“Please, dearest? We most likely won’t be listening. We are practicing for the upcoming ball,” Cordelia tried, but her younger sister seemed to be rooted to the spot.
“If your playing is any worse than my dancing, I’ll procure the latest edition of theRoyal Kew Botanical Drawings,” Mr. Wright said. “And that is very much a guarantee, Lady Hermione.”
Looking at the floor, Hermione walked over to the piano, pushing off the white sheet. “V-very w-w-well,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
“How did you know that Hermione enjoys botany?” Cordelia asked.
Mr. Wright shrugged. “I noticed a book open in the library the last time I was there. I figured I have a one in four chance of getting it right. Bea also told me your sister has been spending an inordinate amount of time in the greenhouse.”
She’d need to have a serious chat with Bea about whose side she was on.
But then she thought about her youngest sister and how Mr. Wright had been kind to her. Cordelia shook off the beginnings of a smile. Remembering herself, she straightened her spine and turned to face him. Hermione started piecing out a tune from the piano, something vaguely familiar, and Cordelia placed her hand on Mr. Wright’s firm shoulder. She drew in a sharp intake of breath as they threaded their hands together. She’d not worn gloves.
Then again, since when did she give dancing lessons in the afternoon?
His hands were warm and large, engulfing hers entirely. She remembered from that afternoon when they went riding, and then yesterday when he’d shaken her hand. Though the calluses were not as pronounced as they had been a week or two ago, they were still there.
“Which would you like to start with?” Mr. Wright asked, his expression serious, attentive.
“Oh, um,” Cordelia said. It was difficult to think when she was this close to him. She could feel the heat radiating off his body, and she was perplexed by her reaction to it. Shewantedto be closer.
Traitor, she heard Portia spit in her head. “I’m not used to leading,” she confessed hurriedly.
“A waltz, perhaps?” he said.
Did he have to pick the most intimate dance that was appropriate for ballrooms? For the thousandth time today, she blushed. She let him lead her around the dance floor, slowly at first, but eventually twirling a little more quickly. Cordelia had not danced in what felt like ages. Usually, she filled out her dance card with some trepidation, as she found dancing at balls tiresome. Young bucks stepping on her feet or boring suitors with their dull gaze memorizing the steps were all she had to hope for.
But dancing with Mr. Wright wasdifferent. He was so big, his form nearly engulfed her. He smelled not of brandy and sandalwood, but of wood smoke and leather and soap. And he held her, not as though she was a porcelain doll, prone to breaking, but like she was a living, breathing woman. A creature made of flesh and blood, as he was.
She was not sure when it happened, but Cordelia forgot where she was for a moment, like it was when she rode Brutus. The world fell away and she was only here, in a man’s arms, with no dowry to worry about or manners or marriage prospects. She was just Cordelia, enjoying an afternoon.
“Lady Cordelia,” Mr. Wright said. The drop of her title brought her back to Hollyhead, to the empty walls, to the thin tune on the pianoforte.
“Yes?” she asked.
They’d come to a stop in the middle of the floor, Mr. Wright’s hand still spanning the length of her hip, their hands still connected. They were standing so close she could feel his breath tickling the stray hairs on her brow.
“Perhaps you should suggest the next dance? I’m afraid that I am already proficient in waltzing,” he said, with a small smile.
Cordelia dropped his hand, stepping away from the hold. “Yes, indeed. Do you intend to mock me, Mr. Wright? I am beginning to think you invited me here as a jape.”
“No jape intended, Miss Nichols—”
“Lady Cordelia,” she corrected.
Something flashed across his blue gaze and his eyes became hard. “As I was saying,LadyCordelia. The waltz has drifted down to the dregs of my class. Perhaps there are other ones you could teach me?”
“Yes, well,” she said, smoothing the skirt of her dress. “We shall start with an Allemande. It’s on the easy side. We’ll see if you can keep up.”
*
“Damnable woman,” Justinmuttered as he marched down Hollyhead’s main road. The gravel crunched pleasantly beneath his boots and clouds began to drift past the sun, revealing a blue sky. The summers here were probably lovely, but he could not focus on any of that.
Instead, his mind was returning again to the ballroom, to the polished wood floors, to the feeling of Cordelia Nichols in his arms.
In that moment he was reminded of a time in London when they passed a confectionary shop. Justin was eyeing expensive chocolates and roulades and other sweets they would never be able to afford. Instead, his mother pointed him to the penny candies. “It’s better to crave what we can find the money for,” she’d told him. It was not a cruel thing for her to do, but it was the first time he could remember being told that they were different. That people of their station would only have access to the penny candies and to not hope for much more.
Justin smiled ruefully at the memory. To think that he’d been made a peer and the entire dukedom could scarcely afford costly sweets today any more than he could all those years ago.
