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They all traveled by carriage into the village despite the relative shortness of the distance. It was expected of them that for certain circumstances they put on a show, Viola explained, a twinkle in her eye. And sure enough, there were witnesses to their arrival. Several people, mostly men, stood in groups, apparently indifferent to the proceedings within but keenly observant of each new arrival. There were people in the foyer of the inn, similarly employed. The stairs to the floor above were decently wide, but those to the top floor and the assembly rooms were narrower. The rooms consisted of one large chamber for dancing and two smaller rooms to accommodate platters of food that would tempt the crowd all evening and an array of wines and spirits and lemonade and tea.

All three rooms seemed already to be crowded almost to capacity. The volume of conversation, already rather loud, increased further at the sight of the new arrivals. Young ladies plied their fans, while young gentlemen made sure their neckcloths were straight and the cuffs of their sleeves just so.

Bertrand’s hand was wrung by the physician, and the man’s wife smiled happily while their daughter bobbed an awkward curtsy and looked as if she wished she were anywhere else on earth. Bertrand solicited her hand for the first set of dances.

He loved social occasions in the country, where there was less ostentatious splendor and overall artificiality than there was in the greater pomp of London. The assembly rooms were large and a bit shabby. No attempt had been made to decorate them for the occasion. But people were here to mingle and enjoy themselves, and the trio of musicians crowded onto the small dais in one corner of the room seemed eager to begin and meanwhile chatted happily with one another and everyone else in their vicinity.

Peter had been drawn into the midst of the vicar’s daughters and was somehow giving them all equal attention, though he would doubtless do the correct thing and lead the eldest into the opening set. Adrian was claimed by another family with daughters. Stephanie was claimed by three laughing, self-conscious young men, who were clustered together to lend one another courage. Owen was in what appeared to be serious conversation with Ann Cobb, who was rather severely clad in a forest green gown. Geoffrey Cobb looked as if he was soliciting Maria’s hand for the first set—and perhaps for every other set too since he had always been a determined, single-minded man once his mind was set upon something. Maria had been invited for tea at their home a few days ago with Estelle and Justin and Owen and had apparently been whisked away within minutes of their arrival to see the lambs, though they were no longer pretty newborns, and a litter of kittens, which would be kept as mousers since they were down to the one cat at the farm and the mice were growing bolder. He had assured Maria, however, according to Estelle’s report, that she must not be alarmed. No mouse had ever found its way inside his home.

No mouse would dare, Bertrand thought with an inner smile.

Estelle had told Bertrand she was a bit surprised her sister-in-law seemed to welcome Cobb’s rather aggressive courtship. For the past few years, since the passing of her mother and her forcible return home to live with her brother and guardian, Maria had been enjoying her freedom far too much to fix her interest upon any one man. Though there was an earthy sort of attractiveness about Geoffrey Cobb—“Yes, you did hear me correctly, Bert”—there was nothing particular to recommend him to the daughter and sister of an earl. There was nothing to disqualify him either, though.

Love, it seemed, had struck hard for Cobb, who had been a widower for years, and seemingly for Maria too. Cobb was not going to allow any grass to grow beneath their feet.

Why had that not happened for him? Bertrand wondered ruefully. A mutual falling in love, anyway. But no, it would not have been a good thing. Stephanie had been only seventeen, he just twenty.

The vicar squeezed up onto the dais with the orchestra and clapped his hands to draw everyone’s attention. It was hardly necessary. A silence pulsing with pleasurable anticipation fell immediately for the short prayer that began all such events and the announcement that the assembly would begin with the opening set of dances.

Bertrand went to claim his partner, and the dancers moved to the center of the room while the spectators pressed back against the walls. And if the grand hostesses of the London ballrooms wanted to see a real squeeze, Bertrand thought, they should be here now.

—

Stephanie, who, despite her age and social status, had attended only one grand ball in a fashionable London ballroom her whole life and hated it with a passion, loved local assemblies, even the ones at Ravenswood, where she inevitably saw the same people every time and danced with the same partners. She was enjoying this assembly too and danced every set with a different partner and talked with different people between sets.

She had not danced with Bertrand. But he had had a private word with her before the dancing began.

“Will you reserve the first waltz for me, Stephanie?” he had asked her. “I know the question rouses the ghastly specter of the same request I made last year at Ravenswood. But— Dare I hope your answer may have changed?”

“It has,” she had said. “And I will accept. Before Lady Dirkson has a chance to arrange it for us.”

“Thank you.” He had grinned at her. “Poor Aunt Matilda is going to feel redundant.”

It was almost halfway through the evening before a waltz was finally announced to a flurry of interest. Stephanie saw the marquess claim the hand of the marchioness, and Viscount Dirkson make his way toward his wife. Her mother was going to dance with Matthew. And Bertrand appeared before her to claim his dance.

“Will this be another of your famous moments?” she said as he led her onto the floor. “Another of your precious moments?”

He smiled slowly. “I was not very articulate that evening at Vauxhall,” he said. “I only knew that I had to say something that would detain you after Paulson walked off with Miss Easton and prevent you from disappearing from my life again. You must have thought I had become a raging lunatic.”

“I did rather,” she said. “But I have always remembered what you said. There have indeed been precious moments between us.”

The assembly room was fuller than ever as more people crowded inside to watch the waltz being performed. Stephanie was unaware of any of them. And it seemed that Bertrand was too as they gazed at each other. They had not yet touched. The music had not yet begun.

“We will make it a waltz we will remember for the rest of our lives,” he said very softly beneath the loud babble of voices all around them.

His arm came about her waist, and she set one hand on his shoulder and the other in his. It felt so very right to touch him again, to stand close to him.

And it began, their waltz to remember.

The orchestra, which had favored lively tunes for all the dances preceding it, slowed the rhythm considerably for this one. This waltz was made for romance. Stephanie had felt it at Christmas too, but then it had been a bittersweet ache of longing, knowing that after it was over they would be saying goodbye, she and Bertrand, to go their separate ways home. She had not known if she would see him again and had convinced herself that she really did not want to. She had still been hoping at the time that something further might develop with Mr. Courtney.

She felt the romance again now, but this time with a hope that was almost painful. She was not going to allow doubts to mar the pleasure, however. She deliberately stopped thinking. She raised her eyes to Bertrand’s and found him gazing back, his face unsmiling, though there was something about his eyes that enveloped her in joy.

She was aware of the other dancers and of those watching, but only because they added in some strange way to the sense that they were alone with each other, she and Bertrand, in the circle of romance their arms created. He held her as close as propriety allowed and moved with her as freely as the limited space made possible. He managed the sweeping twirls that always made such an exhilarating experience of the waltz. And the world became the two of them and the music and the movement and the distant twirl of other dancers in the glow of candlelight.

She wished it need never end, this dance, this precious moment, this waltz to remember all their lives. But all things must, of course. There was loud, enthusiastic applause from dancers and spectators alike, and one voice called for more.

“Are you ready to leave?” Bertrand asked.