she was selfless, or self-sacrificing— it was nothing so noble as that —but because there hadn’t beentime.
There’d been no time to think, or dream, or fall in love. No time for balls, or pretty dresses, or midnight blue ribbons in her hair.
No time to dance.
She’d loved dancing, once. Oh, she’d never been particularly good at it. She’d always been a trifle awkward, despite the endless dance lessons her mother had forced her to endure, and goodness knew, there was no dance more intimidating than a waltz.
Juliet once told her that a waltz was like a minuet, but it didn’t look like any minuet she’d ever danced. All that twirlingabout! How did one keep from becoming dizzy, and toppling over?
She could find out for herself if she wished to. If she was brave enough.
And maybe— just maybe —shewasbrave enough.
At least, a part of her was, because when she woke this morning, she didn’t ask herself why Lord Fairmont insisted on teaching her to waltz.
Instead, she asked herself what possible reason she had to refuse him.
The only answer she could come up with was cowardice.
Pure cowardice. Somehow, in the last six years, she’d become a coward.
It wasn’t a particularly flattering discovery. Understandable, yes, given the scorn thetonhad heaped upon the Templetons after her mother’s disgrace, but how long was she going to keep hiding from theton?
It had been six years already.
She could spend another six years darting around corners and hiding in alcoves. Another six years of shrinking back from the stares, and cowering from the whispers and smirks. Another six years of being unable to face her own reflection in the looking glass.
Or she could accept Lord Fairmont’s invitation, and learn to dance a waltz.
It was only a waltz. Just a waltz.
